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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Text

just a little downhill.

mickey x reader

summary: after a hard day of work, mickey comes home to a very unwelcome and unexpected guest: his little brother.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: mickey and his brother goodness! as briefly discussed, kevin’s face claim is pete davidson (: and if you’re curious, here is another discussion of mickey’s parents. i hope you enjoy and if you do, i’d love to hear it (:

Although Mickey had been out from under his parents order for years now, he never seemed to shake the responsibilities they had assigned him.

When Mickey was old enough, with a high school diploma under his belt and not much else, he escaped two towns over to flee his parents and their needs. To, at the time, do his best to escape their overbearing asks and assumptions of him. He took very little when he fled in the night; a few articles of well worn clothing; his box of drugs and corresponding paraphernalia; an envelope of mementos of his relationship with you; and you, as well. You both escaped your grim situations with wild eyes and hearts, between flurried kisses and giggles, you made your way to your new lives.

Now, all these years later, you both were still shacked up in your cozy ground floor apartment, with it’s warped tiles and shag carpets, and Mickey had never been happier. Sure, he worked a demanding manual labor job and he had few future prospects, but he was on his own and living with the woman he loved. To Mickey, there truly wasn’t anything better than that. He suspected he could be forsaken to any living conditions, demands or labor, but as long as he had you by his side, he would be happy as a clam.

You were the one who kept him sane. The one who taught him how to float instead of thrashing in the water. The one who taught him the gentle caress of love. The one who was the only salve for any and all problems that were thrown his way.

And when it came to his chaotic life, he needed your healing touch more often than he would like to admit.

Because while the distance between him and his turbulent family offered excuses for why he couldn’t invariably swoop in and save the day, the milage didn’t often deter his parents from calling on Mickey whenever they needed something. Their expectations still held true no matter the separation.

Mickey was expected to come over and soothe tensions when their fights reached a volume to where the neighbors got involved.

Mickey was expected to drop everything, no matter the circumstance, to help wrangle their old mutt whenever he escaped and began to terrorize the neighborhood kids.

Mickey was expected to drive the hour to their trailer whenever there was an appliance that needed fixing. Usually after his father had stormed off in frustration when he couldn’t do it himself.

Mickey was also expected to fix a litany of other things that his parents refused to call in an expert about, but had no problem pawning it off on their son (even if he was no more qualified to fix things then they were).

But above all, Mickey was expected to look out for his little brother. To watch out for him, and to take care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself. This had always been his most fervently requested task, and possibly the one he resented the most.

And when he came home to find his fuck to of a little brother with his back against the brick siding of Mickey’s apartment building, a joint between his lips and his head angled toward the sun, he knew his everlasting duty to care for the kid was about to rear its ugly head once more.

Today was just an exceptionally bad day for this to happen.

Because before he even saw Kevin’s face, it had been a day where he had just wanted to come home, lay his head on your lap as you pressed delicate kisses to his skin. He needed to be enveloped in your soothing smell and coaxed into relaxation by your voice. He just needed you, because today had been awful. The last thing he needed was to deal with any member of his fucking family.

The day started off with the buddy he carpooled with burning a hole in his brand new seat cover on the way to work. Then it was announced that OSHA would be monitoring their site they were at for the morning, which meant nothing got done and the crew was way behind schedule. When lunch rolled around, Mickey dropped his sandwich on the ground, which caused his coworkers to start an uproar of teasing and laughter whenever he was around. And, of course, after he was already in their crosshairs, his drill decided to stop working, which only fueled the other mens mocking.

And to make it all worse, his mother had been calling on a loop since noon. He refused to answer, not wanting to deal with her drunk ramblings or vicious criticisms, which just meant that the calls kept coming. Now that he thought of it, he was sure the sudden vibration in his pocket had been the reason he had dropped his sandwich in the first place.

Thanks mom. Fuck you.

“The fuck are you doing here, Kev?” Mickey grunted from around his cigarette as he approached his front door.

“Didn't Ma call?”

“I don’t answer her calls sober,” he shoved his key into the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

As the door opened, Mickey cringed as Kevin quickly sprang to his feet and pushed past him into his home. He had expected it, but it still made his stomach drop as it happened. When Kevin planted himself somewhere, he was often hard to peel back up. Last time Kevin had come over to beg for money, he didn’t leave for four days, leaving a permanent lanky body print in Mickey’s couch.

“Can’t really blame you for that,” Kevin chuckled as he collapsed onto the living room couch in a huff, “we didn’t invent The Scale for nothin’.”

The Scale referred to the made up increment system the two invented in middle school on how high they had to be to pleasantly deal with their parents. Their mother was usually a Bill and Ted and their father was always at very least Cheech and Chong. The brothers sometimes would still refer to The Scale when they were going through a spurt of getting along. But this was not one of those times.

Mickey hadn’t seen Kevin on an unencumbered social call in over two years. Kevin used to visit every weekend; to party, play video games or just spend time with his older brother; but now it was only under the guise of extorting money (that Mickey really didn’t have to give) or in a search of a place to crash while he was on the outs with their parents or whatever girl he was currently seeing.

Because of his mother’s incessant calls and Kevin’s mention of her, he assumed it was the latter this time.

“Yeah, well clearly you’ve already started,” Mickey grouched, as he tilted his head to the blunt that was still between his brother’s lips.

Mickey was anything but a prude, but when his deadbeat brother came swaggering into his home with no humility or shame, smoking pot and bogarting his couch, Mickey suddenly turned into a stuffy Christian mother, sticking his nose up and huffing at the mention of any illicit substance.

“Oh, I’m sorry man, you wanna hit?” Kevin asked, completely oblivious to his brother’s annoyance.

“What are you doing here, Kev?”

Kevin’s eyebrows raised at Mickey’s bluntness and whistled low under his breath, before settling back against the couch.

“Take the stick out of you ass, Jesus Mick,”

“I’m serious, Kev. What is it? Spit it out, I had a long fucking day. I don’t have the patience to deal with this.”

“You sound like dad,” Kevin chuckled, smoke billowed from his mouth as he propped long legs onto the coffee table.

His tolerance for Kevin running thin already, Mickey marched over to the couch and shoved his legs from the coffee table with haste. Kevin’s eyes grew wide with surprise and slight betrayal when he looked at his brother again.

“I’m not fucking around, Kevin! (Y/N) is gonna be home any minute and I want you gone when she gets here,” Mickey raked a hand through his tousled locks and went in search of his work coat to find a new cigarette.

“(Y/N) loves me,”

“Yeah, because you prey on her kindness. Now tell me what it is or I’m calling dad to pick you up.”

That seemed to scare him enough to reveal the reason for his visit.

“I need a job.”

And there it was. Mickey let out an encompassing sigh as he turned his back to his baby brother. This wasn’t the first time Kevin had asked for a job, and Mickey doubted it would be the last.

Others might applaud his brother’s initiative to better himself and search for personal contacts to find him work, but Mickey knew better. He had tried to help him get a job more times than he could count, and Kevin always did something to fuck it up.

Whether it be never showing up, being high on the clock, failing drug tests or fighting with customers and coworkers, something always went wrong. Mickey had burned many a bridge to defend his brother from these employers, because no matter how insane Kevin made him, he was still his brother and he would be damned if anyone said a bad word about him. Other than him, of course.

“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?” Mickey challenged.

“Talk to Stephen,” Kevin replied simply.

“Fuck no!” Mickey almost laughed, “Man, I need this job, I can’t have you fucking it up for me.”

“I won’t! I won’t fuck it up!”

“Yeah, ok. Whatever you say, Kev.”

“I’m being serious!”

“No, no way, dude. No, Kev. I can’t lose this job. I got bills and shit, now! Did you know you have to pay for garbage pick up at a place like this? Because I sure as shit didn’t! We can’t even bury it like dad did,” Mickey lectured, “and y’know what? I got a girl, one I’d really like to fucking keep. Which means actually keeping this stupid construction job to keep paying for fucking garbage. I can’t have you gettin’ us both canned.”

“I’ve changed, Mick. I have!” Kevin reinforced when his brother rolled his eyes, “I’m twenty four now. I got like, perspective on stuff, and shit.”

“Kev, -“ Mickey started, but didn’t continue as he heard a key in the front lock.

Seconds later you appeared, hair piled high on your head and still adorning your work uniform. Even with his brother pissing him off and the weight of an awful day on his shoulders, Mickey couldn’t stop the goofy smile that spread over his face when he saw you. Worn from a hard day and in your boxy hotel maid get up, you were still the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.

“Hey, baby,” Mickey said as he crossed the living room quickly to greet you.

“Hi, baby,” you looked up at him, a similar lovesick smile on your lips as Mickey wrapped you in a crushing embrace.

You craned your head back to capture his pouted lips in a kiss. They will tinged with more nicotine than usual, and you knew something was off before you pulled apart. Your hands had begun to inch toward Mickey’s nape when you heard movement on the couch. When you pulled away, you saw him

“Oh, hey, Kev. I didn’t see you there, honey,” you offered him a kind smile as you moved to rest your cheek on Mickey’s chest.

Mickey tried to keep the scowl off his face as his brother grinned at you.

“How ya been, (Y/N/N)? Man, it feels like it’s been ages!” his brother charmed, pushing up from the couch to come meet you for a hug.

When you pulled away from Mickey to do so, Mickey swore you were taking a part of his resolve with you.

“It has, you don’t come ‘round like you used to,” you said, parting from Kevin to smoothe your hands over his broad, boney shoulders. As you inspected Mickey’s baby brother, you spied something new, “this a new addition?”

You poked the ridge of black ink peeking out of his t-shirt, just below his collar bone.

“Awh, yeah. Yeah it is,” Kevin pulled down the collar of his shirt enough for you to see the tattoo that joined the ranks of his many others, “it’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Oh,” you said, a little surprised by the choice, but admiried it nonetheless, “I like it. It’s nice linework. Can’t say the same for the rest of ‘em, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny!”

You winked up at him before you removed yourself from his orbit to return to Mickey’s. Though, on your way back to your man, you saw the firm look of displeasure on his face, and that face was directed firmly at his brother. You stopped in your tracks and traded glances between the two boys, one angry and one bashful, before you spoke.

“Alright, what’s goin’ on?”

“What do you think is goin’ on?” “Nothin’.” the brothers spoke in unison.

You turned your gaze hard at Mickey. He let silence hang in the air for a long beat before he spoke.

“Kev is lookin’ for a hand out. But what’s new?” Mickey scoffed. He planted a swift kiss to the crown of your head before he walked past the both of you to the kitchen.

“Hey, fuck you man! All I was asking for was help!” Kevin shot back, he turned quickly on his heel to face his brother.

“I can’t give you any fuckin’ help, Kev! Look what I got,” Mickey waved widley, “there ain’t shit here to give!”

“You could give me your contacts, I could start sellin’ the shit you have left from -”

“You aren’t taking my contacts and you’re not touching the shit I got from Georgia. That’s mine to do what I please with,” Mickey bellowed, yelling louder than you’d ever heard before, “I don’t need you fucking up the relationship I have with my clients, either.”

“Clients,” Kevin said in a mocking, posh accent, “their fucking drug addicts!”

“Yeah? And what the fuck are you, again?”

“What the fuck am I? What the fuck are you, man?”

The two had slowly begun to advance toward each other in their squabble, and now were only a pace apart. You knew if they were to get any closer, fists would be thrown. It wouldn’t be a good fight, neither boy had ever been good in physical altercations. The fight would likely consist of misthrown punches and cheap shot kicks, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want either to get hurt or take anything too far.

“That’s enough!” you shouted over their bickering, “Mick, c’mon. Come talk to me in the bedroom, please.”

Mickey’s angry expression faltered the moment he looked over Kevin’s shoulder at you, “Baby, I can handle this.”

“Mickey. Bedroom. Now.” you had already started to head that way, and Mickey knew if he wasn’t right behind you, he’d be in deep shit.

With a petulant sigh, he followed you down the hall to the bedroom and shut the door behind him when he entered. You had sat on the edge of the bed and Mickey found his place to slouch against the opposite wall.

“I can’t deal with him, baby. I can’t deal with his bullshit anymore,” he said, defeated.

“He’s your brother, Mick. You love him. And sometimes the people you love need more help than you do.”

“But that’s the thing, he needs so much more. He takes and he takes and he takes, and somehow, he still needs more. I can’t give him anything else. No one can. He’s more of a fuck up than I am, and that’s saying something,” Mickey puffed.

“You’re not a fuck up, Mick,” you frowned, your brows peaking with heartache.

Mickey gave you a pointed look, “I kinda am. You don’t gotta sugar coat it.”

You stood from the bed and crossed the short space between you two. When you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and nestled close to his chest. Mickey accepted your embrace easily and gratefully.

“You are not a fuck up, baby. You have a good job, you have a good life. You provide for me, for our little two person family. And you make me happier than I ever thought possible... you simply aren’t a fuck up because no man I love could be,” you smiled at the tail end of your sentence.

You propped your chin on his chest like you had minutes earlier and looked deep into his green eyes, both soft and brimming with adoration.

“I fucking love you so much, you know that?” he smiled, little crow's feet growing by his eyes as he did.

“I do. And I love you, too.”

Mickey sighed, relaxation soothing his muscles at the sound of your confession. He gently pressed your cheek back to his chest and reveled in the feeling of your body against his.

“But really, baby, what are we gonna do about Kev?” you asked after a moment of calm.

Mickey’s brows furrowed, the pressure behind them intense and blaring.

“He’s not our problems, baby. He’s an adult.”

“He is. But he’s also a sweet kid with a good heart, and he just needs some extra help. And I think we should try to help, at least the best we can.”

Mickey’s head made a thud as he collapsed to the wall behind him, “baby, we can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep bailing him out. We can’t keep bailing them out.”

The image of his parents popped behind his eyes, both fragile and gray and somehow even crueler than ever. He didn’t want to spend his life being their eternal whipping boy, cleaning up their messes when they couldn’t. And that included the mess they had made in his brother.

“This isn’t about them, alright? Fuck them, you know precisely what I think of your parents,” you frowned, and Mickey felt his heart pick up with pride at your protectiveness, “but you also know what I think about Kevin. He really is a good kid deep down. He’s talented. He just needs a little more support before he’s gonna feel comfortable jumping out on his own.”

“He still drives me fucking insane…” Mickey retorted.

“He’s your little brother, of course he does.”

“Baby, he really does. You have no idea how much that little shit gets under my skin.”

“Oh, c’mon! You love him! He’s like, sad, high, tattooed Big Bird,” you giggled as you heard a grumble vibrate in Mickey’s chest.

“Yeah? Well, then what am I?”

You pulled away from him once more, but only far enough to look him in the eyes.

“You’re like, strong, sexy, smart Big Bird,” you said, your voice a seductive purr as you placed a few chaste kisses to his jaw, “or Snuffleupagus.”

Mickey’s face twisted in confusion and slight disgust, “why?”

“Because he was always my favorite when I was a kid.”

And his expression instantly extinguished into one of warmth and tenderness. Emerald eyes bathing you in liquid love.

“You just never stop being cute, do you?” he grinned.

“Nope,” you said, letting the work pop from your lips.

He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and took a deep breath of your pheromones; your sun bathed skin and your sweet smelling hair. And as he let his lips stay perched on your skull, he realized that he would do anything for you, no matter the request. He had had this feeling many times before; of his overwhelming and striking devotion to you; though it never ceased to rattle his swelling heart in his chest, and remind him the exact reason he was put on this earth: to make you happy.

So, if you wanted him to try and help Kevin, then he would. It was the least he could do for all the happiness and love you brought to him.

But, if he was being honest with himself, there was always going to be a part of him that wanted to nurture his baby brother in any way he could.

Somewhere in his mind and his heart, Kevin would always be the small blushing bundle handed off to him in a dingy hospital room. It was one of his first formative memories, his little brother wrapped in a white blanket as his mother’s groggy eyes looked upon both of them. Mickey had never held a baby, let alone a newborn, and the tiny writhing creature looked very strange to him, red and angry and crying.

A month before Mickey’s mother would give birth to Kevin, their father had stormed out of the house, and by the time her water had broken he had still yet to turn. So pained and afraid, his mother had piled Mickey in the car after her and drove them both to the hospital. A cigarette in one hand, while her other gave the steering wheel a death grip. As she groaned with contractions and cursed at the traffic, she said something to him that he never forgot:

“You are the real man of the house, Mickey-honey,” she said in her graveled voice, “this little boy is always gonna look up to you. You gotta live up to that.”

And that message had bounced around between his ears as his mother, alone and in extraordinary agony, gave birth to his brother. Who as he had held him in his tiny spindly arms, Mickey knew that he would keep him safe forever. No matter what.

A part of that soul promise to his blood now seemed to be finding Kevin a job to keep him afloat. To keep him out of trouble and away from falling down the path their parents had. He honored past his past self in that moment, continuing on with the pledge to keep his brother safe.

“Fine,” Mickey muttered to your skin, “we’ll help ‘im.”

“Really?”

Mickey simply shrugged.

You moved your hands from where they had been secured behind his waist to come and cradle his cheeks, “you’re a good man, Mick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he played off, eyelids fluttering.

“The best man I know,” and you kissed him tenderly, the soft feeling of your lips electrifying him.

He hummed when you pulled away, but with more anguish than pleasure.

“Let’s get this over with,” Mickey said. He quickly untangled himself from you and exited the bedroom before you could even process your post kiss haze.

“Kev,” Mickey called, finding his brother laying down on the couch now, the television remote in his hand as he flipped channels, “get the fuck up.”

“Hey, woah, listen Mickey, alright? I’m sorry! I am, I’m sorry,” Kevin began, stammering nervously.

Mickey could tell that his brother was trying to save face. That he was trying to bargain for his help, and that he believed that Mickey was coming back to tell him to leave and never come back. But he didn’t stop him, Mickey thought Kevin deserved to squirm a bit.

“I know I’ve fucked up, like really fucked up over and over again. But I got this this time, ok? I’m like, I’m ready for, I don’t know, a fresh start. I’m ready to do better.”

Mickey simply crossed his arms as his brother stared up at him with heavy set brown eyes. They were flickering around the room, scared to look at his older brother who loomed over him. Mickey was sure he was searching for you, knowing he could always grovel at your feet for sympathy.

“Fuck! What am I supposed to say, stop being such a-“ but Kevin stopped himself before he finished, knowing it likely wasn’t smart to start name calling the person he was asking a favor of.

“No, no, continue. What am I being? Hm?” Mickey raised an eyebrow.

Kevin’s jaw tightened, “.... a really, good guy.”

His pained voice would have made Mickey laugh if he wasn’t wearing a stoic persona. It reminded him of when Kevin was forced to apologize as a child, their dad’s hand pulling up his ear as he spat out an apology.

“Imma ask around, alright? Been hearing about some landscape work a buddy of mine has been talking about. I’ll call you tomorrow.” he finally said, putting his anxious brother out of his misery.

“No shit?” Kevin asked with a suspicious lilt.

“No shit. And if you get the fuck out of my house in the next five seconds, I might even put in a good word for you.”

“Fuck,” Kevin exhaled, his body deflated like a balloon against the cushion, “you have no idea-“

“Nope, I don’t,” Mickey interjected, “and I don’t want to. Now fuck off, dude. My lady is home and I don’t need you here.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright!” Kevin said as he was shooed off the couch and to the door, “thank you, (Y/N/N), you hear me, babe?”

You heard the commotion from the bedroom and popped your head out to watch Mickey escorting Kevin out. Stripped down from your uniform and now bundled in a pair of Mickey’s thread bear sweatpants and his favorite Scorpions t-shirt.

“You look gorgeous, by the way! So good, does Mickey tell you enough?” Kevin had widened his gangly limbs in the door frame to keep his brother, who was shoving him quite hard, to stop him from leaving.

“He does, Kev. I promise,” you grinned at the brotherly exchange as they threw jabs at each other, “I’ll see you soon, honey.”

“Bye, (Y/N/N)!” was the last thing Kevin got out before Mickey slammed the door in his face, not worrying about if there were stray fingers left behind.

“That fucking kid…” Mickey said under his breath, locking the deadbolt with a resound click.

You pushed away from where you had leant against the wall and walked toward him, “my man… my sweet, strong man who has such a big heart and helps out his family.”

You plastered yourself to his back, bringing your hands down to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, “my man who provides for me,” you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, “for the people he loves,” one to his trap, “who is the best person I’ve ever known,” one to his neck.

Mickey whimpered under your ministrations, caught up in the whispered pleasure of your lips and nimble fingers that greedily took inventory of his torso.

“You’re really tryin’ to start something, huh?” he chuckled as you began to suck on his pulse point.

“And if I was?”

As soon as the last syllable left your mouth, Mickey had twisted around to take handfuls of your thighs to hitch you up around his waist.

You couldn’t hold in the excited giggle that bubbled from your chest as he marched you both back toward your room in quick succession. His long strides getting you both back between the sheets in no time. All thoughts of dropped sandwiches and burn holes and faulty equipment and pesky little brothers, gone. Now, there was only you, and that was just the way Mickey liked it.

if you follow me you know that i have been going through a major writing block and a creativity dry spell, so while i don’t think this is my best work, it is fun and silly and soft and nice to write (: if you enjoyed, i would really love it hear it <3 ‘til next time!

#mickey x reader #mickey villains #mickey villains x reader #mickey villains imagine #mickey villains imagines #mickey villains fanfic #mickey imagine #mickey imagines #mickey villains fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #stevesharrlngtonswrites

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gettin-a-lil-hanse · 4 years

Text

You Found Me - Chapter 3

Read it on AO3

Pairing: No pairing (but SeongJoong is involved)

Genre: Slight Fluff, Angst

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2k+

Summary: Wooyoung opens up about his past.

Tags: Kitty Hybrid! Wooyoung, Found Hybrid, Abandonment, Caring For a Kitten

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of death, mentions of scars (not related to self-harm), unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcoholism, mentions of homophobia, mentions of prostitution, mentions of sex trafficking (?)

A/N: This chapter will be much heavier than the last two, and I want you all to please read the trigger warnings, and please read with caution. Take care, take time if you need to.

The trip to the vet went as smoothly as any normal vet appointment is expected to go. (Vet? Doctor? Hongjoong really wasn’t sure what to call it.) Wooyoung was not very fond of the intimidating-looking doctors and acted accordingly. Honestly, Hongjoong was a bit surprised, seeing as the hybrid had taken a liking to the couple fairly quickly, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

Hongjoong stayed by Wooyoung’s side throughout the duration of the visit, providing him with the necessary level of comfort needed to get through the appointment. In the end, the vet deemed him healthy aside from slight malnourishment and some bruising. The vet also told the couple that hybrids coming in with scars like his were a pretty common occurrence as of late and that it was a clear sign of abuse, but Wooyoung tuned out of the conversation at that point.

From there, the three of them took a drive to the mall. Hongjoong insisted that they build the hybrid a brand new wardrobe consisted of the highest fashion, though Wooyoung tried to convince him that comfortable clothes are all that he needed. Seonghwa could only laugh, knowing deep down that he too was excited to finally get to dress someone that would (probably) cooperate and let him. Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s styles clashed quite a bit, so it was rare that they got to dress each other up.

Wooyoung quickly found out that he hated the mall. There were too many stores, too many displays, too many people. Everything was too much. The stores had bright, colorful signs, many of them flashing which was extremely distracting. Honestly, how was someone supposed to get through their shopping with everything like this? But that wasn’t even the worst thing. No, the worst thing was the staring. It seemed like, from the moment the three of them walked through the automatic glass doors, all eyes were on them. Wooyoung couldn’t tell if the eyes were on him or the couple, since they were so unabashedly affectionate with each other. Even Wooyoung knew that this side of town was known for being full of stuck-up, high-class rich people. As a matter of fact, all of the stores in the mall, as far as he could tell, were high-end and expensive-looking.

“Hey, Hongjoong? I thought that we were just getting clothes for me to wear around the apartment?”

“Sweetheart, we’re buying you clothes. It doesn’t really matter where you wear them.”

Hongjoong chuckled and pulled the hybrid into his side, making for a very awkward walking position which only drew more attention to them. Wooyoung leaned in close to whisper into his ear, eyebrows furrowing and creating crease lines on his forehead,

“People are staring…”

“People always stare.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“More like I’ve learned not to care. Those people don’t deserve my energy, let alone my emotions. It’s not easy, of course, but it’s better this way.”

Hongjoong turned to face the hybrid still tucked under his arm and for a moment—though it felt as if they moved in slow motion—Wooyoung forgot how to breathe. Wooyoung swore that Hongjoong poured glitter in his eyes. How else would they sparkle so much?

“Don’t let unworthy people take up your time and energy.”

“You know,” Seonghwa started, snapping Wooyoung out of the trance he didn’t realize that he was in, “Hongjoong taught me a lot. It’s cheesy, but he really did make me a better person, and he still does to this day.”

Hongjoong let out a soft laugh, loosening his grip on the hybrid’s shoulder to move his hand to his back.

“I have that effect on people, apparently.”

------

The shopping trip came and went without too much fuss—seeing as the hybrid wanted no more attention on him than there was already—and the boys filed into the apartment with armfuls of bags. Hongjoong, ever the chatterbox, kept the mood up and kept the conversation going. Hongjoong loved his days off and was in a very good mood. Now that they had an addition to the household—temporary as it may be—he cherished his time at home even more. So when he got a call from work saying that he needed to come in for an emergency meeting, he was visibly upset. The only bright side, he figured, was that Seonghwa and Wooyoung would be forced to spend some alone time together. He hoped that they would be a little less awkward by the time he got back home.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung sat in the guest room that they spent the afternoon cleaning and removing tags from, folding, or hanging up Wooyoung’s new clothes. There was a thick silence between them until Seonghwa decided that now was as good a time as any to try to get to know him.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

Wooyoung’s ears flicked as he looked up, a bit caught off-guard by the blunt statement.

“Well… what do you wanna know?”

Seonghwa shrugged with a slight smile playing on his lips, eyes cast down on the shirt he was so neatly folding.

“I mean, the more we know about you, the better.”

Wooyoung finished wrapping a jacket around the hanger and stood with a soft sigh, hanging the item up in the closet.

“Where do I even begin… As you probably already know, hybrids are created in labs by scientists and then sold to various facilities. From those facilities, we’re sold to buyers and I was sold to a nice young woman. She was my owner, but she hated addressing the relationship as such. She really cared for me and when she fell sick, I did the same for her. It got to the point where I spent every waking minute caring for her, but I didn’t think anything of it because she started to get better. So when she passed I was absolutely devastated.”

Seonghwa saw the shift in his face, grabbing his hand gently and pulling him to sit before he got too lost in his memory and broke down on the floor. To his surprise, the tears gathered but never fell, so he stayed quiet, allowing Wooyoung to continue.

“After she passed, I, along with her other possessions, was auctioned off to the highest bidder. The bidder that I was auctioned off to was an assistant for a man who ran a “hybrid home” which, news flash, was nothing like a home. It would be more accurate to call it a hybrid whore house.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, taking in a breath through his nose. He shouldn’t be so angry since Wooyoung was alive and well now, he thought, but something akin to rage began to bubble up in the pit of his stomach.

“To say that my life there was miserable is an understatement. We barely got an opportunity to look after our hygiene, they kept our schedules packed with clients, and when we weren’t busy with either of those things, we were probably being scolded for something. Nothing was ever good enough for The Master. Someone was always doing something wrong in his eyes and he made sure that we paid for it. That’s how I got to be so… beat up. I don’t know if you saw them, but I know for a fact that Hongjoong saw them when he bathed me…”

Wooyoung toyed with the hem of his shirt before lifting it up, revealing the fading bruises and various-sized scars lining his back and torso. Seonghwa’s eyes racked his body, tears of anger welling up in his eyes at the sight. But, again, he kept his feelings down.

“I… We have something to put on those scars that will help them heal. That is if you would like…”

His voice was unsteady and Wooyoung chanced a glance over at him. He could see him holding back, could see it in his eyes.

"You don't have to feel bad for me. I'm okay, see?"

"It's... It's not that, I just... I just wanna protect you at all costs even more now." Seonghwa let out a wet laugh, taking a deep breath to keep tears back. "You know, Hongjoong really is a healer of sorts. He saved me too. Although my conditions were nowhere near as bad as yours..."

Wooyoung's tail flickered in interest.

"Saved you how?"

"He saved me from myself. Before we started dating — no, before we met — I was in a bad place. My family, god I haven't spoken to him in years... They never accepted me for being bisexual, so they kicked me out of the house. I stayed with my girlfriend at the time while I tried to find my way."

Seonghwa stood, walking to his bedside drawer to grab ointment to coat his bruises.

"Why do you just have that by your bed—"

"Don't worry about that. Anyway, I was staying with my girlfriend and she wasn't... the best, you know? She made me feel lesser than I am, she treated me like shit, to say the least. I loved her nonetheless and took it all. I couldn't get myself to leave her, but it became unbearable to be at home. So I started hanging out elsewhere."

Seonghwa helped Wooyoung remove his shirt while he talked and began carefully tending to each individual bruise.

"Bars became my favorite place to hang out. I would stay out late drinking to the point where I almost lost control. It just overall wasn't a good time in my life. I wasn't happy; every day, simply existing felt more and more like a chore. That is probably the lowest I have ever felt in my life and I didn't think that there would be any coming up from there. I was drowning in bad thoughts."

Wooyoung could feel the emotion bubbling up in Seonghwa, could feel the pain.

"Hongjoong literally came like a light in my life and helped me get out of that dark place. I started to see him at the bar more often." Seonghwa smiled fondly to himself, hands moving gently over his skin. "He would come just to check up on me and talk to me. He kept me company, made sure I drank some water, made sure I got home okay. Then we started to hang out outside of my dark hours in the bar, and it got to the point where I didn't even need the bar anymore. Or alcohol anymore—not as much, anyway.

“Hongjoong was the one who helped me gain the courage to break up with my girlfriend. He helped pick up the broken pieces and he's kept me together ever since. So yes, he saved me. I appreciate him much more than I could ever say but don't tell him that. His ego is big enough as it is."

"Do you think you were meant to meet him?"

"Of course I do. If someone is up there watching over me, they definitely sent him to me."

Wooyoung nodded, thinking to himself for a moment.

"Hongjoong adores hybrids, you know? For the longest time, he's said that he wanted to adopt one, but I think that he is absolutely enamored by you. If you stay with us, you'll be taken care of, treated well. If not, he's gonna do everything in his power to get you somewhere where he knows that you'll be safe. He has a good heart, and I think he was meant to find you too."

"It's just... After all I've been through, it's a lot to think about, you know? I don't know if I can put myself in a position to trust someone like that again."

Seonghwa hummed and nodded in understanding, pulling away once he was finished to look up at him.

“I know it’s hard to trust anyone after so many people treated you wrong and let you down. I’m sorry that you had those experiences, but I believe that you will be able to open your heart again. Some day. You’re strong, you’ve already come so far.”

Seonghwa ended with a kind smile and moved to pass back the shirt he was wearing before pausing.

“Ah, would you like to put on your new pajamas? They’re much softer than these old things.”

Wooyoung thought for a moment before shaking his head and taking the shirt back from Seonghwa gently.

“I’ll… put those on later. After my shower? Before bed? I’m comfy in these now…”

Seonghwa didn’t push it and just smiled.

#8makes1teamnet #atzinc #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #chye’s writing #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez fics #seongjoong fics #seongjoong angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung angst

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starshine583 · 5 years

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Hooked On A Feeling

(Y'all I am like, high off of serotonin, you guys really like this fic that much?? Oh my word??? I can't believe how many notes and responses I am getting! Here's part 8 because you guys are so lovely that I can't possibly say no to giving you more)

Motorcycle Madness (This was part 7)

Marinette heard the roller coasters before she saw them. The rattling of the tracks and the giddy screams was a nice change from the crashing buildings and screams of terror that came from akuma attacks.

The Motorcycle rolled to a stop in the parking lot, and the two climbed off.

“So where did you rent this from?” Marinette asked, handing him his helmet.

“I didn’t.” Damian replied, hanging the helmet on the motorcycle handle and stashing the keys in his back pocket.

“Didn’t?”

“Didn’t rent it.”

Marinette blinked. “Wait, you own this?”

Damian tilted his head from side to side in a “sort of” gesture.

“It’s more of a ‘hand-me-down’, but yes.”

Marinette scoffed. Hand-me-down? This thing is in mint condition!

She ran her hand over the motorcycle in admiration.

“What’s this?”

Near the rear of the motorcycle, resting just underneath the seat, was a yellow R symbol that looked vaguely familiar. Hadn’t she seen it on Robin’s costume?

“Oh that?” Damian asked, following her gaze. “That’s just the brand symbol.”

“Brand symbol..” Marinette repeated under her breath. Why would a hero buy his costume from an ordinary store? What brand sells clothes and vehicles?

Strange..

“Are you ready to go?”

Marinette shook her head, pushing the thoughts to the side and glancing up at Damian with a smile. Robin was on their side, so there was no reason to wonder about simple things like coincidental brand symbols.

She straightened. “Yep! Ready to go when you are. What do you want to do first?”

“Doesn’t matter as long as we do it all.” He smirked, starting the walk into the amusement park.

Naturally, they started with the roller coasters. The spinning ones, the ones with loops, the ones that were so high that they lifted you off of your seat on the way down- they rode them all. Being a weekday, there weren’t as many people crowding the lines. That made it all the easier to ride the rides several times over again.

“Am I supposed to feel sick after a while?” Damian asked as they strolled to the next ride.

Marinette giggled and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve never been to an amusement park before, have you?”

“I have. Once or twice.” He admitted. “We didn’t get to ride any of the rides though.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. People don’t usually go to amusement parks, and then not ride anything.

“Why not?”

Damian’s gaze flicked to her, oddly distant for a moment.

Then he looked ahead again. “Stuff came up.”

A frown tugged at the corner of her lips. That was an extremely vague answer..

“Do you want to get some water? I’m kind of hungry anyway.” She asked next, directing him towards the food station. She supposed it was rude to pry. So they might as well change the subject.

He appeared to appreciate it, a small smile coming back to his lips along with his shoulders relaxing. “Water should be fine, but I’m hungry too. What food do they have here?”

Marinette snorted. “If you can call it food. They have Cotton Candy, Funnel Cake, Corn Dogs, Popcorn- mostly sugar that has a few extra ingredients to hold it together.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t want Cotton Candy. What was the other thing you said? Funnel Cake? What is that?”

She gave a blissful, dramatic sigh. “It’s heavenly. I’ll get some to share.”

They found a table near the stand, and Marinette got in line to order. A few minutes later, she gave Damian his water and set the plate of Funnel Cake between them.

“It’s hot, so be careful.” She warned, carefully breaking apart some of the pieces to cool it down faster.

Damian took the water bottle with a “thank you” and opened it.

She flashed him a smile, then picked up a small piece of the Funnel Cake.

“Here, try it.” Marinette said, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, giving her a look.

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Come on, you liked the lattes. Just try it, okay?”

Her smile widened when Damian sighed in resignation. He leaned forward and let her feed him the funnel cake. Marinette flushed from embarrassment as she hadn’t expected to feed it to him herself, but he didn’t seem to think much of it.

“S-so? Your thoughts?” She held back a cringe when she stuttered. Great. Is that how the rest of this night’s gonna go?

Damian hummed.

“It’s okay.”

Marinette shook her head. “You’re so picky.”

The boy scoffed, though his lips held a smile. “You’re allowed to be picky when you have the money for it.”

“True, true.” Marinette agreed.

She almost jumped when an alarm bell started ringing.

The two turned to see a little boy grinning from ear to ear and pointing out which toy he wanted from a game vendor.

“How do they stay in business?” Damian asked, watching the boy tightly hug his new, pink elephant. “The games are too easy to win.”

Marinette couldn’t help laughing. “Too easy to win? Most of those games are rigged for failure. The mom probably paid the vendor to get the stuffed animal.”

Damian gave her an incredulous look. “How? I could win those with my eyes closed.”

Her smile faltered. Is he being cocky or does he actually believe that?

“Why don’t we play them then?”

“What?”

Marinette’s smile returned, this time more sly. “Let’s play the games, if they’re so easy.”

Damian narrowed his gaze at her.

“If you want to.”

“Oh, I definitely want to.”

That’s how the competition began. Play each of the games together, and whoever wins the most, or has the highest scores combined, wins the whole competition.

The first game was ring toss. Damian’s accuracy with the rings was uncanny, Marinette found out. She managed to get one or two, but he was able to throw six at a time without a problem, each landing on a separate bottle.

“How are you that good at ring toss?” She asked. No wonder he thought all of these games were easy!

Damian shrugged. “Practice.”

Practice? Practice? What kind of things do you practice to get that good??

Next game was a water gun game where you shoot the target to raise your icon to a certain point. Marinette had the luck of getting a gun with better water pressure, so she won that round.

“That shouldn’t count! It was pure luck!” Damian protested.

Marinette flashed him a smile. “Miraculous Luck, I’d say. I’m totally counting it, though.”

Third game was Balloon and Dart. This was a close one, but Marinette and Damian ended up tying.

This continued for the next half hour with Marinette and Damian beating each other in different ways. By the time they finished, the sun had set, and the stars were glistening above them.

“What are we going to do with all of the prizes?” Damian asked once they finished the last game, holding up the handful of goods they’d won.

Marinette hummed, plucking a toy yo-yo off of the pile. There were definitely a lot of toys here that they didn’t need.

A soft gasp brought their attention to a little girl who was staring starry-eyed at the pile of toys in Damian’s hands.

The two exchanged a glance, before sharing a smile.

“You want one?” Marinette said sweetly, handing her the yo-yo.

The girl eagerly took it, slipping the string onto her fingers and attempting to swing it around.

“Guess we know what to do with them now.” Damian commented, already starting to hand out the rest of the toys to passing kids.

Marinette smiled, taking half the pile to help. The grins from the kids and appreciative looks from the mother warmed her heart.

“What do you want to do next?” Damian asked after they finished giving away the toys.

Marinette hummed, glancing around the theme park. They’d ridden all of the roller coasters, played all of the games..

“Oh! Let’s ride the Ferris Wheel!” She exclaimed. It’d be a perfect way to end the day!

Damian looked up at the attraction, a small smile crossing his lips. “After you.”

Marinette squealed, excitedly shifting from foot to foot before starting for the Ferris Wheel.

Because it was later in the day and school had long since let out, the amusement park was now packed with people. She could barely hear Damian telling her to slow down over the talking and laughing and screaming, nor did she register how many people she bumped into or squeezed past.

It wasn’t until she felt a light pull on her arm that she turned back around.

“You’re hard to keep up with in a crowd.” Damian said.

Marinette laughed, giving an apologetic smile. Then her eyes trailed to their hands.

Damian glanced down as well, and he started to pull his hand away from hers. “Sorry, I was trying to stay together.”

A blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheeks, and she giggled. He looked so uncertain. It was adorable, really.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Now it was Damian’s turn to blush, and oh, if that didn’t give her butterflies..

The line for the Ferris Wheel was a bit long, but Marinette felt it went faster with Damian’s hand in hers.

They were still holding hands as they got on the ride and as they got to the top. The stars littered the clear night sky, almost as bright as the shining lights lining the roller coasters.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Marinette breathed, completely absorbed in the inky blackness of the night.

She didn’t see the way Damian’s eyes softened, or how his eyes were only on her as he said, “Yeah. It is.”

Tag List: @thebookwormfairy @unholykrow @constancetruggle @vixen-uchiha @derpingrainbow @kceedraws @graduatedmelon @starry-bi-sky @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @sweatyruinsstudentbored @go-n-ef @tinybrie @resignedcatservant @never-neverland @captainmac6 @drama-queen-supreme @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @roseinbloom02 @grimmhallow31 @zazzlejazzle @crazylittlemunchkin @iggy-of-fans @origamieater @kiara-rose-blackthorn @spicybelladonna @redscarlet95 @mooshoon @t-nikki10 @auradonfairy @shamefulllove @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @johnlockfeelz @imfreakingmagical

#Daminette #Damian Wayne #Marinette #so sorry this took so long #writer's block hit me hard fam

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im-a-ramblr · 4 years

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Day 25, Resilience

(I know I skipped a day. I am writing day 24, it's just fighting tooth and nail against me.)

Rock was bellowing some words in a strange language, asking for a knife and ladder as he called for them in Althi moments later. Teft joined in, demanding bandages and salve. Bled, Moash, and Earless Jaks dashed past the door to the Barracks, likely to fetch the ladder and knife. Dunny knelt and gathered some fresh bandages. He snatched the small bottle that held the sticky ointment.

He hurried outside and around the Barracks, just barely stepping out of the way of the ladder. He followed after it, pausing before he got too close to guards. It wouldn’t do to have them try to ruin the bandages or break the salve jar. Rock took the ladder in one hand and proper it against the wall. Then he stepped out of the way to left Teft climb it.

Dunny let out a horrified gasp. Kaladin looked less like a person and more like a mauled animal. Blood and water dripped off him, and the little of his skin that wasn’t cut or bruised was pale. His chest was moving, sometimes in deep rattling breaths that shook his whole body, and sometimes with such small movements it was hard to tell if he was still alive. Dunny thought he might throw up when the horrifying sight vanished as Teft cut the rope and Rock caught him.

The large Horneater lowered him to the ground, waving Dunny over. “Come! I need those!” The youth stumbled forward, handing them to the large Horneater.

“Is he’s going to be okay?” He whispered.

“Of course he is.” Moash snapped. “He’s stronger than this. He’ll bounce back.”

~POV Change~

Rock tore off a sleeve of his ragged shirt and used it to dry the worst of Kaladin’s injuries. Teft slathered on the salve on the ones that Rock had finished. He barked for the others to start wrapping them. Rock dropped his wet and dirt rag and took a banded from Dunny. The poor boy was pale and shaking.

“Now is not time to panic,” Rock told him. “It is very tempting to, but we must not. Worry later. Here, you know how to wrap these?” He showed the youth how, and slowly the youth started to. Rock looked up and narrowed his eyes at the soldiers watching. “We need guards. Those soldiers, I do not like them. Bled and Moash stood up, from where they’d been sitting. They glared at the guards but didn’t do anything.

“We can’t fight them,” Moash muttered darkly.

“No.” Rock agreed. “But if they start moving this way, let me know. I will carry him back to Barracks if they try anything.”

“He really is stormblessed, isn’t he?” Bled asked softly, glancing down, before focusing on his task. Rock frowned, tying off a bandage. They were doing to need more. He glanced at the man’s face, which was in the best condition of everything. It looked young, so much younger than anyone really thought. It was hard to think of someone as durability as he was a child.

Dunny stood, and rock reached a hand out to steady him. “Get more bandages. And the others.” Earless Jaks moved to take Dunny’s spot, letting Teft check the bandages he’d done. Rock tied several strips of cloth together to wrap about the unconcise man’s chest. It takes a village to raise a child, he thought lifting the still from up. Hopefully, we will be enough to heal one.

~POV Change with timeskip~

Hobber sat next to the man who had saved his life, wishing he could do more. He hadn’t been able to help care for him after the storm, still too slow to make it to where the others had bound his wounds quickly enough. But he’d been building up his strength and would be able to run soon. That was good. He’d draw pay again, meaning they’d have just a little bit more money to spend on supplies. He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. Kaladin stirred but didn’t wake. That was good right? Hobber let his shoulders slump as he watched the man. It had only been two days but he was tired of waiting.

He knew logically that it was going to take time; he, himself, was just finishing up healing from a much smaller injury. But he wanted Kaladin to be better now. Even more, then he wanted to be healed. He glanced at the doorway as it darkened. Maps gave him a sad small smile. “Up you get. It’s my turn.”

“I can watch longer.” Hobber protested.

Maps rested a hand on his shoulder. “I know. But you need to get out and stretch. Build up your strength or something. I’m sure if he was awake he’d say something like that.” He nodded to their resting bridgeleader.

Hobber slowly stood, biting his lip. “I just feel- he sat with me when I hurt ya know? It feels wrong to just leave him. He’s done so much for me.”

“I get it. Trust me we all do, so let us help him too.”

Hobber nodded. “Okay. You’ll let us know if anything changes?”

“Crouse. Now scram.” Maps waved him off, and the gaped toothed man limped out.

~POV Change~

Maps sat down next to Kaladin and studied him critically. Teft and Rock had been having whispered meetings with him and Skar since they’d cut the youth down. Frantically pulled all their medical knowledge they’d decided to take over guarding Kaladin for now. While he didn’t see, to be doing worse they knew that was a very real possibility. They didn’t want the others to be caring for him if that happened.

Maps had been the first on the new rotation, so he’d be free to manage the rest of the crew if something did go wrong. He laid a hand on Kaladin’s forehead, wincing. On any other man, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but the brands there made him feel as though it was far more intimate than normal. It wasn’t as cold as it had been when they’d first brought him in, in fact it was almost feverish. That wasn’t good. He gathered the last few blankets that weren’t already being used to soften the floor or wrapped around the injured man. He layered them on top and glanced at the door.

He could hear Rock talking to the others. He was planning dinner, bless the man. There were a few strained laughs, though Maps didn’t hear anything funny. One of the others had portably said something, likely Lopen. The men piled into the barracks, and Maps raised an eyebrow. Before he could ask Teft called in a loud voice, “You heard the storming Horneater, get your vest and get out! We’re still on a practice schedule.” That hurried the men up, stopping the numerous side-eyes Maps and Kaladin had been getting.

“Teft.” Maps waved the grey-haired man over. He waited until the others had left and said in a low voice, “I think we might have a problem. He’s burning up.”

Teft paled and knelt down. He rested a hand on Kaladin’s forehead and swore softly. “That’s what we were worried about. Stay here and make sure he doesn’t get worse. And try to keep the men from finding out.”

“How in Roshar am I supposed to do that?” Maps demanded.

“I don’t know, distract them if they come back in. I’ll go see if I can’t bully someone in to tell us how to care for him like this.” He stood and hurried out. Maps sat, thoughts bouncing between his sleeping companion and how to distract the others. Rock had them busy for the moment but what about after? He couldn’t just let Rock do all the work.

That gave him an idea. Why not have all the men work to get Rock a present? It would keep them busy and give them something to look forward to. He’d suggest it when they all came back.

~POV Change with timeskip~

Drehy cursed as Moash ducked out from under the bridge. “What do you think you're doing?” He snapped, but it was lost as Rock shouted for them to put their burden down. Drehy pushed through the bridgemen, arms crossed. Moash was standing a few feet from the barracks, frozen. Drehy glanced that way to see what had caught his attention.

Kaladin stood in the doorway of the barracks, dressed only in his worn trousers. He wore his typical stone-faced expression, firm as ever. He cocked his head, “You really need to practice what to do if one of you trips or stumble, men. When Moash topped abruptly you all about fell over. That could be a disaster on the field.” Drehy gapped at him. Mind processing. How was this man up? How was he giving them critiques like he hadn’t just spent ten days at death's door? How was that his first thought?

Kaladin smiled, and the spell holding the men back from their stupidly resilience bridgeleader broke. They crowed him, laughing.

#flufftober2020 #stormlight archive #kaladin stormblessed #dunny #Lunamor #or #Rock #hobber #maps #Drehy #BRIDGE FOUR #Relila Writes

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booksanditsseriesormovies · 4 years

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GX Month Day 5

September 4th: “Pass The Salt”

No story is perfect. So what is something you wish you could have seen in the story of GX?

Oh boy where do I start

While I love GX there are quite a few things a would have done differently.

The case of Daichi Misawa

We are all more than familiar with Misawa and his fall from grace, from one of Judai’s potential top rivals, to a recurring joke even for the other characters (”Oh, Misawa, you’re here”). I get it, GX has a HUGE cast, like seriously huge. And we went from having 5 to 7 important characters in DM to around 15 in GX. Not everyone was going to survive the chopping block. Another victim of this was Hayato, but he was gone so soon (and with dignity) I didn’t really mind it. But Misawa’s case in S2 and S3 is just sad. I wish they could have done something better for him. At least he helped everyone get back from the other dimension and got Tanya in the end.

Johan vs Hell Kaiser Ryo

So, I don’t think I am the only one who thinks the duel between Ryo and Yubel (Possessing Johan) is one of the best if not the best in all of GX. It’s absolutely mind blowing.

But I think that the duel between Ryo and Johan in the first arc of S3 to bring everyone back from the other dimension is one that goes under a lot of people’s radars. Call me biased because Johan is my favorite GX character, but I was really digging that duel. Like even without Rainbow Dragon, Johan was putting up a serious fight against Ryo with the way he used the Crystal Beasts. So I am forever salty that they could never revisit this duel (vs actual Johan, not Yubel).

I get it, this duel served more as a preview for what was to come when we saw they would duel again. And Johan was barely in S4 and Ryo could hardly duel anymore given his heart condition. But for Ryo to have said that Johan had been the only one besides Judai to make him feel excited in a duel and who could have Judai’s unlimited potential...I think it would have been very very fun and exciting to watch, specially with Rainbow Dragon.

“Everyone’s dead....JUST KIDDING”

I know it’s a kids’ show, and it would have been extremely tough to follow another season without like 3/4 of the cast. But having everyone come back alive from the Hell Dimension felt like a bit of a cheap move that also makes some of Judai’s character development lose some significance.

So everything he went through from the moment his friend’s died (becoming the Supreme King out of pure helplessness and desire for revenge, then coming back from that with a terrible, terrible case of PTSD basically leaving him unable to duel, coming to terms with everything he had done and learning to use the strength of the Supreme King without letting it overtake him), it was all for nothing? Then all the people the Supreme King killed are alive and well?

It also takes merit from the other characters’ themselves and the circumstances of their deaths. Kenzan, Manjoume, Asuka and Fubuki being sacrificed, victims treated as collateral damage to create a super powerful card, right in front of a collapsing Judai as their hearts were corrupted too. Jim and O’Brien (the two most emotional deaths in S3 for me), who sacrificed themselves to bring Judai back and bury the Supreme King away. Edo, who sacrificed himself to try and save Echo (who gave her life away for someone who took advantage of her feelings), and Ryo, who even though he said was only looking for the ultimate opponent, tried until the last minute in the duel to separate Yubel and Johan. Hell, Ryo basically died twice (because of his heart failure and losing the duel), yet he survived.

As I said, I know the show would have been extremely hard to keep going. But it took away from the serious, dark story S3 was becoming. It takes away from Judai, and the ones who died because they all came back brand new.

Reincarnation

It’s not that I didn’t like it, Reincarnation is a trope that I LOVE. But in GX we literally got it dropped on us out of absolutely nowhere. We literally had no clue Judai could have had a past life and that’s where his story with Yubel came from.

Like idk, maybe some flashbacks or random shots of the Supreme King’s backstory (which wouldn’t make sense until we find out it’s Judai and would have made it pretty cool) would have made it better, IMO.

PTSD? Only Judai can relate

Another thing that I found weird was how quickly everyone got over what happened in the Hell Dimension except for Judai. We can see he is depressed and dealing with the aftermath of what S3 did to him. But what about everyone else? Weren’t they supposed to be in like a dimension of pain and suffering even if they were alive? I am glad so many main characters got their time to shine in S4, but, as we wrapped each story, a nod to what happened to them in S3 would have been nice. It’s all part of the process of growing up, too, learning to deal and cope with out most painful moments.

S4: “Overseas champions? I don’t know them”

Yeah, so given the HUGE (LIKE REALLY HUGE) role the Overseas Champions played in S3, barely seeing them in S4 was a bit of a whiplash. I am glad we got O’Brien dueling Mr. T and him playing with his mind with false memories was heartbreaking yet super interesting to watch. But we got literally no Jim and Karen, at all. The guy gave his life and his supernatural eye to try to bring Judai back. I had hoped we would have at least seen some of him in S4. We literally have no idea what the hell happened to Amon, my theory is that he stayed in that other dimension to build his perfect world and become its Monarch. But we literally have no clue about what became of him. And did Echo come back, too? Is she with Amon in the other dimension?

And then we have Johan. Considering Judai went to basically Hell to rescue him, I thought we would see a bit more of him in S4. Like at least bidding each other farewell? You know “Thanks for rescuing my soul from my card and saving me from your eternal guardian who was corrupted by evil and almost ended the Universe as we know it”? No? Okay then. I am so so glad we got him in that Battle Royale against Fujiwara tho, that kind of made up for it :)

Edo’s fate

From the start we know Edo is one of those characters that know they are fucking amazing at what they do and make a point of it. He is at the top of the food chain. The young pro duelist, talented beyond his years (for Pegasus to say he was just below Yugi, Kaiba and Joey?!), rich, refined, confident and a bit arrogant.

Then how is it that the last we see of him is receiving a direct attack from Ojama Yellow straight to the face? I know Manjoume was meant to win this duel, but it would have been great to see him summon Plasma and that Manjoume had summoned Armored Dragon, or maybe using the Ojamas with the Spell Cards to banish monsters from the field or to summon Ojama King. Like Edo didn’t even want to duel, it was all a scam from his former manager and they still made him go out like that :( I wanted a more epic goodbye duel for our Edo tbh.

Then again, I am biased because Edo is my second favorite character in GX.

Season 4 rushing

5D is very cool and all....BUT WHY DID THEY HAVE TO CUT GX SHORT FOR IT.

S4 is so obviously rushed and for me it Darkness was a bit of an underwhelming villain after the AMAZING villain that Yubel was for S3. Fujiwara just popped out of nowhere and we got no development of him in comparison to Yubel or even Saio (I won’t say that of Mr. Chairman because he literally popped out of nowhere in S1).

I just wished we had gotten a proper, full S4. More GX to fawn over.

Wow that was a lot of salt now I sound like I hater but I promise I love GX as much as Manjoume loves Asuka (lol).

#gxmonth2020 #yu gi oh gx #Yu-Gi-Oh!#i sound so salty omfg

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secret-engima · 5 years

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What's the Little Nox universe? Hi, I'm new and I found you through your HZD x FFXV crossover which has a too long for me to write in this ask. I know the barest minimum of FFXV -- let alone the FF universe on its which is close enough to zero -- but I started the game the other day because I'm almost done with HZD... and I stumble upon this Little Nox thing that is the cutest stuff ever even if I don't know half of what I should about FFXV or FF in general. Hence this ask XD

Hi! Welcome aboard my crazy! Can I just say real quick that I ... ADORE the fact that you found me through my crossover? That thing gets barely any reviews on my Ao3 and FF accounts so knowing someone reads it (and knows the HZD side of it) makes me smile.

Really quick, ineffective summary of FF: don’t worry about playing FFXV before anything else because all but a handful are stand-alone games. Final Fantasy is just a Brand and all Final Fantasy games thus share some world-building traits such as the name of currency (gil), the use of potions and phoenix downs, the existence of chocobos (think Giant Adorable Ridable Chickens), some flora and fauna and some reaccuring minor characters (there are two characters named Bigs and Wedge after the Star Wars pilots who always pop up SOMEWHERE in an FF game as something of a running gag/cameo for example). But when it comes to overarching PLOT and major characters, each game is a new thing unless it’s popular enough to spawn spin-offs (such as FF7′s expanded universe, which had several spin-off games and a movie).

Hopefully Non-Spoiler summary of FFXV: Evil Technological Empire of Evil offers a supposed peace treaty with the Magical Kingdom Of the Good Guys after about 100+ of intermittent war, with one of the conditions being that the MC, Prince Noctis, marries their Oracle Princess, Lunafreya. Insomnia (the magical kingdom of good guys) accepts the treaty because it’s that or continue to slowly loose ground to the empire’s superior technological might and thus four bros consisting of the Husband-to-Be, his buff bodyguard Gladio, his faithful Team Mom advisor Ignis, and his civilian photography loving friend Prompto head off on a road trip to go to a neutral city to get Noctis married.

OBVIOUSLY things go Sideways stupid fast because Evil Empire of Evil™.

Also no one dares travel at night because of a plague of creatures called daemons that are slowly getting stronger and eviler and more of a threat to the world. Noctis is going to have to Deal With This at some point but that falls under spoilers so if you haven’t already been horribly spoiled by my blog or want to AVOID spoilers than I shall stop there.

Also if you want to avoid spoilers ... read my blog with caution. I have tagged literally nothing as spoilers even though I talk about late game meta and lore A LOT because I honestly never expected to drag newbies into my fandom.

If you DON’T mind spoilers or are just curious, feel free to drop me an ask! Or read my blog, the spoilers are all in there somewhere. Anyway-

My Little Nox verse is ... sorta complicated? Okay so- I have a HUGE weakness for time-travel shenanigans, so I have multiple AUs for FFXV where Noctis (the MC) time-travels either alone, with his three bros, or with Ardyn who you may or may not have met yet depending on where you are in the game. ANYWAY, the AU where Noctis and Ardyn go back in time together is called Nox verse because Noctis can’t exactly parade around with the name of the young Crown Prince who ALSO exists. Since Noctis is terrible at thinking up cover names and needs something similar enough to his old name that he’ll respond, he calls himself Nox.

Now, in Nox verse Prime, Nox is 7 years older than his non-time-travel counterpart, which leads everyone to believe that Nox is a royal Oops baby from back when his dad was traveling the world. Because Nox and Ardyn travel together and Nox is always jokingly calling him Uncle, everyone thinks that Ardyn is Nox’s mother’s brother who is taking care of the teenling Oops Prince. They later get discovered by Regis, who takes in his son and ... sort of brother-in-law.

Of course, SOMEBODY yote the brilliant idea of an AU of my AU where instead of coming back in time OLDER than his counterpart, Nox was YOUNGER. Way younger. So young that his body couldn’t handle his adult magic/memories and so he kinda mentally regressed to a kid, even if he still has his adult memories in something of a dreamlike state. Ardyn, who never once took a childcare class or raised a kid, promptly panic-rampages his way across the local timeline, trying to figure out how to CARE FOR SMOL CHILD and ends up making everyone believe that the Evil Empire of Evil attempted to clone the royal good guy family and that the teeny clone is Nox. Regis, upon discovering a supposed clone child, immediately takes him in and raises him as his own because Regis is the Dadliest Dad to Ever Dad (his official in-game Epithet is the Father I’m not even joking).

Being a sucker for Fluff and Drama that I am, I immediately took the idea and ran with it, thus spawning the Little Nox verse spinoff of my Nox verse.

I ... hope that ramble was helpful?

#SE asks #spectrumcrovn asks #Little Nox verse #Nox verse #Secret Engima Rambles #ffxv #final fantasy

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leonaesque · 4 years

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Poetic Injustice: On Ateneo and Negotiating Complicity

To be a successful comprador is an art. Tony Tan Caktiong knows this. Given the scale at which multinational corporations influence Philippine culture, at this point, who are we to refute it? And how? Profit-seeking forces itself on us; to be recognized. Every mass-produced item of clothing featuring the pattern of an ever-smiling billion-dollar bee is indication enough: Art is execution. In fact, being the recipient of foreign capital requires deliberate hands able to maintain thousands upon thousands of labor-only contractual workers, despite their having worked at the same establishment for years on end. These workers produce what no middleman can. Yet a company will still view being bought-out by an industry giant as the ideal exit strategy. Each moving part makes for one striking image of monopoly– worthy, one might insist, of being featured in a gallery.

Jollibee Foods Corporations (JFC) acquires stakes or ownership of restaurant chains in order to expand, as it has done over the course of many years with local and foreign brands. Their current roster includes Greenwich, Chowking, Red Ribbon, Mang Inasal, Burger King PH, The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and Panda Express PH. The company also runs businesses internationally, such as Smashburgers in the United States, and Yonghe Dawang or Yonghe King in China.[1] Of course, the face of this massive undertaking remains the once tiny Magnolia-inspired ice cream store, Jollibee, now every business-oriented insect’s wet dream.

Ernesto Tanmiantong, brother and successor of Tony Tan Caktiong as Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of Jollibee Foods Corporation, is the latest former Chairperson of the Ateneo de Manila University Board of Trustees.[2] One can even find his name, along with his wife’s, gracing a first-floor exhibit hall of the Ateneo Art Gallery, found inside the university’s so-called creative hub, the Arete. In the months before the start of the first semester of S.Y. 2018-2019, Tanmiantong’s adorable, marketing-committee-approved buddy in white gloves and a chef’s hat took a trip to the then-newly inaugurated art gallery for a photo-op. The mascot then posed with several installments and paintings, a couple of which depicted farmers and workers.

According to the Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE), JFC is one of the most notorious businesses with regards to the perpetuation of the practice of contractualization.[3] Contractual workers are, according to law, not employed by– and, therefore, not the responsibility of– the company they provide labor to. Because of this, these workers do not receive benefits or compensation, are often subject to abusive working conditions, and are vulnerable to the shameless practice of mass termination. No doubt, the Public Relations stunt with the Ateneo Art Gallery was ill-timed; right at the height of protests against the corporation, in the midst of its non-compliance with the DOLE’s order to regularize upwards of 6,000 of its workers– there was Jollibee: tone-deaf and taking pictures to post on his Facebook profile, The Atenean Way.

Ironically, as the statement by Ateneo’s School of Humanities Sanggunian (which condemned the incident) pointed out, perhaps even the person inside that oversized blinking head of the Jollibee mascot was a contractual worker, posing in a space that he might never have been able to enter without the cartoon-bee-mask of his exploitation.[4] Surely, it does not matter whether or not the institutional faux pas was an intentional case of art-washing. At least, it should not. Is there such a thing as art for art for art’s sake?

---

There is this poem entitled “The Doomed” written by Mikael De Lara Co. A friend of mine recommended it to me once after a workshop session because my piece, he said, reminded him of it. I do not think my friend meant to insult me. Unless he did.

“The Doomed” is a poem about writing a poem, wherein the poet-persona is aware that, while he is writing poems about lilies, there is violence somewhere, which he is both physically and socially detached from. This violence is manifest into the shooting of Liberal Party supporter and candidate, Hamira Agcong, in 2010, as well as the infamous Ampatuan Massacre that occurred in 2009, where 58 people were kidnapped and killed.

Where do poems fall under in the realm of social praxis (if at all)? “The Doomed” ends with the lines “I want to find beauty in suffering. / I want to fail.” Yet, the poem’s aestheticization of the murders via tone and imagery is blatant. The declarative rejection of an ideal like beauty or portraying beauty betrays the poet’s pretentiousness in what can only be his underlying conservativity. There is no attempt to avoid it. With lines like “You sit at your desk / to write a poem about lilies and a clip of 9mm’s / is emptied into the chest of a mother…” and “… a backhoe in Ampatuan crushes the spines of 57 / – I am trying to find another word for bodies”, it sounds as though these killings are more poetic material than actual, politically motivated deaths. Tell me, is the reader to blame for reading what is on the page? Mikael De Lara Co fails in failing, making the poem and its project a useless endeavor.

Despite the pointedly crafted grief into the persona’s voice, “The Doomed” does nothing to grieve the circumstances which brings about its dramatic situation. Why are people “doomed”, if not for the bureaucrat capitalists that viciously plot to stay in power? Could the poet not have addressed that, instead of weeping about his writing process? I do not believe that the poem would have failed that, at least, because all language inevitably fails in the face of social reality. That would be lazy, if it were not bullshit.

But I suppose that is why “The Doomed” fails, most of all: The poet believes it is fine to write speeches for a leader who allowed farmers and indigenous people to be harassed, as long as they could be tagged as members of the New People’s Army, the armed faction of the Communist Party of the Philippines. A text speaks, though the words are not on the page. So, the poet dooms.

Mikael De Lara Co has won many awards for his writing and translations, including the prestige-inducing Don Carlos Palanca Award for Literature. He graduated BS Environmental Science from Ateneo de Manila University, where he was once an editor of Heights, the school’s official literary publication. He has been published in many other magazines, literary journals, and the like, where his author’s notes proudly indicate all these accomplishments and more, such as having, himself, worked for the Liberal Party and once been a member of the former President Benigno Aquino III’s staff under the Presidential Communications Operations Office. Ergo, ghostwriter, alongside a number of other Ateneans who were also once part of Heights.

“Noynoy Aquino was a fascist” is a phrase that does not get said often enough. The Aquino administration, with its neoliberal policies the color of dehydrated piss, is credited with the starving thousands of farmers to death. Unsurprising, I suppose, for a family of landlords to inherit a disdain for the very hands that feed them. Corazon Cojuanco Aquino passed the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP) during her regime, and her son amended it with an extension and reforms (CARPer), making it even easier for land owners not to have to redistribute their lands at all.

For all its “Kayo ang boss ko” and “Daang Matuwid” pandering, the Aquino administration did not skimp on its counterinsurgency program, Oplan Bayanihan, which heavily drew from the U.S. Counterinsurgency Guide.[5] Here, it was farmers and Lumad, some of the most vulnerable sectors of Philippine society, that were tagged as rebels, terrorists, communists, etc., simply for knowing and standing for their rights, as the government failed to decimate actual armed revolutionaries in the countryside.

The massacre that took place under the Aquino administration occurred in Kidapawan, Cotabato on April 1, 2016. According to reports, among the group of 6,000 protesters that was mainly composed of farmers and activists, 116 were injured, 87 went missing, and 3 were killed.[6] Perhaps the lilies in “The Doomed” were a metaphor for De Lara Co’s beloved Noynoy.

---

Speaking of Ateneo: For an institution that makes yearly claims to combat historical revisionism and uphold the memory of the victims of human rights violations under the Martial Law era, this university loves to slurp on major Marcos ass. In 2014, President Fr. Jose Ramon Villarin, SJ drew flack for having rubbed elbows with the iron butterfly herself, Imelda Marcos, at an Ateneo scholars’ benefactors’ event.[7] The mere thought of Imelda posing as a charitable, bloated cockroach in a wig that feasts on all that is lavish and garish, while the university welcomes her to do so is nearly comical. I imagine the blood.

In 2019, a similar incident ensued[8], this time with Imelda’s daughter, Irene, whose art connoisseur lifestyle she lives second-hand. It was during the inauguration of the Arete’s amphitheater, named after Ignacio B. Jimenez, a crony of the corrupt family themselves.[9] Community backlash forced the building’s executive director, Yael Buencamino, to resign and for University President, Fr. Jose Ramon Villarin, SJ to issue a statement in response to the instance.

Yet, despite the triumph of Ateneans in demanding accountability for having the Marcoses at our literal and metaphorical dining table, there are also the Camposes, the Consunjis, the Lorenzos, and other local elite whose hands are stained with generational blood, that have established their presence in the campus with no near hopes of showing them out. Students could also be as loud as they pleased about the violations on workers’, farmers’, and national minorities’ rights that these families are frequently attached to, with only the answer of a warning that school organizations may lose sponsorship opportunities. What else can we expect? Of course, the names that line the halls that one studies in are the limits of academic freedom.

---

A few semesters ago, I wrote a poem to be workshopped by my co-English staffers in Heights as part of our membership retention requirements. It was not a good poem, I know. It was about my experience of integrating with the striking workers of Sumifru, a multinational Japanese company that produces fruit, whose union was called NAMASUFA (Nagkahiusang Mamumuo sa Suyapa Farm). After struggling to get word out of their plight and facing violent dispersals and harassment, 200 workers came all the way from Compostela Valley to Metro Manila via boat and plane, despite the difficulties of travel due to the imposition of Martial Law throughout Mindanao. Their objective was to pressure the DOLE and its Secretary, Silvestre Bello III, into action; that is, to be firm in enforcing Sumifru’s compliance to regularize their workers, which the company refused to do even though the DOLE had legally recognized them as their workers’ employer. The workers set up camp in various places, such as Mendiola, Liwasang Bonifacio, and beside the Commission on Human Rights inside the University of the Philippines Diliman campus, and often welcomed students who came to learn about their cause.

During the workshop, the discussion began with a silence and an awkward laugh. Political realism was how my poem was diagnosed, for obvious reasons. However, the main critique that I remember was that my use of language– the words multinational corporation and bureaucrat capitalists, in particular– did not induce the feeling of the struggle that the workers went through. It was not the language workers used or would use. I refuted this claim, saying I had talked to the workers. That this is exactly what they say. No, it is not poetic. It is real.

I agree, though, with the verdict that my poem was not good, if the basis were form. I agree because I do not think poems need to be good to say what is needed. If the basis were factors other than form, I still do not think the poem is good. I mean, either way, it does not change the fact that, ultimately, I only wrote a poem for a workshop, despite any intention of bringing awareness to NAMASUFA. Is a poem going to save them their jobs? Does that make a difference? Did it make a difference?

The Sumifru workers returned to Mindanao last July, 2019. I have left Heights as well.

---

Within the Ateneo campus, a tarpaulin overlooks the red brick road that the entire Loyola Schools population traverses. The sign merits a purposeful, impossible-to-miss position on the old Rizal Library building, immortalizing the critique: “We find the Ateneo today irrelevant to the Philippine situation because it can do no more than to service the power elite.” Nothing could be more fitting, in my opinion. The Ateneo de Manila University’s commitment to performativity deserves to be blasted in our faces, if at least once a day.

This declaration was taken from the “Down from the Hill” manifesto published by The Guidon in November of 1968. The manifesto was written by a group of five students, namely Jose Luis Alcuaz, Gerardo Esguerra, Emmanuel Lacaba, Leonardo Montemayor and Alfredo Salanga, all of whom actively campaigned for an anti-imperialist orientation to nationalism.

I want to talk about Eman Lacaba. Throughout the Marcos regime, he was a student activist– a radical, so to speak, as disapproving administrative bodies might now label him. Presently, he is known for being a poet, revolutionary, guerilla, and a martyr during the Martial Law era. One of his most often discussed poems is “An Open Letter to Filipino Artists”, a piece that finds itself into syllabi like a de-fanged snake. The poem is a detailing of his experience as a cadre of the New People’s Army; the provinces he visits, his process of proletarianizing from a burgis boy to a communist rebel, and so forth. The epigraph of the work, a quote from Ho Chi Minh, affirms his praxis– “A poet must learn how to lead an attack.” The poem is the revolution that Lacaba takes up arms for. I guess now that he is dead, Ateneans can wholeheartedly claim him as one of their own.

After the Martial Law era, Ateneo decided to create a body dedicated to the integration of its students with various disenfranchised sectors of society, as encouragement for their middle to upper-middle class youth to become more socially aware and active. The Office of Social Concern and Involvement (OSCI) is the current iteration of this. Their programs, from first year to fourth, require students to be socially involved enough to pass their Theology units. Commendable, no? Still. You can almost get sanctioned for so much as lighting candles for state-murdered farmers on the sidewalk by the gates outside of campus if it is not an Office of Student Activities-approved event– something I learned the hard way. I was not aware that bureaucracy was a key principle in Catholic Social Teaching.

So, does this mean the opposite of active non-violence is that which is inactively violent? The areas that OSCI allows their students to immerse in are carefully chosen, the interactions are prepared for in advance. In fact, they do not want to use the term “immerse” lest they be misconstrued with the damn leftists that climb mountains and “brainwash” unsuspecting poor people. You know, the ones that dare challenge the status-quo? Ateneo, or at the very least, its administration, will recognize the necessity of political action, but only to a certain extent. Nothing like Eman, the warrior-poet, whose militance is much too red to aestheticize.

The contradiction between what is said (marketed, poeticized, apologized for, etc.) and what is done should be scrutinized, instead of convincing ourselves that our interests are not merely our own. The dominant culture of a society will expose who supports those who hold political and economic power.

[1] Cigaral (List: Brands operated by Jollibee Foods Corp.)

[2] (Leadership)

[3] Patinio (Jollibee tops list of firms engaged in labor-only contracting: DOLE)

[4] SOH Sanggunian (The Statement of the SOH Sanggunian on Jollibee's PR Stunt)

[5] Karapatan (OPLAN BAYANIHAN For Beginners)

[6] Caparas (WITH VIDEOS: 3 dead, 87 missing, 116 hurt as police fire on Cotabato human barricade)

[7] Francisco (Ateneo de Manila 'sorry' over Imelda's visit)

[8] Paris (Irene Marcos was invited to Ateneo, and students are up in arms)

[9] Rappler.com (Ateneo hit for art ampitheater named after Marcos 'dummy')

Works Cited

Caparas, Jeff. “WITH VIDEOS: 3 Dead, 87 Missing, 116 Hurt as Police Fire on Cotabato Human Barricade.” InterAksyon.com, 1 Apr. 2016, web.archive.org/web/20160402013745/interaksyon.com/article/125901/breaking--security-forces-open-fire-on-cotabato-human-barricade.

Cigaral, Ian Nicolas. “List: Brands Operated by Jollibee Foods Corp.” Philstar.com, The Philippine Star, 24 July 2019, www.philstar.com/business/2019/07/24/1937490/list-brands-operated-jollibee-foods-corp.

Francisco, Katerina. “Ateneo De Manila 'Sorry' over Imelda's Visit.” Rappler, 6 July 2014, www.rappler.com/nation/62549-ateneo-manila-imelda-marcos-apology.

Karapatan (Alliance for the Advancement of People’s Rights). OPLAN BAYANIHAN For Beginners, Karapatan, 2011.

“Leadership.” Leadership | Ateneo Global, global.ateneo.edu/about/leadership.

Paris, Janella. “Irene Marcos Was Invited to Ateneo, and Students Are up in Arms.” Rappler, 8 Apr. 2019, www.rappler.com/nation/227702-irene-marcos-invited-to-ateneo-students-protest-april-2019.

Patinio, Ferdinand. “Jollibee Tops List of Firms Engaged in Labor-Only Contracting: DOLE.” Philippine News Agency RSS, Philippine News Agency, 28 May 2018, www.pna.gov.ph/articles/1036679.

Rappler.com. “Ateneo Hit for Art Ampitheater Named after Marcos 'Dummy'.” Rappler, 21 Apr. 2019, www.rappler.com/nation/228633-ateneo-ignacio-gimenez-ampitheater-marcos-dummy.

“SOH Sanggunian.” SOH Sanggunian - The Statement of the SOH Sanggunian on..., 2 July 2018, www.facebook.com/sohsanggu/photos/a.157891440898864/1893103380710986/?type=3.

#mine #nonfic #essay

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thepilotanon · 5 years

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Prelude (epilogue)

{masterlist}

warning: mention of war/death.

As expected from a serious character, such as her husband, creating a systematic plan to begin rebuilding the First Order under his rule was going smoothly, much to everyone’s surprise.

Taris was a planet with one sun and two moons, not much of a popular planet hidden within the Outer Rim Territories, but a golden location for the First Order. The planet itself hid an underground academy for officers and future soldiers to hit the high ranks, construction sites and shipyards that aimed to rebuild any kind of military ship to pristine conditions to make it look brand new whenever necessary. So, it was no surprise that, once the Supremacy docked in their reserved lots, that there was a major difference within the few day cycles from the damage done in the Crait system. The large gash of exposed parts of the Supremacy were now sealed and placed under tents for confidential construction - any damages panels and vital rooms were already cleaned and looking brand new with shiny new screens, buttons and sparkling floors.

Taris, on the outside, didn’t look very attractive or would hold civilized parties, but what they do for the military party that they support was the same as serving royalty.

It was even nice of the mechanics and prime minister of Taris to allow higher-ranked officials on the Supremacy to remain onboard, being more comfortable in their own quarters (that weren’t as damaged as originally thought). It was enough to try and house every single stormtrooper, officer, soldier, mechanic and everyone stationed aboard nearby the shipyards, much less make sure all those who were injured from the battle in the Crait System had enough attention and medical services with such short notice. Nova did make sure that she and Kylo (and Hux, using a rather convincing voice and reason) visited the makeshift med-units on Taris and let the stormtroopers know that their new Supreme Leader cared for the ones’ values and efforts that those who serve for his cause. Kylo was willing to admit how refreshing and uplifting it felt to sense how the injured did appreciate their visits and having (very, very little) small talk.

‘Still,’ Nova thought with a fond smile, placing her fallen rock and a couple of Kylo’s scrolls back on their shared shelf, ‘it’s the thought and effort that counts, and he did a good job.’

“I wouldn’t count on doing a good job,” the familiar voice and feel of her husband’s hands slipping around her, pulling her back to his naked chest. “It was you who did the most talking to them.”

Leaning her head back to smile up at him, Nova was rewarded a kiss to her forehead. “You still did a good job. You could tell that they appreciated you visiting them. Remember how many thought how Snoke never did anything like that, and how long they’ve been in service?”

“Mmm.”

Going quiet, Nova turned around in her husband’s arms and pressed her palms to his chest. Kissing between his pectorals and then going on her toes, Nova pressed against his heartbeat and kissed his jaw, bumping her nose against him lovingly while his arms around her tightened to a hug. A soft sigh slipped from him as he mouthed back at her pulse, fingers tangled in her hair, making her shiver in delight and happiness at his affectionate behavior. She really missed being with him and being able to touch him and be with him face-to-face. He was warm and strong, and she missed being able to feel protected and small with him.

She felt safe and loved.

“Will you show me?” he whispered soft, so softly that she thought he was speaking more to himself than to her.

Taking a deep breath, Nova looked down between them while she allowed Kylo to go through her wall, remaining in a physical state with him and held on to him as he straightened up. The hand on the back of her head carefully pulled her face to his chest and Nova willingly hid where his heart was, trying to focus more on her husband than on the memory that still irked her.

“If you are receiving this message from me, as of now, it means that I am dead.”

Kylo stroked Nova’s hair slowly, comfortingly while he focused on the memory of Nova’s past-self appearing emotionless to the hologram, but could feel the immense confusion and panic coming from within his wife. Even now, with her in his arms, he could sense the stress of reliving the memory for him to see, just from the sound of Snoke’s voice. Kylo took a moment to look down to check on her, give the top of her head a reassuring kiss to remind her that he was here with her, all while still listening to the recording. He wanted to ensure that his wife was alright, no matter what. To him, she always came first.

“This is my last Will and Testament, and I expect you, especially for all I’ve done for you, to fulfill my wishes. I am giving the role and title of Supreme Leader to you, as my last order.”

Snapping his gaze up just in time to see Nova use her abilities to destroy the holo-table with a simple blink, her face twisting and twitching with all her negative emotions overflowing from within. Her fears for those she knew and for her husband and how scared she was while the memory dissipated before him, returning them into their quarters.

Carefully pulling back and keeping a hold on her shoulders, Kylo knelt down to her height to see her looking off into nowhere, eyes filled to the brim with unshedding tears. He felt how upset she was, prompting her to never hide her true emotions from him, if she could help it, and held her face with both hands. Once she blinked hard enough for tears to fall, he was gentle to swipe the tracks away with his fingers. His thumbs traced the shape of her cheeks adoringly, having her meet his gaze once she composed herself.

“I don’t ever want that title,” she confessed to him, her voice thick and filled with bitterness directed towards the deceased predecessor of the First Order. “I can’t do it. I don’t want it.”

“I know,” Kylo responded, nodding and keeping her tears from falling down her face. “I know, I understand. You don’t need to take it.”

“Why would he ever want me to take his place? He knows I never wanted to become someone like that. Thinking I never had morals or beliefs, then just make me into something like him.” Nova sniffed and used her hands and wrists to try and wipe away the soreness of her eyes and incoming snot from her nose.

“He made it that I always belonged to him, in the end,” Nova told him, looking down again in shame. “It didn’t matter that I wasn’t… To him, I was still a slave - I was his slave.”

“No, you’re not. You never were his slave, Nova.” Kylo was firm and serious when he told her this, yet she still shook in his hold. He was careful to tilt her tearful eyes up to his and he kept their gaze locked, leaning down and speaking to her, hoping she could understand.

“Nova,” his voice making her skin suddenly burn, “I want you to listen to me, please. He’s dead. I killed him. He no longer has any control of you or me, because I killed him and he is dead now. You saw my memory, didn’t you?”

She nodded, sniffling, as best as she could with her face in his hands squishing her cheeks. “Yes,” she told him.

“Did you know what was going through my mind when I readied to strike him?” he asked her, voice quiet and gentle. All just for his wife. “The whole time, seeming to focus on Snoke and Rey deciding my fate for their own betterment. They claim that they know what my future is suppose to be, but they were all wrong - with everything. Rey thought I would go to her side of war; Snoke thought I would remain his dutiful, obedient student for the rest of my life...and I proved them all wrong.

“All that I could think about - all I cared about was seeing you smile and being alive with me. I didn’t care about Snoke. I didn’t care about Rey. None of them mattered, only you.” Leaning his forehead to lightly touch hers, Kylo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Just you. You and I on a new planet you’ve never heard of, on a beach. You see a creature or find a shell, giving me the brightest, most happiest of smiles that makes my chest fill with joy and peace. Just us, no war, no First Order or Resistance hassling the galaxy...all is at peace, and we’re both happy.”

Opening his eyes and leaning back straight, Kylo stroked the curve of her cheek with the back of his fingers, so, so gentle.

“I’m going to make sure that comes true, Nova, not matter what it takes,” he whispered. “I’ll sacrifice myself to make sure you’re happy, if I must, because you deserve that.”

Sniffing, Nova leaned her face into his palm and let her tears fall in a sort of relief in his hold, holding his forearm with both hands. Kylo cradled her face and wrapped his other arm around her to keep her close to him, kissing the tears away just as careful. Keeping her close, he pressed his lips and nose to her hair and kept comforting her, feeling his own anger and hatred to the deceased Master dissipate once Nova nuzzled closer to him, her own sadness disappearing due to how warm and comforting he was.

“I’ll take the title,” he told her gently. “I’ll take it, and rule far better than he could ever have. As long as you’re with me, I can’t ask for anything else as I build a better, safer galaxy for you to live in with me.

“Think of it as being my guide to being the better Supreme Leader, my love.” Nova tilt her head up to look at him curiously, him keeping her close to feel his heartbeat. “You keep me grounded to what is most important. I don’t want to be the leader he was, how unhappy he made you… You won’t be the Supreme Leader, as you wish, but...please, all I ask is for you to be my support, my own queen that can show me how to rule accordingly, and justly.”

Nova blinked when he gazed at her with her own ideas. “A better galaxy, where we can be on the beach together,” she suggested with a small smile, an encouraging one. “And, everyone else can be happy, too, with no war going on, and we can all get along.”

“Is that what you want to happen, at the end of the war? Even with the Resistance, after what they’ve done to us?” Kylo sniffed a bit at her suggestion. “After they’ve killed Phasma, and many other ‘troopers and officers. Of all the struggle and pain you went through in mourning for your fallen friends, Nova…”

Her smile grew more soft, eyes understanding, as she nuzzled into his jaw. “Let the past die,” she said, “for me? There can’t be a future without moving on from the past, Kylo, just when you know that the future is going to be so much better.”

Kylo blinked slowly, taking a long, deep breath before leaning against her. His arms wrapped tightly around her, keeping her close as he pushed his nose and lips into her hair, just under her ear, kissing the spot softly.

Simply giving in, after seeing her point.

“You are right.”

Fun Fact: Taris is a SW canon planet that was in control of the Empire.

taglist: @ayatimascd @ymariejp @yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker460@formerly-anonhamster @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd@imyourdreamwife @kyloxfem @goth-pigeon @renthusiast

#pilotanonwrites #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #preludekylofic #reader insert #oc/reader insert

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sam-not-samantha · 5 years

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[ SAMANTHA ‘SAM’ BLACKWOOD. 25. SHE/HER ] is here! They've lived in Silver Lake for [ 3 WEEKS ] and is originally from [ NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK ]. They are a [ JUNIOR EDITOR AT VOGUE ], and in their downtime loves [ TAROT ] and [ PLAYING MIND GAMES WITH DRUNKEN FOOLS ]. They look a lot like [ EMMA ROBERTS ] and lives [ ON SILVERWOOD TERRACE ].

FULL BIO: x

Full Name: Samantha Elizabeth Blackwood Nickname(s): Sam Age: 25 years Date of Birth: February 5, 1995, 7:18 AM Astrological Sign: Aquarius (Aries moon, Aquarius rising) Birthplace: New York, New York, USA Sexual Orientation: Girl who cares Relationship Status: Single Myers-Briggs Personality: ENFP Religion: Atheist Occupation: Junior editor at Vogue magazine, full-time fashion maven

Height: 5'2" Weight: 110 lbs Shoe Size: 6 Eye Color: Hazel Hair Color: Naturally brunette | Dyed blonde Build: Thin Voice: Like a bitching siren Dominant Hand: Right Scar(s): Thin line above left knee from childhood fall Distinguishing Marks: White ink heart tattoo on left shoulder blade | Parents’ initials (A/E) on her thumbs Allergies: Bad taste (and Michael Kors) Alcohol Tolerance: Extremely high

Skills: Classically piano trained, innate eye for style, literate and almost too well-read, just shy of fluent in French, excellent drink maker, decent cook (not counting use of the microwave)

Good Habits: Never heard of it

Bad Habits: Substance use, literally everything she does

Hobbies: Reading novels, sketching, composing outfit ideas, frightening the elderly, unnerving and harassing others

Likes: The smell of rain on pavement, Desperate Housewives, the vibration of a text notification, every designer you can name (though especially partial to Mugler & Zac Posen), Naomi Campbell, weed, cocaine, alcohol, the feeling when you wake up before your alarm

Dislikes: Her parents (RIP), police, not getting her way, heels that are under 4 inches in height, pretty much everyone on the planet, overcooked steak, her own emotional state

Turn Ons: Mild choking, wicked smiles, strong arms

Turn Offs: Sexual/romantic inexperience, “Netflix and chill?”, being reduced to a sex object

Fears: Uselessness, the distance between Brandy Norwood’s eyes, wrinkles, her mother

Comforts: Substance abuse, live music, sitting on a rooftop, knowing that she manifested her own destiny by killing her mother

Alignment: Neutral evil

FAVORITES:

Food: Crème brûlée | Lobster Bisque | Pizza Drink: Prosecco Snack: Bruschetta Color: Black Season: Autumn Memory: Killing her mother Book: Vladimir Nabokov's ‘Demons’ Band: The Cure Song: Madonna - “Easy Ride”

Though Samantha’s occupancy is based in New York, where Vogue’s headquarters is, she was essentially sent to Los Angeles “to garner field experience in the world of modeling” (essentially exiled by her superiors due to an overzealous nature in the office). She may work remotely, but as far as she’s concerned, she’s barely employed while here. She thought her stay here was supposed to be temporary, so bear with her as she realizes this might be home for a while.

Born in NYC, her parents (Andrew & Eliza) were the typical brand of generous but detached, though Eliza was a special type of cruel and ultra-critical. Andrew would eventually become a New York senator, but both were caught in a fire that left Andrew dead and Eliza in critical condition, though Sam would soon pull the plug on Eliza while she was in critical care (which still hasn’t gotten back to her, miraculously).

She ran a fashion blog named Tartorial (tart + sartorial) starting in middle school and well through high school. It gained some traction, giving her a minor following and eventually helping get her a position at her current work.

Even though she studies fashion, she has a deep interest in human psychology as observed through more “natural” circumstances, e.g. how people behave at funerals, why people still don’t know how to navigate stairwells, or what it takes for someone to go against their own rules. Her favorite pastime is treating parties like social experiments, since there’s never a shortage of material at them (”It’s like hedonism with a side of free reality TV,” she might say). Come her way if you’re looking for Daria-lite commentary on the increasingly depraved state of humanity.

In that vein, I never know if she’s going to spend a party skulking in a corner and observing, or if she’ll be at the front and center of whatever debauchery is occurring. Both are equally likely, but the quickest way to get on her good side is to offer a joint.

#slintro #greetings one and all #this is sam and i am robertson #she's a character i played with years ago elsewhere but it's about time i dug her bag up #be nice to me but please be mean to her she probably deserves it #stats #bio #headcanon

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 12

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,311 for this chapter (53,098 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The last time that Dan was alone with his mum for longer than a few minutes at a time over Christmas, their conversation had felt awkward and stilted. All of the things they had to say to each other lingered right below the surface, sharpening the edges of the conversation in a way neither of them knew how to acknowledge.

That's what Dan expects this lunch to be like. He thinks he's prepared for every option of what his mum might say to him, carefully building up the familiar walls in case he needs them, but.

She arrives late with apologies on her lips and Colin in her arms, frazzled as always, and it's almost comforting to Dan that she hasn't gotten any more punctual since he moved out. That's something they share that used to drive his dad up the wall. Maybe it still does. Dan wouldn't know. The only reason he's on time is that he came straight from work to nab a table at the dog-friendly brunch place that Yelp insists is good, and he's been happily dog-watching since he sat down.

"Sorry, sorry, hi," his mum is saying, dropping Colin on Dan's lap without warning. "Traffic was a bloody mess."

"That's alright," Dan says, but the words are coming out on autopilot. He scratches Colin's fuzzy head and blinks back the wetness that threatens to well up behind his eyes.

It's been a good few months since he'd last seen Colin, and he's as cute as ever. Dan can bet that the collar is brand new, though - the vertical stripes on it are narrow and the hues are garish, but there's no doubt about what it is.

"It's nice, yeah?" his mum asks as she sits across from them, clearly noticing Dan's preoccupation. "I hope I grabbed the right one."

Dan swallows around the growing lump in his throat and lets his fingers brush over the bright rainbow around Colin's neck, making sure it's there and real. It's a gesture that he didn't expect, and one he has no idea how to deal with. He keeps petting Colin absently and meets his mum's eyes.

"It's perfect," he tells her. "Suits him."

"Suits you," she counters lightly. She gives him a soft, sad sort of smile. "Caught you on the telly yesterday. I haven't seen you look this happy in a long time, bear."

Oh, fuck. Dan is not going to cry, not surrounded by dogs and strangers in this weirdly bougie restaurant in Chelsea. He wipes hurriedly at his eyes and feels a rush of gratitude when his mum pretends she hasn't seen, looks down at the menu.

He hadn't expected this. He doesn't know why, since he'd thought about a million and one ways that this lunch could be awkward or painful, but he somehow never thought she'd be so... supportive.

And maybe that's not fair of him. His mum had supported him when he'd dropped out of school, when he'd bought a one-way ticket with his shitty Asda paychecks, when he came home from drinking in the park at three in the morning with a split lip. She hasn't been perfect by any means, and because of that Dan has always assumed that her support was conditional even if her love was not.

Vividly, he remembers the way she'd cheer on the sidelines of any game he or Adrian played - although Adrian had wanted to play, the absolute freak - and how embarrassed he'd felt at the time, hot under the collar from the attention.

"I am happy," Dan tells her. They are both looking at their menus now, one of his hands shaking on Colin's back. "I'm - it feels good to be honest with myself and with you guys."

"With yourself?" his mum asks, her voice softer than he's heard it since he was a child. "Oh, Daniel. You didn't know?"

That's not something he really wants to get into with her, but Dan understands why she's asking. He's almost thirty years old. She'd probably just thought he was keeping it from her, not smothering his own wants for fifteen years. "No, like. I knew. But I didn't want to know. It's not like it's been fucking easy, has it? So I just. Pretended it wasn't there as best as I could, and. I've been pretending for a really long time, mum."

There's more to it, but she doesn't need to know any of that. Dan doesn't want to sit there and tell his mother how much he'd hated himself, how unsafe he'd felt at school and home and out with his 'friends', how there had been a point where he didn't want to live at all if he had to be gay.

Dan had definitely come a long way in the decade or so since then, but he'd done that by keeping a box of feelings locked up tight and ignoring the voice in his head that reminded him how much he wanted men.

Now, he feels... okay. He's going to be okay.

His mum's hand covers his on the table, the size difference between them almost comical.

"I love you," she says. "Blimey, I can't even imagine. I'm so glad you told me, Daniel. I feel like... like we don't really know each other that well."

Maybe a week ago, that might have gotten Dan's back up against the wall. And whose fault is that? he thinks but doesn't sneer, because his mum had put a rainbow collar on Colin and keeps saying she loves him. He can fight past the automatic defensiveness.

Dan runs a hand over Colin to calm himself back down, smiling when Colin licks his hand. Eventually, he feels like he can respond to her without snapping something he'd regret later. "That's true."

Luckily, their waiter stops by their table with three waters - two in glasses, one in a bowl - and effectively startles Dan and his mum out of the very serious conversation they'd decided to have in a public place. The conversation moves on to their jobs, Adrian's various adventures, and how good of a boy Colin is. Dan remembers to ask after his grandparents and his mum snorts into her vegan pancakes at one of his jokes, so. It's all going suspiciously well.

They even have the waiter take a photo of the three of them, which is surreal to Dan. He's not used to this, to wanting to have a physical reminder of any time he's spent with his family, but they're having such a nice start to the afternoon.

There are moments where Dan can feel the gap more deeply, though. Stories that carefully don't include his father. Questions she asks that he doesn't know the answer to.

It gets to a point, boiling up inside of Dan, that he has to ask before he explodes.

"Mum," he says, quiet. They're nearly done eating, which means that if this goes badly Dan can easily hug his mum goodbye and go take comfort in Phil's lap. "Did you... did you tell Dad about my text?"

He's nervous to look at her when he asks, but he's glad that he didn't try to hide. The anger that flashes across her face for a split second is so vindicating that Dan can't even imagine how differently he'd feel about his mother if he'd never seen that.

"I did," she says shortly.

There's a beat. "I suppose you're going to tell me that he'll come around and he loves me?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything of the sort," his mum says. Dan is desperate to look away now, doesn't like seeing that disapproving twist of her mouth even if it isn't directed at him. "You're both grown men and can make your own decisions. I made mine, that's all I can do."

Dan swallows hard and gives Colin a nibble on his bacon so he has an excuse to break eye contact with her. "Adrian's fine with it."

"Well, of course he is. And of course I am too, Daniel, because even if I had some issue with gay people - which I don't," she stresses the words like she's trying to convince Dan, "one of my best friends is a lesbian, she's a lovely woman - I would still prioritize my son who I love over any of that prejudicial nonsense. It takes a very special kind of person to think that anything about their child is worth not speaking to them."

Ten, fifteen years ago, Dan had been convinced that everyone in his life would hate him for this part of him that he kept under wraps. He hated himself, why would other people be any different?

And maybe that could have been the case back then, before society started to get its shit together a little bit and 'gay' stopped being synonymous with 'bad'. There's no way to know for sure, and he supposes it doesn't really matter. That's not the timeline he lives in.

Dan chances a glance at his mum, who is idly folding her napkin into various floppy origami shapes like she needs to be doing something with her hands.

The question sticks in his throat, but Dan forces it out anyway. His mum has said a lot of nice things that he's going to cry about when he's alone, but he needs to know how far that extends.

"And... am I still invited to Christmas?"

His mum blinks up at him, looking a bit startled. "Of course you're still coming to Christmas. My home is your home and always will be, don't be stupid. If your father wants to put his own selfish arse over his sons, then he can be the one to fuck off. We don't need him to have a good holiday."

Dan buries his face in Colin's fur and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, letting the gratitude and grief wash over him.

Out of every scenario he'd pictured, Dan never even thought to hope for this kind of unconditional acceptance. He knows that they still have a long way to go, that he and his mum will always have things they can't say to each other and that Adrian will never be his best friend, but. They're trying. All three of them are trying to navigate this so that they can be a bit closer, know each other better, and that's a start.

The park isn't far, but Dan's mum insists on driving so she doesn't have to walk back and get her car later. Dan hates how much he relates to that.

An old CD blares over the car's shitty speakers, knocking Dan back into childhood the way few things can. Some indie punk bullshit from the 90s that he still somehow knows all the words to. They both sing along to it and his mum scream-laughs when Colin barks, coincidentally in rhythm with the drums.

Dan is having fun with his mum, a concept that is so foreign to him he's half convinced it's a sleep-deprived hallucination, and he almost forgets to text Phil that they're on their way.

Ok! We're already here, Thor insisted lmao, Phil sends back immediately, and Dan feels a little bad that he hasn't been keeping Phil updated all morning. Still, he supposes, he was working and then dealing with family bullshit, so he supposes that Phil will understand.

They park a little ways down the road and Dan feels odd in the sudden quiet of the car. The things they don't talk about seem to fill the space between them, creeping in as the nostalgia fades.

"Mum," he says, and she pauses in the midst of opening her door. "I... thank you, for this. It means a lot to me that you came today."

"Of course," his mum says like it really is that obvious.

"You might see more of me soon, if you'd like to," Dan tells her, putting Colin on his lead so he doesn't have to make eye contact. "I'm thinking about moving to London."

"Oh, Daniel, that's wonderful," she says, warm, and Dan's heart hurts so fucking much. Their relationship has always been a bit complicated, strained, but he's willing to make an effort if she is.

He gives her a small smile and gets out of the car with Colin, the sincerity in her voice suddenly too much to handle in such a small space. While they walk, he chats to Colin about how nice the park is and how there are a lot of new friends for him to play with. He likes to think that Colin's tail wags faster at the information.

The sound of the gate opening makes a bunch of dogs look over, the way it always does, and Thor starts bounding toward Dan as fast as his stubby legs can carry him.

"Thor, you can't just - oh, Dan!"

Phil stops chasing after Thor and just approaches them at a regular pace, grinning.

"Don't worry, he's not making an escape," Dan laughs, crouching down to greet Thor and holding tight to Colin's lead just in case.

Thor licks at Dan's free hand and then sniffs at Colin, who seems chill with it. He's such a calm dog, Dan loves him so much. Dan is so busy overseeing this introduction that he nearly misses the humans above him introducing themselves to each other.

"Hi, I'm Phil, and this is Thor! You must be Mrs. Howell."

Dan's mum pulls a face, and for a terrifying second Dan thinks she was all talk after all, that she really does care now that she's faced with a man, but she just says, "Not hardly. Call me Karen or call me nothing."

The problem, of course, is that Phil is predictable. Dan knows the joke is coming a split second before he brightly says, "Nice to meet you, Nothing."

Thankfully, his mum laughs.

"Cheeky. This young man here is Colin."

Phil crouches down too, his eyes meeting Dan's for a brief, nervous moment before he's holding out his hand for Colin to shake. Colin, the very good boy he is, sits down and shakes paw.

"And very nice to meet you," Phil says solemnly. Dan had no idea his heart could fit any more of Phil in it, but it swells three sizes like the fucking Grinch. Dan's sure it's written all over his face, but he doesn't need to hide that from anyone here. He's allowed to be obviously smitten over his boyfriend. "I've heard so much about you."

It's all far too genuine for Dan, suddenly, this whole thing, so he snorts and unhooks Colin from the lead.

"You're such a dork," he tells Phil as they both stand, the dogs chasing each other around now that they've both been released. Phil just shrugs and grins, hands in his pockets.

He looks nice in his buttoned shirt, short sleeves showing off his arms and a headache-inducing print enough to make Dan ridiculously fond, but he also looks a bit anxious. Dan knows the feeling.

"Wanna sit?" he asks his mum, gesturing to a picnic table. She rolls her eyes.

"I've been sitting all morning, Daniel," she says lightly. "I think I can handle craning my neck to look at you lot."

Quick getaway, Dan's depression gremlin shouts. She doesn't want to be here, she's just acting nice because she's afraid you're on a ledge, just like Adrian was, none of them actually accept you or want you to be around...

It always gets harder to shut up the less he's slept, so Dan has to ride the wave of self-hatred until Phil smiles down at his mum and starts making easy conversation.

Phil is so good at this part. He's not relaxed, Dan can tell by the set of his shoulders and the awkward way his hands are sticking out of his jean pockets, but some combination of radio training and natural charm make him seem like nothing is more thrilling than hearing about Dan's mum's drive to the city.

Dan isn't good at this part. He tunes out a bit and starts taking photos and videos of the dogs whenever they come close enough. They're fast friends, and Dan likes the idea of orchestrating puppy playdates when he lives here.

He zones back in when he hears his name, blinking over at them like he's fallen asleep standing up.

"What?" he bleats.

"We weren't talking to you," Phil informs him, his lips twitching.

"You're talking about me, then?"

They exchange an amused, exasperated sort of look. Dan suddenly isn't very sure at all that this was a good idea. Of course Dan's mum likes Phil, it's impossible not to like Phil. Now they're just going to gang up on him all the bloody time.

Even in Dan's own mind he can't pretend like that's a bad thing.

"I was just saying," Dan's mum says, "that I wanted to thank Phil for bringing you back to England. I know you've been talking about doing it for years, kid, but you do tend to put things off."

"Like I said, Karen," Phil says with a level of familiarity that Dan isn't sure how to feel about. It's just the way the Lesters act, but it isn't the way the Howells are. It's strange to watch his mum try and keep up with the vibe of a man who's talking like he's known her his whole life. "It's really nothing to do with me."

"Oh, bollocks," his mum says. Dan laughs.

There's still so much he and his mum don't know about each other, things they need to reconnect on, but that doesn't mean it isn't obvious to anyone with eyes that Dan's plan is only changing right now because of Phil coming into his life.

"Well, can you blame me?" he jokes, some of the knot in his chest easing. She really doesn't mind, does she? Not the way he thought she would.

"Not at all," she says, and Phil ducks his head with a stupidly shy sort of smile. Dan wants to kiss it off his face.

Colin trudges up to them then, panting and whining a bit, and they all coo nonsense at him. He's always so lazy and chilled out over Christmas, Dan bets he doesn't do the zoomies with super excitable dogs very often.

"Seems like Colin's done for the day," says Dan. He leashes Colin and hands the lead to his mum. "It was really nice to see you both. Like, really. I had fun."

"No need to sound so surprised about it," his mum says dryly. They aren't huggers, really, not unless some traumatic shit is going down, so it doesn't surprise Dan when she just blows him a kiss goodbye. "Hopefully I'll see you both soon, yeah? Don't be strangers."

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Phil. He shifts closer to Dan, their shoulders knocking lightly together.

"Love you, mum," Dan says, because he feels like he has to after everything, and because it's the truth. She smiles up at him, so warm that something in Dan settles into place.

"Love you too, honey. It was really nice to meet you, Phil."

"Likewise," says Phil. He bumps into Dan again as they watch her and Colin walk away, the solidity of his shoulder keeping Dan grounded. Dan has had a very long, very emotionally taxing day, and that small bit of contact makes the stress of it all seep out of him at once. "You okay, Dan?"

The sleepless night is catching up with Dan, now that the anxiety is dissipating, and all he wants to do is melt into Phil's chest and take a long nap.

"I'm very okay," he says, surprised by how much he means it. "Let's go home, yeah?"

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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dantecampanas · 5 years

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hello all, i’m pepper and i have never been on time for anything, ever, in my life dsjksdkj, but i am literally so much later than usual though, i am so sorry y’all but to make up for my tardiness under the cut is some stuff about this mess, dante. it’s messed up ride so i hope you enjoy? also, like this if you want to plot and i’ll literally come sprinting okay.

BIO ; tl;dr basically craig kielburger, but make it dark

to start here is Dante’s pinterest board.

and here is a song that reminds me of him so much it may as well be his anthem but also this other song because i wrote his app to it basically, it reminds me a lot of him, more the vibe than the actual lyrics but still.

okay so Dante’s family is kind of inspired by the Quinns (from ‘You’ on Netflix), the Castillos (from How to Get Away with Murder) and like Henry Goulding’s family in Crazy Rich Asians.

Dante Isaac Campana was brought into the world in Madrid, Spain with a silver spoon dangling out of his mouth. You’d never guess from looking at him, what with his hobo chic style and generally unkempt appearance but it’s the truth. He came in this world out of a well paid surrogate as the second child of the famous Sofia and Gabriel Campana, and he wanted for nothing because for it. His parents made sure of that.

Gabriel was a CEO and Sofia was a wildly successful author, and from the moment Dante could breathe his parents had his whole life set up for him. After all they wanted their son to be successful and they planned to make sure of it. A hefty trust fund in his name, to be accessible at the age of eighteen. A place in the family business that he would fill the moment he finished university. They even had an arrangement for who Dante would marry eventually, before he was even old enough to understand what the concept of marriage was. It was all planned out for Dante without the slightest bit of input from Dante himself, and Dante was just supposed to accept that. The funny thing is, at first, he did.

After all he was young, and he had no reason not to. He loved his parents deeply, passionately, but honestly, that was how Dante loved anything. One of his very first memories of his life is of his grandmother. They used to feed the ducks together when he was a child. Dante would throw whole loaves of bread into the water and his grandmother would always laugh and laugh until there were tears building at the corners of her wrinkled eyes. And one day, the day of the memory in question, Dante remembers her sitting him on her knee, smoothing back his wild curls and telling him that he was born with a heart too big for his body. A heart too big for this family. Dante was too young to know what it meant at the time, but it stuck with him. And by the time he was old enough to understand it, he knew she was right.

The truth is the Campanas were cold. Dante for the most part was an anomaly. Because while his parents probably did love him in return, they had an odd way of showing it. Cold hands pressed to warm cheeks, thin smiles of approval that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Never the words ‘i love you’, or ‘i’m proud of you’, or ‘i believe in you’, but instead the heavy feeling of expectation. If you wanted love, you had to earn it. If you wanted them to be proud of you, you had to do something to make them proud. Not be a person to make them proud, no. You had to do something.

So when Dante was twelve years old he did. Not on purpose mind you. Dante wasn’t even thinking of his parents in his pursuit, only of others. You see, when Dante was twelve years old he, mostly accidentally, started a non profit. I say accidentally because that wasn’t really what Dante was setting out to do. Honestly, it all started when he met a homeless teenager not much older than him, sat beside them on the little street corner they begged on, and was struck by the overwhelming, gnawing need to help. To make things better. To protect them, because no one else was doing it. It started with Dante rallying up the children at his private school, and later those children’s parents, and later those children’s grandparents. Or maybe it really started when Dante climbed up on the stage one school assembly, took the mic from their principal’s hands and gave an impromptu speech on the cause. No, to be honest, it really started when someone recorded that speech and put it on YouTube. Because the moment that speech went viral, so did Dante and his charity.

Even today if you look up Dante Campana you will be assaulted by a myriad of articles and photos of young Dante giving impassioned lectures to interviewers, to audiences, to millions of people over livestream. It was just something that Dante was passionate about that became much bigger than he intended, but he didn’t mind. He was helping people. He used the money that the charity brought in to build youth shelters, and food banks, and rehabilitation centers, all for homeless kids. It was everything he wanted.

And for once, his parents were proud. They loved him. They didn’t say it, but Dante knew it from the way they looked at him. Like he was their pride and joy. (Later, he would look back on that look. It would strike him as disturbingly too close to how one might look at a shiny new trophy, and he would never be able to look at his parents the same way again.)

Dante only became aware of how conditional his parents love for them was when his elder sister started to slip under the pressure they put on her shoulders. Anya Campana was about sixteen at the time, and Dante, three years her younger, had to watch as his sister crumbled. Anya had always cared too much about what their parents thought of her, about impressing them and making them proud. It didn’t help that her parents made it clear that they would not accept anything less than excellence from her, their first born. Anya was supposed to be their champion. The head of the family once their father was gone. The pressure of it all drove Anya to the edge. At first the edge was just adderall. Later cocaine, just to take the edge off, just to make things easier. To help her focus. Dante remembers catching her in the act. Remembers her crying. Remembers being shocked still, and just staring and staring as his perfect sister literally fell apart at his feet.

It wasn’t long until the weight of their parents expectations had drove Anya to a full on addiction, all in the pursuit of their favour. But of course, when Dante’s parents found out about Anya’s problem, they had no sympathy for her. Only disappointment. That ‘slip up’ cost Anya her role. She could no longer be the head of the family if her resolve was that weak; instead the position would fall to Dante, and Anya would be sent quietly, and shamefully, to rehab. it was an eye opening experience for Dante, honestly. To see just how replaceable their parents saw them.

The Campanas brand of cold was also fake. Plastic. Sure, they smiled in the public eye and the relationship between the siblings at least was genuine, but the truth was Gabriel was cheating on Sofia when he thought no one was looking (Dante was. A story for another time), and Sofia had openly slapped each of her children across the face at least once, usually when she got a bit too much wine in her. The older Dante got the more and more he felt his love for his parents becoming more of an obligation than anything tangible. Something cold and plastic itself. And he despised it.

When Dante was fifteen, just after Anya’s second stint in rehab, he and his sister were spending the day together to catch up. All they wanted to do was get ice cream together, talk a bit. But those plans were foiled when a black indistinct car rolled up beside them, and before Anya and Dante could even put up much of a fight, they were both blindfolded and tied up in the back of the car. It honestly shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was considering the Campanas were easily the wealthiest family in Spain. But the kidnapping was traumatic and shocking to Dante, especially because of course all these men wanted was money.

Their kidnappers called his father with every intention to get said money within the day. They asked him for one billion dollars for each child, which was a lot of money, but not an amount that the Campanas didn’t have, or couldn’t get access to if need be. But it was then that Dante got the second big shock of his life. His father refused to pay. Dante remembers his blood running cold at the statement heard over the speaker. He remembers his sister crying. He remembers the kidnapper shoving the phone into his face, demanding he beg his father otherwise. To convince him to love him enough to pay for his life. Dante remembers crying so much it hurt. Before that day he didn’t know that was possible.

The kidnappers gave their father a deadline. He had a full twenty four hours to get the money, or they would be killing one of his children. Their father agreed, and so Dante and Anya were left in the hands of their kidnappers for a full day. Dante still hasn’t properly talked to anyone about what happened during that time, and he’s not even sure he can. Honestly, looking back, the memories of it all are all a blur. Like even his hindsight is blurred with his tears.

The hour came and their father was called. He was asked for the money and told that if he didn’t pay it, his daughter would be shot. Once again, he refused. Dante can remember the gut wrenching sound Anya made at the news. It was at the chilling mid point between a sob and a scream. He can remember crying himself, but trying to comfort her as much as he could with his arms tied behind his back. And because he was touching her, he can remember the exact moment Anya flinched from the gunshot fired into her stomach. He can remember the warmth of her blood over his skin.

Dante can’t remember much after that. It’s like his mind filmed that day with a fish eye lens and half a roll of film. All blur, until it cuts out. More blur, and then it cuts out. The next thing he properly remembers is being in a hospital bed for shock. He remembers seeing his parents there. And he remembers being filled with a hatred more consuming than anything he ever felt before. Apparently he lunged at his father in a moment of rage. He doesn’t remember it, but enough doctors attested to it for Dante to find himself with a semi permanent place in mandated therapy. Well, due to that specific moment and, you know. The circumstances.

Dante learned that day that to his father, he and his sister were of different value. Dante was worth more than Anya. He didn’t mess up as much, or quite as publicly, and with everything with his charity, the media loved him. He was smart, and charismatic, and maybe he was a bit sensitive, but he could grow out of that. If they lost Anya, so what? They had Dante. He would lead the family to greatness.

And Dante did. After an abundance of therapy of course, well, during an abundance of therapy. Despite it all, somehow Dante didn’t buckle under the pressure. He took some time off from school, but once he got back to it his grades were the same as ever. He spent some time away from his charity, but once he was ready, he threw himself back into it with a single minded focus. He made a foundation for Anya, his sister. His world. And then he moved on. Came back stronger. At least in the public eye.

Privately, Dante was furious, and disgusted, and grieving. His sister, his confidante and likely one of the two people in his life to love him unconditionally, was gone. And she was never coming back. And Dante would never, ever be the same. He remembers attending Anya’s funeral. Seeing everyone cloaked in the colour she always hated, crying over her and telling lies about how much they adored her. He remembers his mother saying how proud she was of her daughter. He remembers his father saying how much he loved her. And he remembers feeling nothing. He remembers getting up on stage, drunk, and numb, and he remembers looking hard at them all. He vaguely remembers telling them all to fuck themselves, but after that? The film cuts out.

Dante spent a lot of time leaning on his friends then. Hiding from the sharks that were the paparazzi. Dante’s pain was like a healing wound, and they were drawn to it like the animals they were. Picked at to see if they could get him to bleed again. How are you coping, Dante? Will you be testifying in the court case, Dante? How much do you miss Anya, Dante? There is footage of Dante ripping a paparazzo's camera straight out of their hands and throwing it at them. Or at least there was. His father got rid of it before it could truly make it to the press, and the paparazzo, well, he walked away with three new stitches in his eyebrow and a significantly heavier wallet. Dante, for his part, walked away empty.

The truth was, now Dante was plastic. The bleeding heart that he once was now sadly hollow. He played the part though. And he played it well. To the world Dante was the golden boy. Any mistakes or slip ups were covered up neatly by his father, or his mother, or both. And the legend of Dante Campana, child philanthropist, and hero lived on. Y’see, Dante’s mother wrote a book about the whole experience, and took some creative liberties. In the novel, Dante tried to save his sister. Fought his captors. Held her hand as she bled out. As sick as it is, Dante read it, hoping it might jog some of his memories from the whole incident. It didn’t, but it could have been true for all Dante knew. Didn’t make him hate his mother any less for profiting off of the whole thing.

Eventually, Dante graduated. Accepted a position at Ashcroft University. And then he was handpicked for the Imperium Society. And that’s where he met Lady Macbeth.

And It was like for the first time in three years, Dante was living his life in colour again. He fell, and he fell hard, almost immediately upon meeting them, which was as much of a surprise to him as it was anyone else. Yes, Dante had dated before, and had crushes but he didn’t necessarily believe in love. Not after his parents lousy display of the whole thing. But he met them and that changed. He was consumed by love. Driven by it. He would do anything for them, absolutely anything. And he made that very clear very quickly, and never wavered. Not once.

In the time that Dante loved them he was brought back to some semblance of his old self. He found his passion again. He found his happiness again. And he knew it was because of them. They brought him back to himself. They made him better. And the gratitude, and codependency, and love all stirred itself into a poisonous mess that was more adoration, or rather idolization, than love. What he felt for her was something all consuming and probably not entirely healthy, but something that Dante dedicated himself to, like a religion.

Which is why when they told him about the issue with Octavia Dante was so incensed about it. For the most part, despite previous outbursts, Dante was kind. A peacekeeper. A joker. A lover. But when it came to those he loved, after everything with Anya, Dante was painfully protective. He promised himself long ago that no one coming after those he loved would get away with it. Not again.

That said, when Dante went to meet with Octavia he did his best to be calm. To be levelheaded, and understanding, and kind. But Dante’s reputation must have preceded him, because Octavia didn’t seem to see any reason why she should listen to him. Dante was the artist. The charity guy. The hippie. He was about as threatening as a puppy, or at least his public image was. Her words were sharp, and her disposition was cold, and Dante wouldn’t have cared, he truly wouldn’t have cared if the words she spat were just directed at him. But the moment Lady Macbeth was brought into things, Dante snapped, Othello’s presence be damned.

The film cut out.

The next thing Dante remembers is the aftermath. The water bottle he’d bought to reuse, to spare the plastic, to save the environment, to save the world, now ironically covered in blood. His hands slick with it for the second time in his life. Othello’s understandable panic. The shock was thick as fog once again, and the next thing Dante knows he’s at Lady Macbeth’s door, eyes hollow and hands shaking around the water bottle as he fully realizes what he’s done.

He never meant to. It was an accident. He lost control. All he wanted to do was protect them.

But somehow instead they ended up protecting him. And leaving him for Othello. A large part of Dante knows that he deserves nothing less. That what he did is a crime that deserves a much larger punishment, one that Lysander unfairly took on for him. But his heart is heavy with guilt, and now heartbreak on top of it all.

As if watching Lysander go to prison for his misdeeds and witnessing Lady Macbeth and Othello in their honeymoon phase all wasn’t enough torture, well, then there was Octavia’s ghost. Which was truly the most painful torture at all. Every time she visits Dante just ends up with breaking down. Terrified, guilty and asking for her forgiveness. He’s pretty sure it’s not helping in the slightest though, and he can’t blame her for being angry. She has every right to be, and honestly Dante is quickly reaching the breaking point. He’s seriously considering just turning himself in to appease her, and to make things right for Lysander, and he would do so in a heartbeat if there wasn’t the risk of Lady Macbeth going down with him. So Dante is at a stand still. Miserable, and in pain, but doing his best not to show it to keep up appearances. Luckily it’s an act he’s been putting on for a good portion of his life, so he’s good at it. But he’s crumbling at the edges, and he’s not sure how much longer it’ll take for everyone to notice.

To cope Dante has been indulging in a lot of his sister’s old habits. Drinking. Drugs. The same mechanisms he used to cope with her death, but quit once he met Lady Macbeth. Now, without them, he’s just using leaning on them in an attempt to make things easier.

PERSONALITY ; god who knows dkjsdjksd dante is very fresh and new so he’s a bit of a mess in my brain and he will definitely develop into something new passed this point but

PASSIONATE! god he’s so passionate, like dante just feels everything on 10 one hundred percent of the time, especially since lady macbeth came into his life. The type to get teary eyed over a dead bird, but also the type to like stay up five days straight working on a project because he can’t get it out of his mind.

despite this used to think romantic love was a straight up myth lmao because of his parents relationship, so we love a contradictory king. a bleeding heart but also a philophobe, and now a murderer, wow what a resume. lady macbeth changed that a lot for him, so for like a WHILE dante like became the poetry writing, love is the answer, romantic which had to be a drastic change for anyone who knew him before

nurturing honestly? but only with people he actually cares about like juliet or lady macbeth.

but also impulsive, as we can see, like dante doesn’t tend to really think before he makes any decisions. he just does things man

thinks he’s funny! sometimes he is tbh. a bit of a good natured goofball generally. willing to do pretty much anything to cheer someone up

a big ol’ flirt just naturally, like he’s honestly very charming, but like so was ted bundy yk. also bi, but like all my muses are, so sdkjsdkj are we surprised at all, i don’t think so.

very touchy feely tbh because he’s a tactile person.

a live and let live kinda guy like actually,,, so close to a hippie it’s not even funny.

a bit promiscuous more so before lady macbeth came into his life and he became entirely enamored, and now a bit because he’s heartbroken and just looking for any sort of connection.

the most generous person when it comes to money and kindness. the type to sit down with a homeless person and end up giving them his jacket, five hundred dollars, and a new outlook on life as he leads them to one of his youth centers. Has actually thrown himself into his charity a lot more since Octavia’s death. Is kind of viewing the whole thing as penance.

the type to hold a grudge until the day he dies, but also the type of person who can’t NOT help someone who needs help you know. like he hates his parents but if his mother called him tomorrow like i want to see you one last time before i die, he would fly out to spain to see her.

very liberal. literally can’t talk to conservatives without wanting to physically fight them. has definitely gone to protests and gotten arrested for punching a nazi, but his father probably covered it up.

HEADCANNONS ; alright now onto the fun stuff

fun fact, was actually brought into the world via surrogate because his parents had a lot of trouble conceiving, like both of them were pretty much impotent. so he’s not technically blood related to either of his parents, neither was anya.

deaf in his left ear and has been all his life. it’s kind of difficult for him to hear a specific person talking in a crowd of too many people, especially if you’re standing on his left so he might straight up text you instead. also if you’re standing on his left side in general, he might turn to face you to better hear you. can speak multiple different sign languages including asl, bsl, auslan, and of course catalan.

has delightful spanish accent but speaks fluent english because of all the networking he grew up doing with his parents, also you know, very expensive private school. also is fluent in french, italian, romanian and portuguese, like just the romance languages honestly. he’s traveled a lot though so he can get by in a few other languages, which basically means he can hold a stilted conversation and ask where the bathroom is.

Despite his charity being his life and occupation kind of, at heart Dante is an artist. Like his art is everything to him and his is actually quite popular. He gets a lot of offers from people wanting to buy it but he can never part with anything he’s made so he always refuses the offers, no matter how much money the customer is bidding. It’s not like Dante needs the money anyways, so he has refused offers on grounds of menial things such as ‘i didn’t like the vibes he was giving off’ or ‘he looked like a republican’ or even, once ‘pretty sure i saw that guy in a dream once. god, he sucked.’ So most of his art decorates his dorm room instead, and he’ll even give some to friends for free. Dante actually wanted to become a full time artist once he graduated, along with keeping up with his charity but considering how picky he is about who actually buys his art, he’ll literally make no money, which is okay because again, he’s rich. Now though, he’s considering just pouring himself into his charity and forgetting about his art because, you know, penance dkjdf.

Actually learned to cook from his family chef, and is really, really good at it, like professional level good at it. He hasn’t really had time to get any actual professional training but he really wants to. He has absolutely snuck into culinary school very briefly before just to sit in on a few classes. Just pretended he went there and made a bunch of friends and he learned a lot of stuff, and even taught some culinary students a few things. He was eventually discovered, but then he made friends with the professor, and now he just comes by whenever he wants or has the time. That’s the kind of guy Dante is.

Honestly pretty good at anything having to do with his hands, like if he had a label it’d probably be the artisan. Dante is the type of person who knows nothing about like mechanics but can like fix something if you put it in front of him. Likes to make furniture as a hobby, so hit your boy up if you want a sexy chair. Also makes sculptures and does a bit of pottery, like he’s a jack of all trades when it comes to tactile things only.

Intelligent in the way that he just has a lot of pretty well informed opinions like if you want a fun fact don’t go to Dante but if you want a good insightful conversation he’s your man. Not like… clever at all though, like he doesn’t have a manipulative or conniving bone in his body, and it’s really hard for him to tell when he’s being manipulated or taken advantage of. He thinks with his heart rather than his brain honestly. Like if you’ve ever heard the story of the foolish traveler... that’s Dante’s fool ass. If you haven’t here it is.

A big defender of the environment. He was planning on launching a charity for that too, and honestly he’s probably throwing himself into that project to stop thinking about all this.

Has a bunch of tattoos, usually of his own art or other art that’s moved him. I imagine him with at least one sleeve that’s beautiful, and he’s probably starting another. Is seriously considering a neck tat. His parents would hate it and that just makes him love it more.

If you watch jenna marbles i want you to know that Dante is Julian in the kitchen and Julian in the kitchen only, but somehow everything he makes end up coming out near perfect anyways.

surprisingly has a green thumb? can revive almost any plant with relative ease.

never learnt how to ride a bike tbh, but does ride a motorcycle so?

Has taken to religion like a mad man ever since Octavia’s death, like he’s suddenly at church once a week. He tells everybody that it’s for his art, and that he just wants to study the stained glass, but really he’s praying for Octavia’s forgiveness. He’s pretty sure it’s not working in the slightest though.

Kind of salty that Octavia of all people is haunting him but he hasn’t seen his sister’s ghost once. Actually kind of believes in the supernatural and karma and all that, so he wasn’t too shocked by the whole Octavia coming to him in the night thing. Always thought that he could feel his sister watching over him so, now at least he has that confirmed.

suffers from black outs, but i feel like that was obvious in my little bio sksdjkjsd straight up has stretches of time that he has no recollection of. it tends to happen when he gets really angry or in really traumatizing situations but honestly people close to dante probably know that he’s just lost stretches of time like you could mention something from his childhood or even a few weeks ago (actually especially a few weeks ago) and dante would just be like... i don’t remember that. honestly has been feeling like he’s kinda going crazy since his sister died, so literally since he was like fifteen oof.

has been painting some pretty dark stuff lately like since the whole octavia thing, like just in tone and color. probably a bit reminiscent of the stuff he painted after anya for those who knew him then, but if you met him after lady macbeth then this is a drastic change because his art got very beautiful and full of life then you know.

#spectreintro #d.c. | bio.#i'm gonna just post this so i can stop looking at it #otherwise imma drive myself up the WALL

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mrgrant9559-blog · 6 years

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Safe Keeping: Prologue

A/N: Ayo, whats gucci? Yup, I’m back with a brand new fic! This one is Tony paired, which is a character I honestly thought I’d never write for, and yet here we are! Funny how things work, huh. I should include that Reader can fly and shoot basically energy blasts from his hands. So, pretty much Captain Marvel but not really Captain Marvel, ya know. Anyways, I’m hoping to be better with this fic than I am with Witch Way Is Right, as far as continuity goes. Btw, WWIR is still continuing!! It’s just I’ve been told by mutiple fic writers that in order to get rid of writer’s block, I should write something else. Hope you guys enjoy this one!!

Subject: Tony Stark x Male!Reader

Prompt: @trampledcactusboy - I am humbly requesting a something parter Tony one shot when you have the time too :) (like 2,3,4 however many parts you choose) I hope it can be in civil war time period so Tony's in that kind of mindset/feel and maybe reader can be a shield agent or hero who helped cap & friends escape but really agrees with Tony so he gets protective over him? if not you do you cuz you can never go wrong <3

Tags: @avengersohyeah @uselessace @writeyouin @trampledcactusboy @thegreatficmaster

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You’d been with the Avengers for as long as you could remember. You’ve shared laughs, drinks, food, and a couple of moments along the way. So, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you realized what had become of you guys at this point. If someone would’ve told you 3 years ago that your team, THE Avengers, would split into two disagreeing sections over a stupid Sokovian accord, you would’ve taken a shit on their shoes and laughed in their face.

But now, it was almost like you were living a nightmare. No scratch that, you WERE living a nightmare. The same extraordinary people who you could call your brothers and sisters, were literally at each other’s throats.

You see Steve fighting a man dressed in red and blue spandex. And it looks like Steve is losing? You fly at Steve and swoop him up to the roof of the airport building and drop him off, landing in front of him to give the star spangled jolly rancher an ear full.

“What the hell are guys doing?!” You ask angrily.

“It’s long story, Y/N. And I really don’t have time for this.” He replies.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Steve. Almost like family.” I add. “So, imagine how I feel when I’m informed by SHIELD agents that not only are you and half of this so called family commiting treason, but you’re also protecting the man who killed King T’Chaka in cold blood!”

“I know it sounds crazy, but you’ve gotta believe me, kid. Buck is innocent. He’s being framed.”

“He tried to kill you and Fury just a year ago! If he’s willing to kill his best friend, brother in arms, then how am I supposed to believe that he wouldn’t to do the same to the now former king of Wakanda” I interject.

“That wasn’t him! You know as well as I do that he was under HYDRA’s control for years! He’s been trying to escape his past ever since and he’s been doing a great job so far!”

“Listen, I know Bucky is an innocent man, but what if the Winter Soldier comes out again. He’s a threat to others and himself!” I argue.

Steve sighs, realizing that what you’re saying is sorta true. “What if I can prove to you that Bucky didn’t kill anyone including the Wakanda’s king and that he’s innocent?”

“I don’t know Bucky well, but I do know he’s NOT innocent.” I say causing him to look down at his feet in disappointment. “However, if you have proof that he didn’t kill the king, then I’ll be willing to give him a second chance.” Steve looks up at me with a smile and nods in agreement. “Ok then, what do you need me to do?”

“Can you help us get to the quinjet? Take care of whoever gets in our way without causing permanent damage?” He asks.

“I can try.” You say before flying into the battle zone, making sure Steve and Bucky had a clear opening to the quinjet. You had to admit, these new people that Tony found were tough as nails. Definitely wasn’t their first time in a fight, but luckily, you were no rookie youself.

————————————

“Rhodes!!” You hear Tony yell in his suit while flying over to Rhodey’s aid. Rhodey was shot down by Vision, who was aiming for Sam. You tried to fly as fast as you could to catch him, following Tony and Sam in suit, but he had already hit the ground.

The sound. The sound his body had made when it made impact was haunting to say the least. Tony landed down next to Rhodey’s side and took off his helmet to examine the damage. He was unconscious with a bloody nose, which usually means that the person is either dead or damn near. Tony tells FRIDAY to read his vital organs. Thankfully, she replies by saying that there’s a heartbeat and that EMT are on their way.

Finally, Sam swoops in. “I’m sorry”, is all he could really say at the moment, even though he wasn’t entirely at fault. Tony didn’t care though as he raised his hand at Sam and blasted him, knocking him unconscious as well.

“Tony, you didn’t have to do that! It wasn’t his fault!” You say.

He moves his arm in you direction, his repulsors ready to fire. “Shut the hell up, Y/L/N! You’re just as in the wrong as him! I saw you helping Steve and Bucky back there. You’re supposed to be on MY side. You’re supposed to be MY friend!” He yells at you in anger, feeling betrayed and mostly hurt.

Your eyelids start to build up tears, as you find pain in what you’re about to say next. “Last I checked, we’re ALL supposed to be friends.” The look on Tony’s face tells you he was taken back by your words. “Look around you, Tones. Look at what’s become of us. We’re supposed to fight the enemy, not each other, and you know Bucky had nothing to do with the death of King T’Chaka.” Tony starts to lower his arm, which has now powered down.

Realization washes over him as he sees medics take Rhodey away on a stretcher in critical condition and the rest of Cap’s team get detained. The Wakandan Prince disappeared probably gone off to find Steve and Bucky. Tony knows Bucky couldn’t of been the one doing all these terrible things, at least not on purpose.

You and Tony finally arrive at a high max security prison in the middle of the ocean, where they were keeping the rest of Cap’s team for God knows how long. Tony walks over to each cell to talk to them about what they’ve done and how foolish they were being. Clint mostly, who retorted with his own words going back and forth with him. Tony then sees a new guy and wonders who he even is which punt a dent in the poor guy’s ego. He then walks over to Sam and asks if he’s been fed at all.

Sam just replies with snark, “Oh, so you’re good cop now?”

Regardless of what happened, Tony still cares for everyone and wants to make sure they’re at least being treated right. “I’m just the guy who need to know where Steve went.” He replies.

Sam tell hims that the only way he’s gonna get info outta him is if he goes full benny hanna on his ass. Tony starts messing with his watch, shutting off all coms in the prison system.

Tony tells Sam this, and he reveals to him everything he knows about where they could’ve gone. Tony rushes out of the cell block, with you following in suit. “Did you find out where they went?” You ask, following him to his private helicopter.

“Yup.”

“Great, I’m coming with you...”

“No, you’re not.” Tony retorts, spinning on his heel to face you.

“But I-“

“No, you don’t.” He interjects before you can finish your sentence. “What I need you to do is to stay here with the general and make sure he doesn’t send any of his people to follow me. I already told him I’m going back to the compound, but he might still suspect something.”

“Just, make sure you come back as friends. Last thing I wanna see is The Avengers break up over some dumbass accords.”

“I promise, we’ll all being sitting in front of a campfire singing Kum Ba Yah, and eating s’mores.” And with that, he enters the helicopter, on his way to help Cap and Buck find Zemo, so we could all be a team again.

Or at least thats how I hoped this day would end.

________________________

I’m so sorry for taking so long people! I’m a busy guy, but I knew I needed to out something out for you guys so here it is. This was pretty much my way of adding Reader into the movie without changing much. Also, I’m thinking of upload my fics to Wattspad. Should I do that?? I don’t know, but I hope you guys like this new fic!

#marvel #x male!reader #avengers #avengers x male!reader #peter parker #male!reader #marvel x male!reader #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers #male reader inserts #iron man #Tony Stark x Male!Reader #civil war #Captain America Civil War #cacw

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pajamaplants · 5 years

Note

Michael: 1, 3, 4, 7, 11, 12, 14, 16, 19. // Ian: 2, 16, 19. // Charley: 4, 5. // Dahlia: 10, 11. // Rosie: 1, 8. // Bia: 9 (specifically her interactions with Ian before vs. after their breakup). // This is a lot so you don't have to do long descriptions but yeah! Love you lots

sorry for the long post to everyone who isn’t anna, the only one who will know or care about any of these characters......... lol but anyway anna none of these are in the actual book 1 story, it’s all either prequel/flash backs or book 2 stuff (and also i skipped some prompts bc this is already a lot and i want your input, i craaaaave it, love you so much thank you for sending me these and kickstarting a writing mood <3)

Michael

1. Them as a child:

He’d had trouble falling asleep, and now the forest was on fire. Michael had only wanted to go back to the lake shore for a bit, and sit by the waves to settle his racing thoughts, but he’d gotten lost on his way there and wandered down a too dark trail. Narrow flashlight beam the only light a head of him, he prayed he was going the right direction back to his family’s campsite. It was dark and freezing and Michael’s eight year old limbs were getting sore, when suddenly he smelled the thick smoke of burning wood in the breeze. A campfire, he thought. Good, he must be getting close. But as Michael traveled closer a hazy fog surrounded him and the nearby trees, his flashlight beam illuminating the smoke. He saw light ahead, fire glowing through the trees, but no wait, this was much too much flame to be a campfire. Michael stopped walking and watched bright clumps of fire crackling in the underbrush. This is really bad, his tired mind registered. Nervously he tried to move down wind away from the fire, coughing as he went, but the fire grew faster than Michael could walk. He hurried through he underbrush now, chest feeling heavy and head dizzy from inhaling smoke. Suddenly Michael had run himself into a rocky cliff face, the fire sparkling dangerously at his back. What do I do? he panicked. I don’t want to die, please. Michael moved around the rocks until he saw a natural crevice traveling back into the earth. Was that a cave? Fire could burn wood, he reasoned. But probably not stone. He crawled in between the rocks, shining his flashlight as he entered to check it was uninhabited, and saw it went back a few feet. The air in here was clear of smoke and much easier to breathe. Crouching in a small cave wasn’t ideal, but it was better than burning to death. Outside Michael saw the wildfire grow in intensity slowly. As it crawled along bark and dry leaves, a soothing crackling noise came from the charred forest. Tucked safely in his cave, Michael watched, cinders in the air reflecting on spellbound eyes. The blaze passed him by and devoured entire trees, cracking apart branches. Somehow now Michael felt less afraid; the air was warm, the fire’s glow bathing the opening of the cave in a lulling orange gleam. Eventually, Michael fell asleep lying curled in place on the rocks, the wildfire’s presence helping him find sleep better in a cave than back in a sleeping bag in a dark tent. In the morning he awoke, crawled out into the ashy remains damp with smoke, and traveled by the morning light through the destroyed forest until he found a path back to his family.

3. Their parent(s) (ok listen, this post is long enough, i going to just split all the ones i didn’t do here in another part 2 post later okay? so i’ll do this one later)

4. Their laugh: (and i’ll do this one later )

7. Their interactions with their pets, if they have them:

Every night his cat played a game with Josh, a one in which Josh always ended up losing as yet again Cannelle settled innocently on Josh’s chest or kneaded her way to resting on his legs and he felt too bad to disturb her. “Well, once she’s comfortable, what am I supposed to do?” Josh told him once. Now in bed trying to fall asleep, Michael rolled over, and with a lurch his heart beat rose sharply in distress, realizing there was his cat, lying in the same space as his space. The left side of the bed, that had once been Josh’s. The left side that Michael still some how always managed to sleep to the right of, despite the bed being his alone now. Michael pulled his blankets up. “Cannelle, c’mere, c’mon girl.” he called. He’s not there, I’m so sorry, and you can’t understand why, I’m sorry. He apologized silently to the cat. She blinked her brown eyes, then rose, tail in the air, and settled down under the tent of the comforter Michael kept open for her. He stoked her fur for something, anything, to latch on to other than the buzzing ache that settled into his muscles. The first week is the hardest, he’d been told. That’s a lie, he thought. It doesn’t really get easier. Michael counted her exhales, inhales, exhale, inhale, exhales; until his eyes finally closed and he slept.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink):

Michael stepped casually from the elevator, fidgeting hand needing to readjust the fake access badge clipped to his chest. Bia gave it to him, had it forged for him to blend in better, and Michael appreciated the way eyes never stayed on him long. Down the hospital’s long corridor of drywall-white patient rooms he stopped when he found the one he sought, slipping inside. Michael had read this man’s profile. Daniel Keaton, 25, paralyzed from the waist down, the loss of total lower motor control result of a nasty accident. Bia gave him information on a couple of her patients that were in conditions no amount of surgery would help. Understand me, she had said, when she handed him the ID. I’m not letting you do my job for me, since I am more than capable. But not everything has a cure. The man in the bed looked away from a bland television program, saw the hospital staff badge, brown leather jacket, and the lack of any hospital scrubs and asked, “Hi, are you my new counselor? I don’t feel like talking, sorry.” “No, I’m a... physical therapist.” “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re kinda useless at this point. Maybe you’re in the wrong room but I’m past the point of ever using my legs again, the doctors already told me.” ”I know. There’s a method that might bring you some relief, at least. Will you let me try?” “Knock yourself out.” Daniel sighed, closing his downbeat eyes in resignation. Michael carefully helped Daniel into a seated position in the hospital bed and proceeded to gently knead over the dead spinal nerves of his lower back. The accustomed electric warmth pulsed through Michael’s core, seeping up from his bones into the tissue, a faint glow emanating from the flat pressed palms on Daniel’s back. “Wait,” Daniel said suddenly, registering the strange sensation. “What are you doing?” “Don’t worry,” Michael assured. “It’s safe. This will help.” Daniel looked over his shoulder at Michael, slack jawed. “But... I shouldn’t be able to... why can I feel my legs?” Michael sensed his repair work was finished. He backed up a few steps. “Stand up.” “I can’t.” Daniel helplessly shook his head. “Can’t you?” Michael raised an eyebrow. Hesitantly, Daniel pulled his knees up and then gasped. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, devolving into startled tears as he did so. “I-I don’t understand. How? What are you?” “Just a man trying to help.” “What’s your name?” Michael held a finger to his lips. “Lie back in bed, Daniel. When asked, say it was a miracle recovery. You never saw me. Take care.” Before speechless Daniel could utter a question or thank you, Michael left the hospital room.

12. Them in their favorite outfit (i’ll do this one later)

14. Them in an uncomfortable outfit (i’ll do this one later)

16. Them sleepy (i’ll do this one later)

19. Them drunk:

One moment Michael was hiking side by side with Josh on the edge of a hilly forest trail, drunkenly laughing at something, but what he couldn’t remember, Josh had said something funny— when a pile of trail rocks under his feet slid loose and the world hitched violently sideways and down. As if his coordination wasn’t impaired enough by his boozy afternoon at their secluded campsite, all he saw as he tumbled down the leafy slope was green and browns, no sense of up or down. He yelped rolling on his back until he landed face first on something sharp in the creek bed that scorched his lips and face with pain. His hands clamped to his face in shock. Josh shouted something indistinguishably after him, clambering down the side of the ravine a lot more gracefully to the stony creek shore below. Michael covered his left cheek with a large hand, palm pressed to his mouth, and when Josh reached him and moved his hand to see, it came away red. “Tabernac, tabernac, tabernac, Josh cursed under his breath, quickly shedding his coat, stripping away his own t-shirt, and folding it over as a makeshift bandage to the jagged diagonal cut on Michael’s face. Tears welled in Michael’s eyes but Josh was quicker, wiping away the wetness and applying pressure to his stinging split lip. “Look, it was this broken glass right here you fell on. What the fuck is that, someone’s beer bottle?” “Fuckin’ bottle, why’s that there? ‘S not the brand you drink.” “Don’t speak Michel, god you’re sure bleeding a lot,” He paused. “I think we need to go to a hospital.” Michael was preoccupied with the trail of blonde hair traveling up Josh’s naval. He reached out and smoothed his thumb and forefinger down Josh’s naked chest. “You look... good like this.” “Ce n'est pas le moment pour ça!” his boyfriend chided. “Tabernac, you’re lucky that wasn’t your eyes!” “But...” It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they were supposed to be at camp tonight, where Josh would eat those cheap grocery store cherry danishes he liked while Michael would build a good fire for their dinner. Josh gently stood up. “No buts. I know you’re hammered but get up please, you gotta get stitches, there’s no way you couldn’t with a cut that deep,” Michael held Josh’s shirt in place over his copper-tasting mouth and Josh helped him to his feet. “Might even have a scar.” he continued. “Would you, y’still love me if I did?” “Obviously, now c’mon cher, we’ll go back and pack our things and take my bike into Fredericton.”

Ian

2. Them several years past their main adventure: (not gonna do years later, just making this book 2 Ian lmao)

Ian traced wandering lines in his sketchbook, taking his restless energy and channeling it into activity, distraction; one of the little tricks gained in the rehab center. Sobriety had been a bitch to learn, and often Ian flexed a muscle of self control he’s carefully crafted to hold him steady. Temptation tickled the back of his neck in his most stressful moments, and the times Michael left him alone for too long. And Michael, the man who took him to rehab, who brought art supplies to his room at the clinic For something nice to do, he had said. Ian had never loved a set of pencils so dearly. Michael had visited daily, talked with him about his therapy as he sat still in his chair and let Ian draw him. Ian never took Michael’s presence for granted, it was familiar and warm, a stark contrast to the first night they met. Time does strange things to people, Ian decided. But... Ian had to appreciate the change. Michael managed his medicines for him, took care of him with every meal he made for the two of them, and he made Ian laugh even in a dark moment of handling some sticky Orion business. Gradually he’d become his foothold in sobriety, his anchor point. His Michael. Ian shook the idea away. No, Michael’s not mine to have, Ian thought. Michael surely didn’t get the pesky flashes of impossible possibilities like the kind that plagued Ian’s headspace lately, of... more. He disdainfully flipped to a new page in his sketchbook, landed on a page of Michael sketches he’d drawn secretly and quickly ignored them by flipping to a fresh sheet. Ian settled back in his chair, and argued back and forth silently until he’d convinced himself Michael was his friend, his partner in literal crime, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

16. Them sleepy:

Michael returned home in the early morning, only to discover his bed was occupied. Ian was in boxers and nothing else, sound asleep. His partner’s limbs were bent up among his blankets, mouth puffing open slightly whenever he breathed out. Used to seeing Ian sleep in odd positions on the couch, Michael knew the way he tucked his arms under himself in his sleep. But it was strange to see him in here. How often did he come in here, even when Michael was awake? Michael stood silent by the bedside and watched Ian snooze peacefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. Did he miss me? This time, instead of dismissing it immediately, Michael let this thought settle. Michael imagined the way Ian must’ve been up waiting for him, maybe even worrying about him, before coming to open his bedroom door. Michael How Ian must have settled his head, nose against the pillow, and arranged the comforter Michael slept with over himself. And then his hand slipped, drifted downward, sinking down into Ian’s hair. Soft and thicker than he imagined, he combed through the wisps of black lightly enough to not disturb him. Missed you, came a hushed sentiment in his mind. Michael swept the bangs that fell messily over Ian’s forehead when his hand grazed across Ian’s temple. There had been times Michael touched Ian before; when injured pieces were in play and Michael stitched up the wounds. The burst of warmth when fingertips brushed Ian’s skin took him by surprise. Ian stirred from this touch however, and Michael’s hand flew to his side. Extending his arms, green swatches fluttered open; Ian stretched his legs and flopped his head on the pillow. “Hi, you’re back,” he mumbled, words languid like the hand that rubbed at his eye, then curled loosely on the sheets. “Hi,” Michael replied, the way Ian looked up at him striking some tender feeling in his throat. “What are you doing in here?” Starting to understand his indications, Michael saw the light flush of embarrassment rise as Ian rolled into sitting. “Did I fall asleep in here? Sorry man, my mistake. Been pretty tired lately,” he explained, kicking away the sheets and getting clumsily out of Michael’s bed. “I had all the lights off and must’ve walked in here instead of my room. Didn’t think twice, my head just hit a pillow.” “S’alright. You looked comfortable.” Michael smoothed his hand over the blanket and Ian’s eyes followed it. “... I was.” Ian shrugged before sheepishly fleeing the room for his own bed.

19. Them drunk:

“Hey, buddy.” A firm hand nudged Ian's shoulder. “Buddy.” The faint sounds of a bar swam to his ears; the clink of glasses against wood, quiet voices agreeing to go home, chairs scraping and the drone of a late night talk show host floating somewhere above him. “C’mon Ian, you need to get out of here.” With a soft sigh that left his chest slowly, he knew where he was. He sat on a stool in his favorite local dive, his body glued to the counter in his usual spot. Graham the bartender, to his credit, waited a full minute before poking Ian in the shoulder. “Mm, can I get one to go?” Ian’s voice came muffled from the crook of his arm. The sticky countertop was a comfortable place to lay his head and he liked the support it gave his loose limbs which currently felt curled up on each other. “No,” the barkeep responded firmly. “And you’re not staying the night… I’ll call you a cab.” Ian’s head popped off the counter, fingers clinging to the glass in his hand. “Don’t have to.” Ian stood, waiting for the lightheaded rush that made his knees wobble to pass before knocking back the dregs of his screwdriver and slipping a few crumpled bills under his glass. “Someone’s coming to get you?” Graham asked. Ian basked in the heat lingering in his throat, he swallowed. “H’yeah, sure.” He waved off the question with a flip of his hand and ambled outside.

Charley

4. Their laugh:

Samuel pulled through the discount rack, casting coat hanger after coat hanger aside flippantly and frowning. “Why’s this all ugly?” she lamented. Charley shrugged, back against the wall, eyes trained on the crummy mall clothes outlet across the way from the display window of theirs. They did this as part of their job sometimes, building profiles. It helped understand daily routines a target had and was the best way to learn potential vulnerabilities. “Oh, now this is good,” Samuel piped up. “I should get these Dahlia for her next birthday.” Charley turned and saw her considering a set of women’s pajamas, with blue penguins printed on the pants and another pudgy penguin on the shirt with a speech bubble saying ‘Out Cold’. Charley took one look at the pajamas and burst out laughing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding?” he snickered, gesturing. “These? With these cute little bastards on them? Are we thinking of the same woman?” He deemed Dahlia maybe a little too serious and brooding. “She could use these, I hate seeing her going to sleep in just whatever outfit she’s got on. She actually would like something goofy like this, she just doesn’t say so.” Samuel held the shirt and flipped flopped the long fleecey sleeve, before then using it to wave to Charley. He chuckled and checked his watch. “You’d know better than anybody, I suppose.” “There’s a lot of things about Dahlia you don’t know.” “Really?” Charley asked interested, hands busy tying long black dreads into a bun at his neck. “Care to share with the class?” Samuel shook her head. “I don’t betray her trust like I promised I wouldn’t betray yours.” Aside from the very first time, he thought. Samuel hadn’t broken her promise to him since. “I respect that,” Charley rolled his shoulders and glanced over into the clothing store opposite the one they stood in. An unassuming young man with green sneakers had just entered it.“Spotted him. Do your thing.” he said to his partner. The two watched him moving around the counter of the neighboring store. “He’s late for work,” Samuel said. “That’s why he’s rushing. He’s nervous his manager might be annoyed with him... here she comes. And he’s very attracted to his boss, he’s thinking about her...” her nose crinkled. “I’m not relaying that.” Samuel watched the manager cross her arms as the man blabbered on. “She thinks he’s nothing but a tiny-dicked idiot. Got him.” she concluded and Charley laughed again.

5. Their crying:

Charley sat across from his partner Samuel at a cafe table in Ireland. His panic had brought them far across the ocean, further than he meant to travel but Charley chalked it up to stress and a need to just run. Their mission to hunt a certain target ended successfully with the target’s death, but included the death of an innocent bystander. Just thinking about it made Charley’s guts coil. He fucked up bad this time, he lost control and a man lost his life because of the mishap. “You’re still learning control over your power, you did not abuse it, the reins slipped from your hands. An accident, Charley. That’s all it was.” He wiped a stubborn tear from the crease of his eye. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to be brave in front of me,” she murmured, reading the shame and denial of his emotions from his mind. “I’m not like him.” Charley blinked his chestnut eyes, the sour rise that made his nose tingle bringing more tears as he thought of the man who had turned him this way. His partner saw through him like tissue paper, and she saw the replaying memories; the way his face had looked, the reason he hated to let anyone see him cry, and the way that the innocent man had been knocked below to his death. He reached for her ivory hand and she took it supportively, politely looking to the far end of the cafe while Charley mopped his brow with a cloth napkin, the older man’s torso shaking with low rumbles and sniffs. A couple other lunch goers nearby looked in their direction a few times, but left them undisturbed. “... We need to see Meissa.” Samuel said finally. Charley wiped his eyes once more looked morosely at his untouched scone. “What do I tell her?” “The truth.” she suggested, wrapping her coat a little closer to her. “I’ll vouch for you, I saw them both die. The other man was not supposed to be there. It’s unfortunate, yes, but we live in the present and must go on.” Charley thought that seemed a bit harsh. “It’s survival,” Samuel added gently. “You had to change to survive and here you sit. I survived the bear trap of my childhood and here I sit. This doesn’t end here,” She retrieved her wallet and left some money on the table. “Ready? We’ll make it through this too.” Charley nodded, took a deep slow breath to collect himself. Then Samuel placed her hands in his on the table and the two vanished from their seats.

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

Dahlia kept certain rooms in her house well furnished and comfortable, and others purposefully devoid of distractions. She was leaning against her desk in such a room now, desk and a single bookshelf holding some of her dream journals the only objects beside bare floor and walls, with of course, the projection system. Projected on the walls all around her was a calming cloudy ocean scene with the horizon stretched before her. She lit a cigarette, smoke curling bright in the projection light. She glanced at her watch. The chair and the man tied to it materialized a half second later. Dahlia didn’t bat an eye. Charley stood behind the chair, palms flat on the grizzled older man’s shoulders. “I appreciate the trouble,” said Dahlia. “I know you could’ve handled him alone.” “No trouble, and thank Sammy, she lured his greasy ass into the motel room. In fact, thank her yourself.” He disappeared and within five seconds he reappeared, this time hand in hand with Samuel. Her peacock blue heels clicked on the hardwood as she moved concentric circles around the man in the chair. “Still out cold, I’m impressed Charley-boy.” “Pleasure, I’ve been practicing my right hook. It’s nice to test it out on this freak. A five year old kid, that’s sick.” he shook his head. ”Good work both of you,” Dahlia hummed approvingly. “Now we wait.” “Mind if I bounce?” Charley asked. “Gotta teach my class in an hour.” “Go right ahead. Just be back here after for disposal.” Charley nodded and vanished. Dahlia coolly regarded the unconscious man, puffing on her cigarette, lost in thought. Samuel silently watched Dahlia thinking. Samuel became a usual presence to Dahlia in this way, like a friend sitting beside her on a windowsill, simultaneously looking out the same window as herself, seeing the same vivid world outside. At last, the large man stirred, opened his bleary eyes. “The hell?” he groaned, then his eyes fell on Dahlia, then Samuel. “Who are you people? Where the fuck did you take me, you pasty bitch?” Dahlia didn’t waste time. “Mr. Clark, you don’t know me and I certainly don’t care to know you, but I do know what you did to the five year old son of your next door neighbors.” The man tried to wiggle out of his restraints. “You’re crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, let me fucking go!” “Take a look around Mr. Clark, this is the last room you’ll ever see.” “What?” he froze mid struggle and stared at Dahlia, who tapped her cigarette calmly in a porcelain teacup on the table. He looked to Samuel whose pallid eyes pierced daggers in his direction. “You’re not serious... I’m not scared of some dumb bitches.” “He’s lying.” Samuel contributed. “Choosing to pursue that particular disgusting fantasy of yours was the wrong choice.” Dahlia said, then extended her arm into the blue projection light and Samuel handed her a bottle of liquor from a shelf. Dahlia uncapped it and poured amber liquid into a large glass. “What are you doing?” Mr. Clark clamored as Dahlia approached him with the glass. “I swear I didn’t do it! I never touched the boy!” “It’s tacky to lie,” Samuel commented, watching as the man squirmed in place. Dahlia grabbed him by the hair, yanked his jaw up in the air, and poured the cup down his throat. The liquid spilled over the mans chin and down his shirt as he spluttered and fought, but Dahlia made sure some went down his throat. “How does it feel to be robbed of your agency?” Dahlia asked, stepping back. “I want you to meditate on that while the darkness comes. To feel like– what was his name?” she asked the man. “Evan Watson.” Samuel supplied when the man kept quiet. “Yes, like Evan when you raped him.” The man coughed out a sting of curses at Samuel and Dahlia, but the words quickly subsided until both the room and the man were still. Dahlia shuddered and turned away. “You know I like to stay distant and trust you and Charley and the others to handle this part,” she said to Samuel. “But I hated the dreams I saw. The ones with kids are the worst.” “You don’t need to explain to me, I’ve seen the way it hurts.” “Right.” Her friend’s view into her mind let Samuel understand best, but that didn’t stop Dahlia from wanting to explain things to her anyway. I appreciate you Sam, she thought. In all the ways you help me stop these people. I’d be lost without you. Samuel smiled her pearly teeth at Dahlia and Dahlia wished then that she could also see into Samuel’s innermost thoughts.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink)

Dahlia was an early riser, and like clockwork every morning she went to her chair on the front porch and smoked under the morning sun. But this spring morning she waited to receive her brother visiting for Passover, and this morning’s cigarette was interrupted by the arrival of Michael and his boyfriend Josh with suitcases in tow. She ran down the steps to hug her brother, and then shook Josh’s hand, thinking he somehow wasn’t what she was expecting. Not that she had any big expectations but she wanted only the best for her brother. She thought he was ordinary but handsome, with a wide friendly smile, crooked at the edges. He looked eager but nervous as Dahlia introduced herself. “So you’re the mysterious Canadian man my brother’s been dating huh? Good to finally meet you. I hope you’ve been keeping him out of trouble.” Josh laughed, a bright pleasant sound. “I’m studying criminal justice actually, if anyone will be keeping him on the straight and narrow it’s me.” His accent was noticeable and musical, and Dahlia saw Michael’s eyes shining as he glanced over at Josh. Her brother looked proud and happy she realized, happier and younger looking than when she’d last seen him. “Good, well we have some lovely matzo brei mom made on the stove, you’re welcome to it for breakfast.” “Thank god, I’m starving,” said Josh. “We left too early to have breakfast and nothing at the airport sounded good.” Josh left to go bring their luggage inside, and Michael stayed out on the porch with his sister. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” Dahlia remarked. “What makes you say that?” Michael wondered. Dahlia offered him her cigarette and he took it. “You’ve got a love glow about you.” “I do not have a ‘love glow’,” he grumbled, blowing smoke through his nose. She laughed and took the cigarette back. “No, but seriously, you look really happy with him, not like with anyone else before. Seems like the real deal.” “Maybe. I hope so. I want mom and dad to like him.” He’s serious with this guy, Dahlia mused. Her brother caring about his parents opinions? That was a first. “I’m happy you’re home, Mike. And I wouldn’t worry about what mom thinks at least,” she said, peering into the doorway. “Look at her, she’s already fussing over him in there getting him enough on his plate.” Michael chuckled. “Better get in there and rescue him before he’s overfed.”

Rosie

1. Them as a child (i’ll do this one later)

8. Their interactions with their significant other(s), if they have them (the significant other is outta the picture, so you get Rosie and her daughter instead)

Bia clinked her raspberry gin lemonade against her mother’s glass. They sat in a private VIP room at the King’s Throne, celebrating Bia’s acceptance into one of the top medical schools in the country. Rosanne frequented this particular night club for abundance of potential customers and good relations with the owner. They were on their second round of drinks. “To the start of your career! This is all for you sweetie, enjoy yourself.” Rosanne toasted her glass and took a long sip. Bia followed suit. “Honey, I want you to know I’m proud of you.” “Thanks mom.” “I’ve been proud since the first time I held you crying in my arms.” Maybe it was the alcohol, but Bia felt a lump rise in her throat. "Even if... I turned out differently than you expected?” Rosanne set down her amaretto sour. “You’ve surprised me a lot as you’ve grown,” she started. “But never negatively. Never wanted you to work in my trade, and you surprised me by never wanting to follow in my footsteps, by picking medical school and gettin’ accepted. I’ve watched a little boy grow into a wonderful, resourceful, fucking intelligent, brave and beautiful woman. Nothing could make me prouder.” Happy tears dripped down over Bia’s expensive make up but she didn’t care. Her mother pulled her into a hug and Bia let her mascara disintegrate.

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

“Your quiet magical friend told me you were here in rehab. I’m really proud of you for being here Ian.” Bia sat beside him on the edge of his bed in his room at the inpatient rehab center. She looked much healthier now, but a different version of the woman he’d known once, before Phil Lancaster had ever touched her. “Thank you Bia, and you haven’t told anyone else about what Michael can do, have you?” “No, you made me swear.” “Okay, cool.” “But listen I... I’m not the reason you’re in here now, am I?” “What do you mean?” Bia shifted her shoes on the carpet and smoothed her hair. “Well, you and me were trying different shit a lot when we were together and I’d feel terrible if I–” “No,” Ian interrupted. “Trust me, you’re not the reason I’m here. I was an addict before I met you.” Bia sighed, still looking concerned. “Okay, just wanted to apologize for ever turning you onto it.” His time dating her had been comfortable and some brief, needed stability. They spent it trying drugs and having sex, but Ian’s favorite memories had been the late hours of the night when they lay beside each other and she shared stories; these including tales of her life as a surgeon and her wild experience of growing up with a drug mogul mother like Rosanne Madaki. “I’m the one couldn’t stop Bia, and you never forced me. You were one of the few things keeping my head above the water. Taking Xanax was my own choice and so is quitting it.” She smiled meekly. “That’s the spirit.” “So, how have you been recently?” “In constant therapy for... y’know, what he did. There’s no better relief than waking up in my mother’s house and remembering he’s dead and will never be anything but dead. Mom’s barely let me out of her sight, and when she does she has one of her bodyguards tail me around, she thinks I don’t notice.” “She loves you.” “I know, she just blames herself for everything still.” “We’ve all got our struggles,” Ian said patting her arm. “We’ll try and get better together, okay?” Bia nodded and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

sorry for the long post to everyone who isn’t anna, the only one who will know or care about any of these characters……… lol but anyway anna none of these are in the actual book 1 story, it’s all either prequel/flash backs or book 2 stuff (and also i skipped some prompts bc this is already a lot and i want your input, i craaaaave it, love you so much thank you for sending me these and kickstarting a writing mood <3)

Michael

1. Them as a child:

3. Their parent(s) (ok listen, this post is long enough, i going to just split all the ones i didn’t do here in another part 2 post later okay? so i’ll do this one later)

4. Their laugh: (and i’ll do this one later )

7. Their interactions with their pets, if they have them:

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink):

Michael stepped casually from the elevator, fidgeting hand needing to readjust the fake access badge clipped to his chest. Bia gave it to him, had it forged for him to blend in better, and Michael appreciated the way eyes never stayed on him long. Down the hospital’s long corridor of drywall-white patient rooms he stopped when he found the one he sought, slipping inside. Michael had read this man’s profile. Daniel Keaton, 25, paralyzed from the waist down, the loss of total lower motor control result of a nasty accident. Bia gave him information on a couple of her patients that were in conditions no amount of surgery would help. Understand me, she had said, when she handed him the ID. I’m not letting you do my job for me, since I am more than capable. But not everything has a cure. The man in the bed looked away from a bland television program, saw the hospital staff badge, brown leather jacket, and the lack of any hospital scrubs and asked, “Hi, are you my new counselor? I don’t feel like talking, sorry.” “No, I’m a… physical therapist.” “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re kinda useless at this point. Maybe you’re in the wrong room but I’m past the point of ever using my legs again, the doctors already told me.” ”I know. There’s a method that might bring you some relief, at least. Will you let me try?” “Knock yourself out.” Daniel sighed, closing his downbeat eyes in resignation. Michael carefully helped Daniel into a seated position in the hospital bed and proceeded to gently knead over the dead spinal nerves of his lower back. The accustomed electric warmth pulsed through Michael’s core, seeping up from his bones into the tissue, a faint glow emanating from the flat pressed palms on Daniel’s back. “Wait,” Daniel said suddenly, registering the strange sensation. “What are you doing?” “Don’t worry,” Michael assured. “It’s safe. This will help.” Daniel looked over his shoulder at Michael, slack jawed. “But… I shouldn’t be able to… why can I feel my legs?” Michael sensed his repair work was finished. He backed up a few steps. “Stand up.” “I can’t.” Daniel helplessly shook his head. “Can’t you?” Michael raised an eyebrow. Hesitantly, Daniel pulled his knees up and then gasped. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, devolving into startled tears as he did so. “I-I don’t understand. How? What are you?” “Just a man trying to help.” “What’s your name?” Michael held a finger to his lips. “Lie back in bed, Daniel. When asked, say it was a miracle recovery. You never saw me. Take care.” Before speechless Daniel could utter a question or thank you, Michael left the hospital room.

12. Them in their favorite outfit (i’ll do this one later)

14. Them in an uncomfortable outfit (i’ll do this one later)

16. Them sleepy (i’ll do this one later)

19. Them drunk:

One moment Michael was hiking side by side with Josh on the edge of a hilly forest trail, drunkenly laughing at something, but what he couldn’t remember, Josh had said something funny— when a pile of trail rocks under his feet slid loose and the world hitched violently sideways and down. As if his coordination wasn’t impaired enough by his boozy afternoon at their secluded campsite, all he saw as he tumbled down the leafy slope was green and browns, no sense of up or down. He yelped rolling on his back until he landed face first on something sharp in the creek bed that scorched his lips and face with pain. His hands clamped to his face in shock. Josh shouted something indistinguishably after him, clambering down the side of the ravine a lot more gracefully to the stony creek shore below. Michael covered his left cheek with a large hand, palm pressed to his mouth, and when Josh reached him and moved his hand to see, it came away red. “Tabernac, tabernac, tabernac,” Josh cursed under his breath, quickly shedding his coat, stripping away his own t-shirt, and folding it over as a makeshift bandage to the jagged diagonal cut on Michael’s face. Tears welled in Michael’s eyes but Josh was quicker, wiping away the wetness and applying pressure to his stinging split lip. “Look, it was this broken glass right here you fell on. What the fuck is that, someone’s beer bottle?” “Fuckin’ bottle, why’s that there? ‘S not the brand you drink.” “Don’t speak Michel, god you’re sure bleeding a lot,” He paused. “I think we need to go to a hospital.” Michael was preoccupied with the trail of blonde hair traveling up Josh’s naval. He reached out and smoothed his thumb and forefinger down Josh’s naked chest. “You look… good like this.” “Ce n'est pas le moment pour ça!” his boyfriend chided. “Tabernac, you’re lucky that wasn’t your eyes!” “But…” It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they were supposed to be at camp tonight, where Josh would eat those cheap grocery store cherry danishes he liked while Michael would build a good fire for their dinner. Josh gently stood up. “No buts. I know you’re hammered but get up please, you gotta get stitches, there’s no way you couldn’t with a cut that deep,” Michael held Josh’s shirt in place over his copper-tasting mouth and Josh helped him to his feet. “Might even have a scar.” he continued. “Would you, y’still love me if I did?” “Obviously, now c’mon cher, we’ll go back and pack our things and take my bike into Fredericton.”

Ian

2. Them several years past their main adventure: (not gonna do years later, just making this book 2 Ian lmao)

Ian traced wandering lines in his sketchbook, taking his restless energy and channeling it into activity, distraction; one of the little tricks gained in the rehab center. Sobriety had been a bitch to learn, and often Ian flexed a muscle of self control he’s carefully crafted to hold him steady. Temptation tickled the back of his neck in his most stressful moments, and the times Michael left him alone for too long. And Michael, the man who took him to rehab, who brought art supplies to his room at the clinic For something nice to do, he had said. Ian had never loved a set of pencils so dearly. Michael had visited daily, talked with him about his therapy as he sat still in his chair and let Ian draw him. Ian never took Michael’s presence for granted, it was familiar and warm, a stark contrast to the first night they met. Time does strange things to people, Ian decided. But… Ian had to appreciate the change. Michael managed his medicines for him, took care of him with every meal he made for the two of them, and he made Ian laugh even in a dark moment of handling some sticky Orion business. Gradually he’d become his foothold in sobriety, his anchor point. His Michael. Ian shook the idea away. No, Michael’s not mine to have, Ian thought. Michael surely didn’t get the pesky flashes of impossible possibilities like the kind that plagued Ian’s headspace lately, of… more. He disdainfully flipped to a new page in his sketchbook, landed on a page of Michael sketches he’d drawn secretly and quickly ignored them by flipping to a fresh sheet. Ian settled back in his chair, and argued back and forth silently until he’d convinced himself Michael was his friend, his partner in literal crime, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

16. Them sleepy:

Michael returned home in the early morning, only to discover his bed was occupied. Ian was in boxers and nothing else, sound asleep. His partner’s limbs were bent up among his blankets, mouth puffing open slightly whenever he breathed out. Used to seeing Ian sleep in odd positions on the couch, Michael knew the way he tucked his arms under himself in his sleep. But it was strange to see him in here. How often did he come in here, even when Michael was awake? Michael stood silent by the bedside and watched Ian snooze peacefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. Did he miss me? This time, instead of dismissing it immediately, Michael let this thought settle. Michael imagined the way Ian must’ve been up waiting for him, maybe even worrying about him, before coming to open his bedroom door. Michael How Ian must have settled his head, nose against the pillow, and arranged the comforter Michael slept with over himself. And then his hand slipped, drifted downward, sinking down into Ian’s hair. Soft and thicker than he imagined, he combed through the wisps of black lightly enough to not disturb him. Missed you, came a hushed sentiment in his mind. Michael swept the bangs that fell messily over Ian’s forehead when his hand grazed across Ian’s temple. There had been times Michael touched Ian before; when injured pieces were in play and Michael stitched up the wounds. The burst of warmth when fingertips brushed Ian’s skin took him by surprise. Ian stirred from this touch however, and Michael’s hand flew to his side. Extending his arms, green swatches fluttered open; Ian stretched his legs and flopped his head on the pillow. “Hi, you’re back,” he mumbled, words languid like the hand that rubbed at his eye, then curled loosely on the sheets. “Hi,” Michael replied, the way Ian looked up at him striking some tender feeling in his throat. “What are you doing in here?” Starting to understand his indications, Michael saw the light flush of embarrassment rise as Ian rolled into sitting. “Did I fall asleep in here? Sorry man, my mistake. Been pretty tired lately,” he explained, kicking away the sheets and getting clumsily out of Michael’s bed. “I had all the lights off and must’ve walked in here instead of my room. Didn’t think twice, my head just hit a pillow.” “S’alright. You looked comfortable.” Michael smoothed his hand over the blanket and Ian’s eyes followed it. “… I was.” Ian shrugged before sheepishly fleeing the room for his own bed.

19. Them drunk:

“Hey, buddy.” A firm hand nudged Ian’s shoulder. “Buddy.” The faint sounds of a bar swam to his ears; the clink of glasses against wood, quiet voices agreeing to go home, chairs scraping and the drone of a late night talk show host floating somewhere above him. “C’mon Ian, you need to get out of here.” With a soft sigh that left his chest slowly, he knew where he was. He sat on a stool in his favorite local dive, his body glued to the counter in his usual spot. Graham the bartender, to his credit, waited a full minute before poking Ian in the shoulder. “Mm, can I get one to go?” Ian’s voice came muffled from the crook of his arm. The sticky countertop was a comfortable place to lay his head and he liked the support it gave his loose limbs which currently felt curled up on each other. “No,” the barkeep responded firmly. “And you’re not staying the night… I’ll call you a cab.” Ian’s head popped off the counter, fingers clinging to the glass in his hand. “Don’t have to.” Ian stood, waiting for the lightheaded rush that made his knees wobble to pass before knocking back the dregs of his screwdriver and slipping a few crumpled bills under his glass. “Someone’s coming to get you?” Graham asked. Ian basked in the heat lingering in his throat, he swallowed. “H’yeah, sure.” He waved off the question with a flip of his hand and ambled outside.

Charley

4. Their laugh:

Samuel pulled through the discount rack, casting coat hanger after coat hanger aside flippantly and frowning. “Why’s this all ugly?” she lamented. Charley shrugged, back against the wall, eyes trained on the crummy mall clothes outlet across the way from the display window of theirs. They did this as part of their job sometimes, building profiles. It helped understand daily routines a target had and was the best way to learn potential vulnerabilities. “Oh, now this is good,” Samuel piped up. “I should get these Dahlia for her next birthday.” Charley turned and saw her considering a set of women’s pajamas, with blue penguins printed on the pants and another pudgy penguin on the shirt with a speech bubble saying ‘Out Cold’. Charley took one look at the pajamas and burst out laughing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding?” he snickered, gesturing. “These? With these cute little bastards on them? Are we thinking of the same woman?” He deemed Dahlia maybe a little too serious and brooding. “She could use these, I hate seeing her going to sleep in just whatever outfit she’s got on. She actually would like something goofy like this, she just doesn’t say so.” Samuel held the shirt and flipped flopped the long fleecey sleeve, before then using it to wave to Charley. He chuckled and checked his watch. “You’d know better than anybody, I suppose.” “There’s a lot of things about Dahlia you don’t know.” “Really?” Charley asked interested, hands busy tying long black dreads into a bun at his neck. “Care to share with the class?” Samuel shook her head. “I don’t betray her trust like I promised I wouldn’t betray yours.” Aside from the very first time, he thought. Samuel hadn’t broken her promise to him since. “I respect that,” Charley rolled his shoulders and glanced over into the clothing store opposite the one they stood in. An unassuming young man with green sneakers had just entered it.“Spotted him. Do your thing.” he said to his partner. The two watched him moving around the counter of the neighboring store. “He’s late for work,” Samuel said. “That’s why he’s rushing. He’s nervous his manager might be annoyed with him… here she comes. And he’s very attracted to his boss, he’s thinking about her…” her nose crinkled. “I’m not relaying that.” Samuel watched the manager cross her arms as the man blabbered on. “She thinks he’s nothing but a tiny-dicked idiot. Got him.” she concluded and Charley laughed again.

5. Their crying:

Charley sat across from his partner Samuel at a cafe table in Ireland. His panic had brought them far across the ocean, further than he meant to travel but Charley chalked it up to stress and a need to just run. Their mission to hunt a certain target ended successfully with the target’s death, but included the death of an innocent bystander. Just thinking about it made Charley’s guts coil. He fucked up bad this time, he lost control and a man lost his life because of the mishap. “You’re still learning control over your power, you did not abuse it, the reins slipped from your hands. An accident, Charley. That’s all it was.” He wiped a stubborn tear from the crease of his eye. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You don’t need to be brave in front of me,” she murmured, reading the shame and denial of his emotions from his mind. “I’m not like him.” Charley blinked his chestnut eyes, the sour rise that made his nose tingle bringing more tears as he thought of the man who had turned him this way. His partner saw through him like tissue paper, and she saw the replaying memories; the way his face had looked, the reason he hated to let anyone see him cry, and the way that the innocent man had been knocked below to his death. He reached for her ivory hand and she took it supportively, politely looking to the far end of the cafe while Charley mopped his brow with a cloth napkin, the older man’s torso shaking with low rumbles and sniffs. A couple other lunch goers nearby looked in their direction a few times, but left them undisturbed. “… We need to see Meissa.” Samuel said finally. Charley wiped his eyes once more looked morosely at his untouched scone. “What do I tell her?” “The truth.” she suggested, wrapping her coat a little closer to her. “I’ll vouch for you, I saw them both die. The other man was not supposed to be there. It’s unfortunate, yes, but we live in the present and must go on.” Charley thought that seemed a bit harsh. “It’s survival,” Samuel added gently. “You had to change to survive and here you sit. I survived the bear trap of my childhood and here I sit. This doesn’t end here,” She retrieved her wallet and left some money on the table. “Ready? We’ll make it through this too.” Charley nodded, took a deep slow breath to collect himself. Then Samuel placed her hands in his on the table and the two vanished from their seats.

Dahlia

10. Their interactions with an enemy/rival

Dahlia kept certain rooms in her house well furnished and comfortable, and others purposefully devoid of distractions. She was leaning against her desk in such a room now, desk and a single bookshelf holding some of her dream journals the only objects beside bare floor and walls, with of course, the projection system. Projected on the walls all around her was a calming cloudy ocean scene with the horizon stretched before her. She lit a cigarette, smoke curling bright in the projection light. She glanced at her watch. The chair and the man tied to it materialized a half second later. Dahlia didn’t bat an eye. Charley stood behind the chair, palms flat on the grizzled older man’s shoulders. “I appreciate the trouble,” said Dahlia. “I know you could’ve handled him alone.” “No trouble, and thank Sammy, she lured his greasy ass into the motel room. In fact, thank her yourself.” He disappeared and within five seconds he reappeared, this time hand in hand with Samuel. Her peacock blue heels clicked on the hardwood as she moved concentric circles around the man in the chair. “Still out cold, I’m impressed Charley-boy.” “Pleasure, I’ve been practicing my right hook. It’s nice to test it out on this freak. A five year old kid, that’s sick.” he shook his head. ”Good work both of you,” Dahlia hummed approvingly. “Now we wait.” “Mind if I bounce?” Charley asked. “Gotta teach my class in an hour.” “Go right ahead. Just be back here after for disposal.” Charley nodded and vanished. Dahlia coolly regarded the unconscious man, puffing on her cigarette, lost in thought. Samuel silently watched Dahlia thinking. Samuel became a usual presence to Dahlia in this way, like a friend sitting beside her on a windowsill, simultaneously looking out the same window as herself, seeing the same vivid world outside. At last, the large man stirred, opened his bleary eyes. “The hell?” he groaned, then his eyes fell on Dahlia, then Samuel. “Who are you people? Where the fuck did you take me, you pasty bitch?” Dahlia didn’t waste time. “Mr. Clark, you don’t know me and I certainly don’t care to know you, but I do know what you did to the five year old son of your next door neighbors.” The man tried to wiggle out of his restraints. “You’re crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, let me fucking go!” “Take a look around Mr. Clark, this is the last room you’ll ever see.” “What?” he froze mid struggle and stared at Dahlia, who tapped her cigarette calmly in a porcelain teacup on the table. He looked to Samuel whose pallid eyes pierced daggers in his direction. “You’re not serious… I’m not scared of some dumb bitches.” “He’s lying.” Samuel contributed. “Choosing to pursue that particular disgusting fantasy of yours was the wrong choice.” Dahlia said, then extended her arm into the blue projection light and Samuel handed her a bottle of liquor from a shelf. Dahlia uncapped it and poured amber liquid into a large glass. “What are you doing?” Mr. Clark clamored as Dahlia approached him with the glass. “I swear I didn’t do it! I never touched the boy!” “It’s tacky to lie,” Samuel commented, watching as the man squirmed in place. Dahlia grabbed him by the hair, yanked his jaw up in the air, and poured the cup down his throat. The liquid spilled over the mans chin and down his shirt as he spluttered and fought, but Dahlia made sure some went down his throat. “How does it feel to be robbed of your agency?” Dahlia asked, stepping back. “I want you to meditate on that while the darkness comes. To feel like– what was his name?” she asked the man. “Evan Watson.” Samuel supplied when the man kept quiet. “Yes, like Evan when you raped him.” The man coughed out a sting of curses at Samuel and Dahlia, but the words quickly subsided until both the room and the man were still. Dahlia shuddered and turned away. “You know I like to stay distant and trust you and Charley and the others to handle this part,” she said to Samuel. “But I hated the dreams I saw. The ones with kids are the worst.” “You don’t need to explain to me, I’ve seen the way it hurts.” “Right.” Her friend’s view into her mind let Samuel understand best, but that didn’t stop Dahlia from wanting to explain things to her anyway. I appreciate you Sam, she thought. In all the ways you help me stop these people. I’d be lost without you. Samuel smiled her pearly teeth at Dahlia and Dahlia wished then that she could also see into Samuel’s innermost thoughts.

11. Their interactions with a stranger (feel free to say who the stranger might be! wink wink)

Rosie

1. Them as a child (i’ll do this one later)

8. Their interactions with their significant other(s), if they have them (the significant other is outta the picture, so you get Rosie and her daughter instead)

Bia clinked her raspberry gin lemonade against her mother’s glass. They sat in a private VIP room at the King’s Throne, celebrating Bia’s acceptance into one of the top medical schools in the country. Rosanne frequented this particular night club for abundance of potential customers and good relations with the owner. They were on their second round of drinks. “To the start of your career! This is all for you sweetie, enjoy yourself.” Rosanne toasted her glass and took a long sip. Bia followed suit. “Honey, I want you to know I’m proud of you.” “Thanks mom.” “I’ve been proud since the first time I held you crying in my arms.” Maybe it was the alcohol, but Bia felt a lump rise in her throat. “Even if… I turned out differently than you expected?” Rosanne set down her amaretto sour. “You’ve surprised me a lot as you’ve grown,” she started. “But never negatively. Never wanted you to work in my trade, and you surprised me by never wanting to follow in my footsteps, by picking medical school and gettin’ accepted. I’ve watched a little boy grow into a wonderful, resourceful, fucking intelligent, brave and beautiful woman. Nothing could make me prouder.” Happy tears dripped down over Bia’s expensive make up but she didn’t care. Her mother pulled her into a hug and Bia let her mascara disintegrate.

Bia

9. Their interactions with their best friend

“Your quiet magical friend told me you were here in rehab. I’m really proud of you for being here Ian.” Bia sat beside him on the edge of his bed in his room at the inpatient rehab center. She looked much healthier now, but a different version of the woman he’d known once, before Phil Lancaster had ever touched her. “Thank you Bia, and you haven’t told anyone else about what Michael can do, have you?” “No, you made me swear.” “Okay, cool.” “But listen I… I’m not the reason you’re in here now, am I?” “What do you mean?” Bia shifted her shoes on the carpet and smoothed her hair. “Well, you and me were trying different shit a lot when we were together and I’d feel terrible if I–” “No,” Ian interrupted. “Trust me, you’re not the reason I’m here. I was an addict before I met you.” Bia sighed, still looking concerned. “Okay, just wanted to apologize for ever turning you onto it.” His time dating her had been comfortable and some brief, needed stability. They spent it trying drugs and having sex, but Ian’s favorite memories had been the late hours of the night when they lay beside each other and she shared stories; these including tales of her life as a surgeon and her wild experience of growing up with a drug mogul mother like Rosanne Madaki. “I’m the one couldn’t stop Bia, and you never forced me. You were one of the few things keeping my head above the water. Taking Xanax was my own choice and so is quitting it.” She smiled meekly. “That’s the spirit.” “So, how have you been recently?” “In constant therapy for… y’know, what he did. There’s no better relief than waking up in my mother’s house and remembering he’s dead and will never be anything but dead. Mom’s barely let me out of her sight, and when she does she has one of her bodyguards tail me around, she thinks I don’t notice.” “She loves you.” “I know, she just blames herself for everything still.” “We’ve all got our struggles,” Ian said patting her arm. “We’ll try and get better together, okay?” Bia nodded and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

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