#it's a crime that I'm being expected to function today

[donnerpartyofone]

I have posted about this multiple times before but since tumblr's search won't cough any of it up, I'm just going to say it again so I can add my new thing to my thought process about trigger warnings:

Years ago a popular true crime blogger posted an ask from someone requesting that she tag for needles. I think she had posted that notorious x-ray of masochistic serial murderer Albert Fish's colon, which is admittedly disturbing, but she very politely declined on the basis that everything she posts tends to be violent and disturbing--you actually SHOULD find her blog upsetting--and users should manage their expectations around that general premise. Additionally, needles do not carry the specific traumatic weight of something like, say, racial violence or child abuse, for which a warning could be in order; needles are everyday objects that one might reasonably encounter in a store or a person's home, or practically anywhere. If you have such an aversion that it really affects your life to see a needle, you might want to pursue treatment and stop using a part of the internet that is essentially a giant random image generator.

My personal take on content/trigger warnings (are those different? If not then why do we have varying tags instead of one universal one to keep the system reliable?) is similar, that they're only important for material that could seriously upend someone's day. Is Thing X something you truly could not have expected where you encountered it? Would you need to leave work or school if you saw Thing X? Would you need to seek assistance or take a medication? Does Thing X cause significant social problems or affect your sense of safety? If not, you don't need a warning. I mean everyone can tag whatever they choose and of course some folks are happy to tag stuff just because someone might find it annoying or unpleasant, but you're not entitled to protection from strangers just to spare you casual discomfort.

One day I got this extremely angry anonymous message in all caps yelling at me for not tagging spiders. I had no idea what the person was talking about, but after a while I realized it had to be about a popular post I'd made years ago showing tarantulas in a Kids In the Hall sketch. This was especially funny to me because at the time I was posting a lot of explicit violence and sexual imagery that someone could reasonably object to, but this person felt that it was my job to help create the illusion of a spiderless world for their benefit. I know arachnaphobia is a real thing but I still think that if you suffer from it then it's your job to look after yourself and not everybody else's job to protect you from remembering that there are spiders.

This is kind of a tangent but I often think about how trypophobia is not technically a phobia because it isn't affecting anybody's ability to lead a normal daily existence. It's just a grossout thing, basically a matter of taste, but people love to try to elevate it to the level of a serious psychological vulnerability for some reason.

I'm thinking about this stuff (again) today because I just saw a post on one of the autism subreddits where someone linked to a scientific paper to answer a specific question, but they said it needed warnings for incidental use of the term "high-functioning" and advised that some people may not wish to read the paper at all so they wouldn't be triggered by it. That term is sometimes used to invalidate or deny care to people who give the outward appearance of less urgent needs, so it is indeed pretty tricky and needs work. But change is only going to come from attention; if you are concerned about the effects of that language then I think it behooves you to know how it is being used so you are able to argue about it and lobby for change. It's hard for me (a "high-functioning" person) to imagine a scenario in which I'm interested in reading about a condition I have, and then I refuse to do so because the phrase "high-functioning" is going to trigger a psychiatric episode so bad that it's better for me to just ignore information about my own health. I think an adult who is usually inclined to educate themselves should be able to handle occasionally seeing troublesome or outdated language.

Put more concisely than above, my criteria for warnings is just: when the questionable item relates to a real, reasonably common traumatic experience that would be unfair to spring on someone who could relate to it, and/or when the content would be legitimately surprising in its context. Like if you're in my corner of tumblr you should expect that you're going to see horror movie stuff, I'm not tagging anything like that unless it's miles over the line I typically draw. But on the other hand I was out at a restaurant one night and this spoiled egomaniac was practically shouting for a long time in graphic detail about episiotomies within earshot of everyone who was trying to eat. Honestly one of the staff should have told her to shut the fuck up. That's not a thing that people should be normally expected to put up with in a public dining situation, even though it regards a medical procedure that is not morally offensive.

It's probably obvious by now that I think that being uncomfortable and even offended, at least to some degree, has an important psychological and social function. It enables you to recognize and react to problems around you. Understanding what makes you uncomfortable is critical; dealing with discomfort builds character; and continuously avoiding everything you don't like keeps you infantile. It's actually not good to live in a world of only your favorite things.

[civildisorderstream]

The Worst Congress

I said I'd make this my political thought dumpster. I made as well follow through right? Real quick though, AGDQ 2023 is ongoing at the moment, which basically means my time is claimed for the week as I like to tune in. Streaming-wise I'd just decided to do two short streams a day, one at noon and the other at 9pm. It's the best way to get around all my work at home.

So, on to business.

We have a new Congress in America, lead by the Republicans. Well, "lead" is a really strong word. In their opening week, they failed to officially title a Speaker (the person in charge of all the business, what order they do it in, etc). It took fifteen goddamn attempts and that alone has made this the worst House in my lifetime. I'm almost 40, to put some perspective on that. There's been a LOT of Congresses in my life that were dead in the water policy-wise or actively harming people policy-wise. This one is going to be one of those two, probably leaning the latter, at minimum. But the fact that it can't function in the most basic of ways really shows how degenerated my country has become when it comes to its perception of what it means to hold an elected office and how to do the job. Professionalism has gone out the door in favor of posturing and grandstanding. Funny thing for a guy named "Civil Disorder" to say, right?

Today though they actually started doing things. They passed their ruleset for the next two years, which has made the goof of giving the insurrectionists what amounts to veto power to stop procedures. They got rid of the Ethics Committee, again, despite all of the "we need to DRAIN THE SWAMP" talk from Republicans. And they've also established things to go after peoples and entities investigating the insurrection attempt, and bringing justice those who were involved in it.

The thing is, the hypocrisy isn't a surprise. Nor is pointing out the means of making them stop in their tracks. The hypocrisy is the point. They very much intend to do it, they boast about it. For all the talk varying people have about the SECRET CONSPIRACY EVIL government does, from one party or another, the truth of the matter is when our government is being wrong to others or even evil, it's really banal and just plain-as-day business. It's not thrilling nor happening in secret, it doesn't require reading between any lines. They just say, "We want to do this bad stuff to people here's how we're doing it." The only secret criminality that happens when it comes to the government is at an individual level, usually for financial crimes like embezzlement / fund misappropriation. Really boring stuff - stuff that still needs to be brought to justice, but it's not exciting.

My angle in talking politics is almost always rooted in "avoid the doomspeak, here's what we can do directly about this specific thing." For now, we're still in the super early stages of this iteration of our government. Luckily, the House doesn't have single-handed power to make legislation happen. The POTUS has veto power, the Senate has to vote in favor of legislation, so honestly I wouldn't expect much in the way of federal law. However, the committee stuff they're going to be doing is going to be VERY OBNOXIOUS, particularly to me because I'm the idiot that actually pays attention to this stuff so you, dear reader (if any of you exist yet), don't really have to. I still have my document on hand about protest safety and support on hand, and will bring it out when needed in the coming two years. But for now, my advice?

Make these assholes' lives miserable. Not in any criminal sense. Don't harass them or stalk them or anything. But you can definitely do some persona non grata stuff. Refuse them service if you just so happen to work at the restaurants Republicans go to. It's "discrimination" to not serve them, true, but it's not the federally illegal kind. Because you're refusing to serve assholes, which are not a protected class. That's just one of many examples you can do. Hell if you want, you can even boo them when they appear in public. Like I said, don't hang around them to do it, just in passing. Give them the finger. This is all "for now" stuff. We have to see what nonsense they attempt in the coming days to get more concrete ideas. For the moment we can certainly play by all the rules legally speaking, be it practical or the cult-like following of Constitutional allowances. If they can weaponize it, so can we.

[wincestisasincest]

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 3: A Bit Derivative

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: I literally have no idea how I'm doing this so quickly I swear I'm on drugs or something. Anyway, happy valentines day, enjoy this snack of a man. Also, thank you to literally everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, or comments, you guys make me so happy you literally have no idea jakehtkejrh i hope you enjoy this one

Word Count: 5.8k

Taglist: @edenstarkk

Mentions of: being drunk, womanizing, people dying, burial

Triggers: guns (the really big, dumb pirate ones, though), police questioning, language, math

“Can I ask you a question?” you didn’t look away from the blackboard, but you knew that Jayce would hear you. He sat at the nearby table, busy as ever with that transistor.

“Yup,” he also did not look up from his work.

“This… this whole thing about preventing damage from the cannon,” you began, keeping your guilt bridled, “is it all, like, preparing in advance in case something happens? Or has something already happened?”

“A little bit of both,” he grunted, forcing an uncooperative gear into place, “it would be naïve to think that people wouldn’t try to copy your design. Or use it to make something even worse. We haven’t seen it on a large scale yet, but reports say that people in Bilgewater are making smaller, handheld versions of what you made.”

“Like guns?”

“Yeah, like guns.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” you snorted, “the recoil will kill ‘em.”

“People are stupid,” Jayce shrugged, “especially when they’re bloodthirsty.”

“Is anyone else trying to get rid of these things?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Piltover is planning on waiting it out.”

“That’s even more stupid,” you took a moment to tame the serrated edge in your voice, “people will die.”

“No one’s gonna miss the people that are making these weapons.”

“I disagree,” you felt bold today, “everyone’s got a gun in Bilgewater, not just assholes. It’s how they protect themselves. These weapons could be in the hands of shop owners, working girls,” you paused to circle a number on the blackboard, “kids.”

“And, even if they are in the hands of people in gangs,” you pressed the chalk a little harder, “dead gang higher-ups spells trouble. It means power vacuums, and power vacuums means civil war, and civil war means a lot of collateral damage.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that,” he sounded just a tad annoyed as you scolded him for the failings of Piltover.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I didn’t mean to snap. I just- sometimes I get defensive.”

“No kidding,” he settled back into his normal agreeableness, “I mean, what you said in front of the Council was… not expected.”

“I don’t regret it. I was right.”

“I know. This sort of discourse is not new to Piltover, what with Zaun being literally below its surface.”

“Yeah that’s… on the nose,” you stopped in your writing to consider the implications of the two cities, the chalk barely gripped by your fingers, “which one came first?”

“Neither did. Or, I guess, they both used to be one city. But I think that, kinda like Bilgewater, people have sort of accepted that the prosperity of our City of Progress depends on Zaun’s criminal underworld.”

“That’s… not good.”

“No. It is not,” Viktor’s cane tapped into the room as he spoke, “it is part of the reason why we founded Hextech. No City of Progress should have to thrive on the blood of others,” he paused, “your derivative is incorrect.”

“What’s a-“

“A derivative is the rate of change of a function with respect to a variable. Acceleration is the derivative of velocity.”

“So… so like slope with variables in it?”

“That is oversimplifying. It is the rate of change of a function at a specific moment. The issue with your numbers is that you are not defining the change in time as a variable.”

“Well, yeah, because it’s just 0 at any specific moment.”

“Do not solve for a single point, then. Solve for a slope that is getting smaller and smaller.”

“So… so the change in time is approaching 0, but not actually reaching it. And then you could substitute…” you trailed off, crafting your problem on the board.

“Yes. So the answer should be-“

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me,” you interrupted him with a firm wave of your hand, ignoring the raised eyebrows he was giving you as you crossed out numbers and simplified.

He recognized your odd symbols from last night – instead of ‘v’ for velocity, you had a stick figure of a person running. Instead of ‘t’ for time, you had a clock. At least you were consistent with your irritants to his research. Either way, he couldn’t expect you to know standard variables, and he did not have the time to each you.

Even though he just did. But he would elect to not think about that.

“This?” you said finally, stepping aside to reveal your answer.

“Yes,” the former student in him wanted to offer some praise on top of the affirmation, but he abstained. This was just a basic part of the work that they did, and something that you should not be rewarded for figuring out.

“Ugh, I remember learning calculus,” Jayce peered over the table, catching a glimpse of your calculations.

“I thought you liked calculus?” Viktor side-eyed his friend.

“I do. But I hated learning it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they teach you how to do it in the most complicated way possible, and then they tell you all of the tricks after. I get why they do it, but it sucks,” he emphasized with a twist of his Allen wrench, “and, that’s when the problems start to get super long. So, if you get one part wrong, then you get the rest of it wrong.”

“I do recall a similar frustration,” Viktor grazed his chin with his fingers, watching you dart to different sides of the board as you began to pull all your numbers together.

“But I bet if I had you teach me, it would’ve been way more fun,” Jayce teased.

“Tchk. I did not ‘teach’ her, I just told her what she did wrong.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it.”

*****

The next day you left in the early afternoon. Apparently, you were wanted downtown for some questioning. The officer, the same one that woke you up every morning, refused to give you any details, but you got the sense that she didn’t know much more than you did.

“Here,” she pressed a paper bag against your chest, “in case you won’t be back to the campus station tonight. I don’t want you smelling like shit.”

You peeked inside to find the necessary toiletries for a night over.

“Thank you…” you wanted to be more specific, but you realized that you didn’t know anything about this woman.

“Yeah.”

A brief silence in the station as you figured out how to pose your question.

“So, are you like, my handler?”

“No. I’m an Enforcer,” she kept her standard bluntness.

“Oh… it’s just that I see you every day, and now I’m seeing you again. Am I going to keep seeing you?”

“Yes. All the time.”

“So you are my handler?”

“No.”

“Whose fault is it if I do something wrong, then?”

“Yours.”

“But, I mean, who gets yelled at for it?”

“You.”

“So, you don’t care if I were to, say, run off in that direction and not come back?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “well, can I at least have a name or something?”

Her face was stony and her eyes were dead.

“Officer Brent.”

“Okay then, Officer Brent.”

“We’re ready for her,” a rough voice beckoned to you from the corner.

Officer Brent nodded in his direction before making eye contact with you. That was your cue.

“I will see you later, Officer Brent,” you stood up and followed the man walking out from behind the desk.

She flipped her dark curly hair over her shoulders and just watched you go.

You were lead into a bland room. It reminded you a little bit of the lab, with its white walls, blank tables, and two lonely chairs. The one-way mirror in the back could’ve easily been like that giant window reflecting your expression back when the light hit it just right. However, instead of a twinkle of curiosity or the satisfaction of a job well done, you were just met with your own empty stare.

“Sit,” the man said. He was boxy, with subtle mutton chops and a nose that had been broken one too many times. He plopped down in the chair across from you and filed through his papers with scarred knuckles.

“Alright, before anything, I wanna be clear that we’re not here to talk about your criminal offense. You’re here as a witness, and not a suspect. This does not mean that you get off free, it’s just not what we’re going to talk about today. Understood?”

You nodded.

“I’m obligated to inform you of your rights as a witness. You are required to be here, but you do have the right to remain silent. What this means is that, if you do not tell the truth, that is a criminal offense and you will be charged for it,” he waited for you to nod again, “Further, what we discuss in here is confidential. Sharing information pertinent to an Enforcer investigation is also a criminal offense.”

He spoke slowly and clearly, giving you time to swallow everything he was saying. He was definitely practiced in speaking to criminals, but not with them. You spoke fast and loud, stuttered a lot, and moved on without warning, just like everyone else in your hometown. He spoke so that anyone could understand because anyone he spoke to had to understand – it wasn’t a choice. It was the same kind of authority that that professor, Heimerdinger, had. Equal parts powerful and damning.

You weren’t sure if you liked it or not, but it was a nice change of pace from all of the shady shit that you were dealing with. In Bilgewater and in Piltover, authority flourished in darkness.

“I’m going to swear you in now. Repeat after me. I do solemnly, sincerely, and truly declare…”

“I do solemnly, sincerely, and truly declare…”

“…that the evidence I give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…”

“…that the evidence I give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…”

“…with the gods as my witness.”

“…with the gods as my witness.”

Most of the questions were mundane – confirmation of what the rest of the crew had spilled, general facts about Bilgewater culture, and the occasional prodding at your involvement with the whole thing, though the last topic was kept to a pleasant minimum.

Their target seemed to be the captain – Iron Leg.

“Do you know anything about his plans for the weapon?”

“No. All he told me was that he needed something to take out a fleet. Destroy the ships. This is sorta… am I allowed to offer an opinion?”

“As long as you don’t get sidetracked.”

“Well, this is sorta weird for pirates, because normally they attack ships with the purpose of getting on board and looting them. But he wanted them, uh, vanquished. So, I don’t think he was planning to take anything from them, which is kinda weird.”

“And his reputation was built on robbing ships, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He hastily scratched something down on paper.

“I know I’m not the one asking the questions…” you started, cautiously aware of the silence that his notetaking left, “but isn’t Iron Leg in prison?”

“He is,” the man said, still writing, “but we had our suspicions about his goal in attacking a Piltover fleet. I’m sure you know that pirates tend not to get that close. And you have just confirmed that suspicion,” he raised his head, “do you know if he had any previous business with Piltover?”

“He had to have some connection,” you reasoned, “or else he wouldn’t have had the hextech crystal. But I don’t think the man himself has ever been to Piltover. I don’t know much about him, though.”

“Does he have any enemies?”

“Who doesn’t?” you snarked, “but I remember he was pretty feared by people on the island. Not like Gangplank, but still bad. I heard a story once – the guy was drunk, so grain of salt – that someone tried to hijack his plunder and he had them tied right in front of the muzzle of a cannon before he fired it. He was- is brutal.”

“Any allies?”

“He was on good terms with everyone above him, and those just below him, but no one was his ally. I don’t even think most of his crew liked him.”

“No one on the island that he would’ve been close with?”

“He did have a wife and child at some point. The wife is dead, you can see her grave in the bay, but no one has seen or heard of a burial for his child.”

“So, they’re still alive?”

“No idea.”

“Around what time would you say that you heard about his family?”

“Um… I don’t have exact numbers, but I remember the news that he had a kid dropped when I was maybe 10 or something, the wife died 5 years later, and then people started getting suspicious of the kid around 2 years ago.”

“And how old are you?”

“See, that’s the thing… I don’t really know my own birthday so I can’t be accurate with this stuff,” you rubbed the back of your neck, partially embarrassed because of your ignorance, and partially because you were getting all apologetic with an Enforcer.

“It’s alright,” he exhaled, “I think we’re finished for today. I’ll get someone to bring you back to the campus station.”

He got up from his chair, gathered his documents, and lingered in the doorway on his way out. He looked just past his shoulder.

“We will probably see each other again. If you remember anything important, tell the campus station to call up downtown.”

“Okay.”

His footsteps faded into the hallway.

Iron Leg was feared for his ruthlessness, not his intelligence. It made him very predictable, which you liked. You knew that when he threatened to give you a violent death if you didn’t help him, it wasn’t part of some grander Machiavellian scheme – the bastard meant it. This also meant that he wasn’t trying to get the attention of some greater power by attacking Piltover. He had a history with this city. One that their law enforcement wasn’t aware of. One that he thought was worthy of lethal revenge.

You remembered the feeling of his blunderbuss pressed to the underside of your jaw. It grinded against a tender bruise and forced you to bite your tongue.

“And I know that you know, my dear, that for insubordinates,” his gun burrowed further, and you felt the tension of your bone begging to snap, “death would be merciful.”

You did not doubt him for a second, and you didn’t doubt him now, but in retrospect, you found yourself wondering just how desperate he must have been for treating you the way that he did. You were already well known for doing any job as long as you got paid and being about as adaptable as water in a new container. You were the definition of jack of all trades, master of none, and you were very likely to say yes.

And yet, he didn’t just go to all the effort to kidnap and threaten you, but also to keep you on your feet. You got three square meals, materials whenever you asked for them, and, strangest of all, he specifically instructed his crew of well-known womanizers and scoundrels to leave you alone. He didn’t just want you, he needed you. He needed someone who wouldn’t, couldn’t, fail him, and you just needed to stay alive.

You were two hopeless people who had found each other at their lowest and made everything worse. And you knew why you were at the bottom, but what caused Iron Leg to plummet down there with you?

“All right, trouble. Let’s get a move on,” a posh voice called from the door.

“Caitlyn?” you burst up from the seat, recalling the kind blue eyes and gentle smile. Your expression faltered, “you’re an Enforcer?”

“No. Not yet. I’m in training. But I didn’t rat you out, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she crossed her arms, “I didn’t even know you were a criminal until Jayce and Viktor told me after our little meeting.”

“So, you know them, too? You- you were connected to literally everything that I was trying to escape. What a coincidence,” you found yourself chuckling just to survive the absurdity of it all.

“I suppose so. Come on,” she waved for you to follow.

It was dark as you walked down the streets. It felt like an odd parallel, to being completely ignorant to each other and painfully slow in the brightness of morning, and now moving right along and fully acquainted in the depth of the night.

Already, so much had changed. Hell, you knew what an equation was now. You knew what a derivative was now. You had enemies and… not-enemies. You were working against Iron Leg and still alive. You had something to do all day that was actually suited to your skills. And you didn’t even need to wonder where your next meal came from.

Of course, all it took was one look out into the great blue ocean, the reminder that you would never again fall asleep to the clement murmuring of the waves, for you to sink into despair all over again.

“What are you looking at?” Caitlyn leaned her head, trying to match your line of sight.

“Oh… just the ocean. It’s really peaceful here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she sighed fondly.

“I hate it.”

She abruptly chortled, slowing down for a second to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, moving forward again, “I didn’t mean to laugh. I just… was not expecting that.”

“I mean it’s pretty and all,” you shrugged, “but what’s the point of it being pretty if you’re just going to look at it? Where are the people? Where’s the life?! It’s not supposed to be this empty.”

“You don’t like the sight of all the stars on the ocean?” she gave you an endeared smile.

“You know what’s better than seeing that from shore? Being out there, on a boat, in the middle of the sea, with nothing but stars mirrored back to you on completely black water. It feels like you’re in space or something.”

“All alone?”

“Or,” you continued, hellbent on convincing her, “like, you’re in the middle of this bay on this island that no one’s heard of, and if you go out and swim in it during the right time of night all of the bioluminescent fish and plants will make it glow like you’ve never seen.”

“I can’t swim.”

“OR!” you tried again, “you’re coming back from a long voyage, and you see the giant fish guardians with their mouths open, welcoming you home with all of their beautiful carving that was made like a million years ago. And you can remember all of their names because you’ve seen them so many times.”

Finally, Caitlyn found herself at a loss for a counter.

“I dunno,” you concluded, briefly dazed with your own memory, “like, it’s pretty from here, but you gotta go out there if you wanna find something beautiful.”

“All right, I see your point. That was quite poetic.”

“Yeah, well, I gotta have something to do while I’m remembering it,” your shoulders slumped.

“Oh. Right,” she said quietly.

And just like that, you were pulled back into the trance of staring like a fish on a hook, if only to quell your aching heart.

“By the way, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re that bad of a person,�� Caitlyn looked down at you.

“What?” you said crudely, “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that if you’re an Enforcer?”

“Well, I’m not an Enforcer yet, and I’ve still got a brain of my own, y’know. I can think for myself,” she chided in mock offense, “and I mean, yeah, you’ve definitely made some mistakes. But I happen to be very good friends with someone who was accused by the Council of a serious crime years ago, and has now recovered from it,” a twinge of knowing camaraderie her eye told you that you were supposed to get this reference.

"I'm not following."

"Oh? They didn’t tell you?” her brows raised, and her smile arched slyly, “actually, I’m not surprised. They can be a little proud sometimes. But in that case, you didn’t hear this from me.”

You nodded with concentration, putting on your proverbial listening hat.

“Well, the founding of Hextech was basically one crime after another,” she exhaled with amusement as your mouth dropped open, “Jayce and Viktor were not always the, uh, respectable citizens that they are today. Jayce needed a patron to fund his research and studies at the academy – that was my family. Viktor snuck into the academy and pretended to be a student. By the time he was found out, Heimerdinger was so impressed that he let him say there as his assistant.”

“No way,” you grinned. Current stick up his ass and superiority complex notwithstanding, that was kind of cool.

“Mhm. Anyway, Jayce was doing research on hex crystals, but since that was even more illegal then than it is now, he just sort of hid them in his lab and didn’t tell anyone. One day, someone broke in through the balcony. We’re not quite sure what happened, but one of the robbers must’ve set off a crystal because the entire room and then some exploded.”

“He would’ve gotten off with a slap on the wrist, but, against Heimerdinger’s advice, he gave this whole speech to the Council about how they were being too cautious and research into magic was a good thing. He was being quite stupid, and I say that lovingly. They were going to exile him, but at the wishes of his mother, he was simply expelled and sent home. Viktor, who was still Heimerdinger’s assistant, must’ve thought Jayce was onto something, because he stole the hex crystals and Jayce’s notes from Heimerdinger and went to help him continue his research in secret.”

“And, if that wasn’t enough broken laws already, they snuck into Heimerdinegr’s lab one night to use a gizmo he had to stabilize one of their crystals. And thank the gods it worked, because the Council was convinced enough to let them continue their research without consequences. If it hadn’t gone off like they planned, they would definitely not be here right now.”

You blinked dumbly.

“Wow, they were… committed.”

Caitlyn snorted.

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Weren’t they trying to help people, though?” you contended, “I just did my thing to save my own hide.”

“Help people, yes, but also to help themselves. People like Jayce and Viktor are a special kind of stubborn. They need these sorts of things to survive. Trust me on that.”

“I… suppose. You’ve known them a long time, huh?”

“Jayce and I were friends ever since my parents sponsored him. And then Viktor came along after. They’re good guys, if a bit single-minded.”

“Jayce is okay. The other one… we don’t get along.”

“I heard.”

“Damn,” you paused, “now I wish that I had something cool I could tell you.”

“There is one thing I wanted to ask, actually.”

“Hm?”

“What did the detective want to talk to you about?” she had the same fake-casual tone from your meeting in the alleyway, completely exposing her investment.

“Is this a trap?” you raised an eyebrow, “Because, like, he told me I’m not supposed to tell anyone, so if I tell you, are you gonna tell him, and then I’m gonna go to jail for real or something?”

“What? No. The Enforcers wouldn’t trust me with something like that, anyway. I’m not a very good liar.”

You narrowed your eyes. You decided not to tell her that you weren’t very good at figuring out when people were lying. Against all evidence and known associations, your gut told you that she was trustworthy.

“Hm. Alright, I’ll tell you. But just… please don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

“Of course not. I’d get in trouble too if they found out I asked.”

You barreled into your account of what the man asked you about, skipping some of the less interesting questions and focusing more on your own ideas towards the end. She was probably the most attentive person that you’d ever met – completely tuned in and not missing a word, not a speck of misunderstanding on her face. Just sheer, unadulterated observance.

“Hm,” she put her hand to her chin, plunging directly into speculation after you had finished, “an underlying motive for the attack. I suppose it is odd. Pirates haven’t been that close to Piltover in a long time, and then, all of a sudden, this one gets in everyone’s face and causes as much as damage as possible.”

You continued your walk in pensive silence. The only other words that you exchanged that night were acquainted goodbyes when she dropped you left you at the door.

*****

“You’re better at math than me,” you slammed your paper in front of Viktor, who barely moved in his seat, “I need you to check these. They’re important, and if I messed up, people could get hurt in the cannon blast.”

“Get Jayce to do it.”

“No. You’re better at checking because you’re determined to prove me wrong.”

“Are you saying that you think you’ll be wrong?” he looked up from the circuit board – the same one that he had been soldering the other day – and examined you like you were a fly that had been buzzing around his head all morning.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” you put both hands on your hips.

“Well, no shit, this is barely comprehensible,” he spared his first glance to your chicken scratch.

“You figured it out once, didn’t you?”

“I’m a scientist, not a translator. At least write it so I can read it, and then maybe I will help you.”

“What do you mean ‘so you can read it?!’ Are you blind?”

“Use the standard variables. First letter of the thing that you are trying to represent.”

“I can’t-“ you bit hard your lip to shut yourself up.

“You can’t what?” the expectant, near devious way that he perked up at you not being able to do something would’ve trapped a lesser man in nervous stuttering. But, you were awesome.

“Nothing. Forget it,” you reached for your paper, accepting that you were going to have to figure this shit out on your own. In one last look at your sloppy calculations, something clicked in Viktor’s mind.

Oh. There were no letters. Anywhere. You weren’t omitting them because you wanted to – you didn’t know how to spell.

And then he felt what some people would call guilt, but what he called frustration. He should’ve been able to figure it out sooner, with all your pictures and verbal explanations and discomfort with using a pencil. He was from Zaun, for gods’ sake! Contrary to popular belief, there was an education system in Zaun, half the efforts of do-gooder Pilties and half community-minded chem barons, but it was, understandably, shit. Lots of kids floated through never learning how to read their own name, much less write it.

He snatched the paper back before you could move any further.

“Nevermind, I can already see your mistake,” he insisted, hold your paper in one hand while languidly twirling his pencil in the other. He did that when he was thinking.

“Well… okay then. I can do the circuit board.”

“Not by yourself, you cannot,” he stayed focused.

“Yes, I can. Smaller hands,” you slid the goggles on just as quickly as he had begun checking your math, leaving no room for protest. Sliding the sketch that he was working on over to your side, you sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that he was so meticulous and used the diagrams to pick up where he had left off.

Viktor, at the very least, was glad to not have that damn circuit board staring at him with incompleteness.

As he skimmed your numbers, he realized that he had completely figured out your little symbolic language, to the point where he could have indulged you if he wished. But he did not, and was ruthless in writing the correct variables over your juvenile pictures. It was better this way, for you and him, he told himself.

He decided that he would not tell anyone. It was not his thing to tell, and if he weaponized this against you, then he would no better than the people that he had spent all his young life resenting. Besides, your nasty, selfish nature already gave him enough to work with.

A ringlet of smoke wisped up from the tip of the soldering iron. It encircled the crown of your head like a halo, accentuating the way that your hair framed your begoggled face. You must’ve washed it today, he figured, with how defined and soft it looked. Nowhere near the frizzy bird’s nest, pigmented with blood and dirt, that you had come in with the first time.

He caught himself, and immediately feigned interest in the circuit board.

“There is no mistake here,” he ruled after further consideration, setting your paper back down on the table.

You set the soldering iron aside and lifted up your goggles like they were a headband.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hm…” your eyes went slack for a second.

“Now, if you’re done wasting my time…“ he barked, trying to maintain your attention to get this over with.

“I’m just trying to figure out where you thought the mistake was,” you rested your chin in your hand, “but, if you are certain, then we’re done here.”

“Hey Viktor! We’re leaving!” Jayce shouted from the main room as he put on his coat.

“Ah, yes,” Viktor was tired, but willed himself to his feet anyway, pressing against his cane with more force than usual “keep working on that circuit board if you need something to do.”

He grabbed his coat from the peg near the door and you wordlessly resumed soldering.

“Oh, Penny, I’ll ask the professor about that thing for you,” Jayce leaned against the wall, waiting for his partner.

“Thank you!” you chirped from the other room.

“What thing?” Viktor asked once you were out of earshot.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll explain when I ask Heimerdinger. Now, about…” Viktor had already lost interest.

Great, now you and his partner had secrets. He knew he was overthinking it, but he had yet to meet his daily quota of stewing at your inadequacy, so he resolved to multitask as they made their way across campus.

*****

“Of course boys, you have my full support. I’ll inform local authorities of the cannon blast, so they don’t come tackling you to the ground. Just keep an eye on your help there, eh?”

“Will do, professor,” Jayce folded his hands in his lap, brimming with excitement, “actually, on that note, she asked me about something that I think you can help me with.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“She was wondering if she could take a look at any of the documents that were confiscated aboard the ship. Said that she wanted to see if she missed anything and maybe gain insight into how her design leaked into Bilgewater. I think, given the cause, and given that she has exceeded expectation, this is something that we can allow.”

Viktor was silent for most of the meeting, as per usual. He didn’t mind. Jayce loved to talk and Viktor loved to think. He would speak up if he needed to. This, however, got his attention – why would she want to look at documents that she couldn’t even read?

“Viktor, do you have something to say?” Heimerdinger was quick to notice these changes in mood after having known Viktor for so long.

Once again, Viktor considered exposing her, and once again, he was holding back. She wasn’t hard to figure out, and Jayce and the professor had enough on their plates. He would confront her on his own if need be.

“No, professor. I concur with Jayce.”

“Right. Well… I suppose there’s no harm. I’ve read most of them myself – hardly moonshine recipes,” he strolled along one of his many shelves, plucking from it a few worn leather-bound journals with barbs of paper jutting out the side.

There was a small explosion of dust when he dropped them on his desk.

“There! I do believe that’s all of them. Just don’t forget to give them back once you’re finished – for recordkeeping purposes.”

“Appreciate it as always, professor,” Jayce tucked the books under his arm and stood up.

“Of course, dear boy. I look forward to hearing back from both of you about your results,” he pointed his nose at Viktor, silently reminding him that he was always welcome to share what was on his mind.

“We will meet again soon,” Viktor smiled kindly, hoping to put the professor at ease. It was hard to tell under the moustache, but he thought it worked.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

He bid them farewell with a solemn nod. The poro ran circles around their legs as they left, wagging its tail with energetic glee.

In the hallway, Viktor eyed the journals. They looked like your average logbooks, and yet, this person who couldn’t have any hope of making sense of a logbook was interested in them. Perhaps out of a desire to be thorough, but still.

“Do you think I could keep those journals for the night? I admit I am curious,” he requested once they reached campus housing.

“Ah. One the same wavelength as our criminal, are you?” Jayce’s shit-eating grin raised Viktor’s internal temperature so much that he forgot how cold it was outside.

“Hardly,” he dismissed, “I am just curious. And, unlike you, I will not forget them tomorrow.”

“Ouch. But alright,” he passed his friend the stack, “maybe they’ll help you fall asleep.”

Oh, how wrong he was. They said goodbye for the night, and Viktor returned to his room as quickly as he could, dumping all of the journals on his table and pouring over every one of them like it was the last thing he would do.

Even though he was finished by 1 in the morning, he still had trouble sleeping that night.

~ End Notes ~

no czech swear words in this one, but if you're reading this, then you are hot and sexy

End credits song: "Magnet" by the Punch Brothers

[naamahdarling]

Pain and anger about the SNAP thing below. TW discussion of pet desth, I guess. Suicidal ideation.

So some Lady from DHS called last Thursday. I was asleep, as one is at noon, and she left a message like "Call me!" but of course didn't say what it's about. There's a couple things it could be, one of which could be pretty bad. So I try to call her back twice a day since then, and leave messages, but she won't call me back. I have no idea why.

Today I get a letter saying "You have a review appt on Wednesday at 9 a.m.! You have to justify your need for food, you worthless leech! Be awake for the call or we shoot your dog!" and I'm like...at that point I will have been in bed for like 4 hours or so, and my meds will still be knocking me tf out to the point I maybe can't carry a coherent conversation.

Obviously this is not the ideal situation to be having a conversation about whether you deserve food. But when I try to call to reschedule, the line is busy all day. Because it's my obligation to be available to THEM and not their obligation to be available to me, ever.

So now because they are shitty what I have to do is either NOT TAKE MY GODDAMN MEDICATION or just stay up, and fuck up my sleep schedule just for these precious motherfuckers who can't be arsed to warn me more than a day and a half in advance.

1) If the mail had been later, I WOULD HAVE MISSED IT. I WOULD NOT EVEN KNOW I HAD MISSED IT. How is this okay?!

2) I am DISABLED with an anxiety disorder among other things. This could really hurt me. I don't know! Lack of sleep brings on so much anxiety and dissociation that it is the most reliable suicide risk trigger I have. Like, intense suicidal ideation within 2 or 3 days of sleep disruption. This is incredibly powerful, weird, all out of proportion to what I deal with every day. I HATE it. It is a huge hindrance to functioning in a capitalistic shitshow that expects even sick people to be awake from 7-whenever they don't need you anymore.

3) All this stress over this asshole not returning my calls and my benefits maybe being cut has fucked me up so bad I had probably the worst PTSD nightmares of my life. Bad enough that I woke up thinking I might fucking faint, which was SO weird, or that I might throw up, which wouldn't be weird, but would definitely have sucked. It was EXTREMELY upsetting and managed to hit every single trauma button I have, in a SINGLE DREAM. I have already had one day of very little sleep. I will have very little sleep tonight. That's two days. How bad will I be fucked up tomorrow? Enough to melt down over wanting to die? When I need to be supporting my boyfriend?

3) Because they won't call me back, I'm having to have this conversation on the day I have to put my cat down. Once I wind down from this call, if the outcome is good, I will get maybe 3 hours of sleep. If it's bad and I wind up with no benefits, or in trouble, I may get none and may become instantly at risk of self-harm. All this before I have to take Harley in and say goodbye forever. They get to shit on this day even more by making me justify my right to pay for food.

4) The medication that would help me the most is my Klonopin. I have none left and can't get any prescribed because those are bastard junkie crime meds that only addicts and weak, shitty people take, and good moral people just handle their mental illness without safe and effective tools. So I have to either take none and endure the 2d6 psychic damage no save, illegally accept some from a friend, or develop, before morning, the kinds of helpful contacts who could sell me some that might be laced with god knows what. I'm a whitebread chickenshit who has had at most 15 tastes of alcohol in over 40 years, has never done an illegal drug, with no criminal record of any kind. A) I don't even know how to buy weed. B) I don't have the profile of someone who will develop addiction and shouldn't be denied ANY medication in any quantity or dosage I need. C) Addicts also don't deserve the treatment they get and I'm tired of them being used against other mentally ill people, turning us against addicts when we should be ALLIES.

5) I am actually uncomfortable taking this call in my mental state. I may not be able to self-advocate. This is unacceptable except there is no process for dealing with it. It is in their favor. If I melt down, they may become much less helpful. Anxiety disorders and exhibiting symptoms of them are often perceived as weakness and attempted manipulation even by paid mental health professionals, let alone by Doris Boomer at DHS who deals with the Poors every day and whose training has taught her to mistrust everyone. My assertions about what is going on will probably be seen as lies. Because, surprise, people DO lie when they are pissed off, resentful, need breathing room, or are being harmed by the system.

And I'm hurt, above all, by the fact that I called today and left a message begging, literally begging, for her to call me back because I'm sick and can't sleep and my cat is dying and I had no warning about this appointment and can't safely be up to take the call because if I can't sleep I start wanting to die, so please, please god please, if I can't take that call, please don't take my food away on top of everything else, I can't afford it.

So that was a great thing to know about myself. That if I think you might take my food benefits away I will grovel like a pathetic bug, even though I know it only makes it more likely for you to crush me. I hate myself right now. I feel disgusting.

Also they're deadnaming me so I have to do it to myself.

I'm exhausted. I was so nauseated yesterday, and faint all day, and it was anxiety. The shitty antihistamines they give for anxiety just made me feel sicker and didn't help at all, as they usually do not. I took my last Klonopin last night because that nightmare was horrifying and I still feel sick and covered in filth from it. I want to scream and scream even thinking about it.

I don't know. I guess I just wanted to put all this down and maybe derive some comfort from people seeing it and BELIEVING ME. That's one of the worst things about all of this. Being considered a liar when more than one thing is going wrong, being told it's a sob story or manipulation or an outright lie. Being considered hostile and out of line when you call out a power stronger than you for abusing that power. Being told it's just policy and not personal when nobody can explain to me how denying someone food is NOT personal.

The cruelty may not be the point, it's just how the system has grown in ways dictated by people who don't care. So it may not be this way entirely by design. But nobody cares enough to fix it, either. They're content to let it be harmful. And to let it, sometimes, break or kill people.

[mrsgiovanna]

Catharsis

A shameless (well maybe a little shameful, haha) self indulgent continuation of my selfship fic, featuring @thequeenofthenightgentlyweeps gorgeous OC Ari (rather hinting at) and @donvilaro OC Niccolo :) I hope my descriptions are true to form <3

Word count: 3.5k

“Stop sulking Bri, we’ve had this discussion every day since I reassigned you…” there was a playful lilt to Giorno’s voice, Bria looked over to find him trying to stifle a laugh at her.

“More like, fired me,”

“So harsh, cara, you're making me sound like a monster, I’d like to think of it as a promotion,” Giorno walked over to where Bria was standing and wrapped an arm around her. She fought the urge to smile and melt into his embrace, and turned away to face the window in an attempt to hide her expression, eventually having given up to meet his softened gaze.

“I’ve always been involved in everything… For years… This feels weird,"

"Perhaps then, you deserve this break, no? Besides, there's a lot I’ll need to discuss with you when Mista and I get back from Sicily tomorrow, so you're not going to be bored for much longer, amore" offered Giorno in a soothing tone.

It had been a few months since the altercation with Bria's father. He had since left Italy but was being closely monitored by some of Giorno's foreign associates. He was hellbent on preventing Mahin from ever coming into contact with Bria. Her recovery was slower than he had anticipated, GER had taken care of her physical injuries, but she was still emotionally vulnerable and lacked the usual sparkle he had come to expect from her. It hurt him to see her in that condition; even worse still, was the feeling of helplessness; what she needed was time to properly process everything. He tried to maintain his usual demeanor around her, playfully teasing her whenever the opportunity presented itself and he could tell from her responses she was trying hard to return to her former self.

On most days Bria would be close to him, helping him with his tasks and offering her input when needed. The rest of the time would be spent quietly studying with each other. However, it was days like these, when he had to leave her behind, that he worried the most.

Thankfully, the others proved to be a great source of comfort and support for her, which made him feel better about having to leave her with Bucciarati while he travelled to Sicily.

"Okay, that sounds interesting, I'll look forward to that… And Giogio? Thank you… I know what you've been doing this whole time and I appreciate it," her soft expression of gratitude brought a smile to Giorno's face, as he tightened his grip around her. Following a soft knock on the door, Bucciarati had announced his presence and informed Giorno that Mista had arrived and was awaiting him so they could leave.

"Well, that's my cue, I'll see you later on bella mia, try not to miss me too much,"

"Oh how will I possibly go on? Haha, be safe, okay?" With a tiny kiss pressed to her temple the young Don had made his exit, leaving Bria with Bucciarati who still wore the smile on his face from how pure their interactions were.

Out of everyone there, Bria had known Bruno the longest. Starting off as partners on missions, her brash mannerisms grated on him, and she couldn't understand how someone as mild mannered as he was could function in the mafia. After a while though they had started to understand each other, each seeing how the other was forged by their circumstances. Bria had to be tough, having been born into this life of crime, and Bruno had tried to hold on to the values instilled in him by his father.

Under Bucciarati’s supervision, Bria had learned how to manage her reactions, and developed a bit more poise under his care, and he gained a fierce, loyal follower, one who would become the first recruit of his own little unit.

"How do you feel today, Bri?" he asked, staring inquiringly at her face

"I'm okay… you look well, who do we have to thank for that?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

"Feeling brave today, aren't we? I actually have something I want to give you, come on, let’s go make some breakfast," suggested Bruno through his laughter. The pair made their way downstairs toward the kitchen, and when she got there, Bria immediately switched on the coffee machine and started cutting up some fruit.

"Ah Bruno! You have to try these fluffy pancakes that I learned to make for Giogio. They're Japanese souffle pancakes, I know souffle is French, don’t tell Mr Pol… it won't take long, I have… What?"

"Nothing, nothing, sorry I was just lost in thought," replied Bruno, musing at how much both Bria and Giorno had matured in that short period of time. Thankfully, it seemed, his initial fears were for nothing, all his concerns had been laid to rest when he observed how they had behaved. Gently pulling the knife from her hand, Bruno had taken over from her, asking her to sit down and relax for once.

"I'm okay… I see how you all look at me, all pitiful… I'm okay…"

"Giorno's worried about you… We all are… Talk to me Bri,"

There was a moment of hesitation, but the young girl decided to open up to him.

"It's just… This weird mess with my father made me miss my mother even more than usual… I have so many questions. Would she be angry with how I handled everything? I'm almost too sure she would have handled it better… I just really miss her… but I know she’s probably so disappointed in me… wherever she might be,"

Bruno looked at a troubled Bria, her brows furrowed, lost in her thoughts. It was the expression she wore most frequently these days, and it hurt everyone to see the once lively girl shrink away in that manner.

“Bri, I’m going to tell you something I haven’t mentioned to anyone before, but I hope it can help you chase away those intrusive thoughts about your mother,” Bruno set a cup of sweetened coffee before Bria, and started to relay his tale regarding the period of time between his death and resurrection.

“It was just as you all had seen, I had ascended, my father was on the other side waiting for me, and I swear, I'd never been more at peace… we spoke for what felt like hours. Walked around a place that felt so much like my childhood home, but more peaceful somehow… there was no judgement there, nothing malicious, just love. My point is that there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be the same for you… our lives aren't as different as you think Bria, and you were a child when you were forced into Passione… just like me… you did your best, nobody would fault you for any of that, least of all your mother,”

“I guess you’re right… I didn't think of it like that,”

“Sometimes all you need is a fresh perspective from someone older and wiser…"

"Older maybe… wiser though?" teased Bria, feeling a lot better than she just a few hours ago.

"Sticky f-"

"Sorry! Sorry! Anything but that!"

"I'll let you go… Just this once,"said Bucciarati with a slight chuckle, relieved that she looked to be in higher spirits than she had been in the recent past.

“Bruno, can I ask you something?” the young man gestured for her to continue while he cleared away their coffee cups and started preparing the ingredients for breakfast.

"What was it like when you were coming back? Did you get a chance to say goodbye?" Bria's question hung in the air as Bruno thought of how to frame his answer.

“Well picolina, at first I didn't even know I was leaving… I should have been more aware when my father had redirected us back towards the spot I had found myself in when I had arrived, and started talking about how proud he was of me… come to think of it, he had been saying goodbye all along. To be fair though, I thought I was a permanent fixture there. Only when I was on the verge of reopening my eyes here did I notice myself starting to fade from that world. It didn’t hurt, it was just extremely disorienting,” as Bria pondered on all that Bruno had said, he also thought about a conversation he had had with an unknown man, imploring him to save his daughter… ever since then, he had experienced a recurring dream about a flaxen-haired beauty with the sparkliest silver eyes. Bria’s voice had pulled him from his thoughts once more as she started to apologise for her inability to protect them.

“I’m sorry you’ve have to go through so much Bruno, I wish that-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, there was nothing anyone could have done differently, and besides, if things didn’t happen the way that they did, Giorno would have never been pushed to learn about that ability, it was all fated to happen that way… things will happen whether we want them to or not, it’s up to us to find meaning in them,” Bria smiled at the sentiment imbued in Bruno’s words, she knew that it couldn't have been easy for him to tell her everything that happened but he did it all the same, just to make her feel better. The duo had spent the rest of the day quietly milling about the villa, reminiscing over a few of Bria’s old photos and personal effects that she had yet to put away and he had finally given her the present he bought her for the birthday he had missed. The younger girl was delighted with the little golden ladybug necklace, and had chosen to don it immediately. One by one the others had returned to the villa after their missions and had congregated around the kitchen. Abbacchio and Bruno were engrossed in an animated conversation while choosing a bottle of wine to pair with dinner while Bria and Narancia tried (and failed) to study.

Roughly 700 km away Giorno and Mista were making their way to their last and most important meeting of the day. With his focus having shifted back onto Passione, Giorno had noticed a few strange occurrences with the migration of many of Diavolo’s apologists towards Sicily. In an attempt to get to the bottom of what was going on and build an alliance that could strengthen his position, Giorno had requested to meet with the leader of one of the largest organisations in Sicily, Niccolo Vilaro, the Don of Sangue Reale. When Mista and Giorno had arrived at the expansive mansion, they were received by Niccolo himself. He was a young man, and couldn't have been older than Bucciarati or Abbacchio. Sharply dressed but still leaning on the edgy side, he wore a smirk on his stubbly face. He cut a striking figure with his sandy blonde hair and piercing amber eyes, oozing confidence in every one of his imposing gestures.

“Ah! Giorno Giovanna, the man himself… welcome to Sicily, I take it you’ve been treated well thus far?”

“Niccolo, thank you for having us at such short notice, this should have happened sooner but there was an urgent matter that needed my attention,” replied Giorno in his usual polite tone. The older don’s gaze shifted from Giorno to Mista and back, hardly trying to conceal his confusion, he had asked Giorno where the third member of his unit was.

“Come on Giorno, where is the siren you’re usually seen travelling with? I was excited to see Passione’s angel and you’ve robbed me of the chance,”

“She’s otherwise engaged... I thought we were here to talk business-”

“You’ve gotta loosen up Giorno,"said Niccolo with a laugh, as he slapped Giorno between the shoulder blades which only deepened the scowl on the young Don's face. Not wanting the meeting to break down into chaos, Mista had placed a reassuring hand on Giorno's shoulder and whispered to him to keep his wits about him.

“This man is pissing me off!” snapped Giorno under his breath, but maintained his calm demeanor.

Following Niccolo through his home and into his study, both Mista and Giorno were taken aback by the overall feel of his home, modern wide open spaces, tastefully decorated but still hinted at his massive fortune and influence.

“So Giorno, battling to keep your soldiers about you hey? I kid, I kid, it’s better that these traitors flee now; saves you the trouble of having to dispose of them yourself hey… Cigar? They’re the finest Cubans,” offered Niccolo.

“I’m not much of a smoker I’m afraid… but go ahead,” the Sicilian don sat across from the pair of visitors, and eyed them pensively.

“Do you want me to get rid of the rats, I’m able to dispose of them relatively harmlessly… well no harm to me anyway,” suggested Niccolo with a sardonic grin. Giorno battled to read the man, which frustrated him, but he knew he needed him on his side, should things escalate.

“Not at all, Niccolo, I feel they’ve already drowned themselves without even knowing it, I just hope that they won’t find any lifelines here in Sicily,”

“As if my organisation has a place for Passione rejects? Don’t worry, I have no use for them here. To be quite honest, Giorno, I was happy when you assumed the power of Passione. Diavolo, my father, Mahin, they were all relics of an inconvenient past… It's unfortunate my father was assassinated before he could see my vision, but I guess that's what we have to accept when we live lives like these… what? Are you surprised that I know about the demon?” asked the older don in response to Giorno’s reaction at the mention of Bria’s father. He continued, “I’ll be honest, this team of yours has fascinated me since its emergence, and I’m looking forward to the direction we could steer this country in… you’re an interesting man Giorno, I look forward to working with you”

The rest of the evening was spent with the three young Mafiosi conceptualizing their plans and solidifying their alliance, and after having ironed out all there was to, the head of Passione and his underboss had left. Swirling the last sip of bourbon in his glass the sarcastic smile never left his face as he reflected on the meeting that just took place. There were still many questions floating around in his mind but he knew that he would eventually furnish them with answers; all he needed to do was bide his time.

After an exhausting, and frustrating day, Giorno and Mista didn’t spend too much of their time going over the events, choosing rather to get a good night’s rest, saving the discussion for when they were back at Giorno’s villa amongst the people that they had trusted most. Before they knew it, they were back on the jet en route to Naples, both thankful to be heading back with all of their objectives for the trip being achieved.

Giorno had walked into the familiar, warm confines of the villa he called home. Smiling at the commotion he was walking into, all it took was him announcing his presence for Bria to run into his arms, knocking the air out of him on the impact.

“What’s going on in there? We could hear you guys all the way from the gates,”

“Its all Bria and Bruno’s fault, they’ve been telling us about all the dumb things they’ve done in the past,” explained Narancia while trying to contain his laughter.

“Hey, you started it! You called baby Bri an elf…”

“Baby Bria? I want to see this,” said Giorno as he took the picture from Narancia in spite of Bria’s protests. He pacified her by reassuring her that she was cute in spite of her raggedy appearance and that she had grown into her ears. The smile he wore had faded though when he had examined the picture more closely and found a tiny glimpse of the life he had left behind in the background.

“Who are all these dweebs anyway?” asked Narancia, peering over Bria’s shoulder. As she went through the faces one by one describing everyone she could, she stopped at the last little boy.

“This tiny one here… I didn’t know him really, he was very quiet and kept to himself mostly…” explained Bria, who was more concerned with the shift in Giorno’s demeanor as he quietly excused himself to go to his room. Thinking that he was just tired from his trip, she gave him some time to wind down, and continued her chat with the others, however, when she found he hadn't returned Bria had excused herself to go look for him.

After changing out of his suit and brushing out his hair, Giorno had decided the best place for him to clear his mind before returning to the others would be Bria's garden. He didn't expect for something so small to move him in such a big way, but being confronted with his past self in front of everyone who had only ever known him as "Giorno" had shaken him. He didn't really cry over being in emotional turmoil, but somehow this event had released his emotions which fell from his eyes, leaving sparkling trails down his handsome face.

When Bria found his room empty she decided to check the spot that Giorno had built for her, often finding him there when he needed to unwind from a long day. She softly announced herself approaching him from behind, prompting him to quickly dry his face with the back of his hands. This didn't go unnoticed though, and while it hurt Bria immensely to see Giorno like this, she had put aside her own feelings to be emotionally available for him.

“Oh, Bri… is something the matter?” asked the young Don, traces of his anguish still present in his voice.

“You looked upset before you left so I wanted to see if you were okay… you’re clearly not though, talk to me Gio…” the raven haired girl settled down next to Giorno and quietly waited for him to find his words. Hooking an arm around her, he brought her closer to him.

“I’m sorry cara, I’ve been in a weird mood since yesterday, seeing that picture just brought up things I wish would have stayed buried,” explained Giorno, pausing for a moment to think about what to say, he continued, “that picture of you and your friends… that last little boy… the one whose name you didn’t know, that was me… I was known as Haruno Shiobana back then,” A mixture of confusion and compassion tugged at Bria’s features, interlocking her fingers in his, she softly encouraged him to continue.

Giorno told her everything about his past, the difficulties he had faced with his cold mother, the pain he endured at the hands of his abusive step father, the numerous bullies, and the chance encounter with the nameless gangster which had turned his life around and the metamorphosis he had undergone when his stand power began to manifest; he had bared the truest version of himself before her. For the duration of his speech, Giorno didn’t look at Bria once, fearful of the expression he would find on her face. What he would have found though, were all his unshed tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, and falling relentlessly down her face.

“Giorno, I’m so sorry, I… just know that none of us will ever allow you to feel that way ever again… you’re so much more than just enough… to some of us, you’re absolutely everything… Whether you’re Haruno Shiobana or Giorno Giovanna, you’re the person who had liberated us and given me back something so precious I still don’t quite know how to thank you… my point is that you are you and we’ll love you all the same,” The emphatic way in which Bria expressed her admiration brought a smile back to Giorno’s face. He turned to face her, cupping her cheek, he used the pad of his thumb to wipe the remnants of tears from her face.

“Come now amore, you shouldn’t be crying like this,” said Giorno in a muffled voice as he placed a kiss on top of the delicate hand that tried to encase his own.

The pair spent a few moments in a comfortable silence, watching the sun drape colourful tapestries across the sky as it set, before Bria had suggested that they join the others.

“Are you ready to go back in tesoro?” a rose tinted blush warmed Giorno’s cheeks at the epithet, to which he silently nodded in response. The pair walked back hand in hand to join the rowdy bunch, staying near each other for the remainder of the night. In between stealing loving glances at Bria, matching Abbacchio's snark and laughing at Narancia and Mista’s antics, Giorno had felt what she had been explaining to him in their garden. This group of people, the bunch of misfits who saved the very society they were shunned by, all drawn together by fate were his new family, and they had each accepted and loved him unconditionally in their own little ways.

[redpanda-fan]

Where did that come from? Savanaclaw Edition

Welcome to part two of my "Where did that come from?" series. Today, we have "The Rebel from the Savanna" and “The Lion King”(1994). I don’t expect too many secrets, but let's see if I'm proven wrong. I do love any excuse to watch a movie with such great music. Again if you see anything I have missed please tell me!

Overall

Our cast is based on the various animals in the movie. Leona is Scar, Ruggie the hyena trio and the precious heir to the Afterglow Savanna's throne, Cheka, is Simba and Farena his father is Mufasa, and Malleus is as well to an extent.

We don’t get to see anything like the opening to Lion King in Twisted Wonderland where Simba is shown to the inhabitants of Pride Rock, but we are given a nod to it in Leona's post overblot flashback and in a dream.

When the Hearstlabuyl gang and Yuu are cornered by Savanaclaw students it mirrors when Simba, Nala and Zazu are approached by the hyenas Shenzi, Banzai and Ed. Unfortunately for them, no Mufasa came to scare them off.

I like how there is a bit of actual biology sprinkled in with the character backstories. Leona talks about the strong women in his hometown as lion prides and hyena cackles are led by the females who do most of the work and call the shots. However, wolves are the outlier in this as wolf packs are led by the alpha male and female, so it functions more like how a family is led by the parents.

Character specific

🦁 Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Leona and Scar both have well, scars, on their right eyes, presumably from fights in the past.

Personality wise both the Savanaclaw dorm leader and the King of the Beasts have a similar defeatist outlook on life. They can never have what they want, so why struggle only to never get it?

Scar and Leona both have the not so affectionate term for their nephews of "hairball"

Leona has quoted Scar's AMAZING villain song "Be prepared" so many times and every time he does it, I can't help but look like this.

Leona and Scar both have an affinity for sitting on high ledges with green light cast on them.

Who did it better?

Vs

Leona and Scar both make big promises of luxury treatment and finally getting recognition for your efforts to their followers. Unfortunately they break these leaving their respective followers heartbroken and confused, namely the hyenas, in both cases.

Leona mirrors Scar by planning to run over his cause for inferiority with their supporters. Wildebeest for Mufasa and a crowd of spectators for Malleus. Fortunately, Malleus survives, Mufasa however wasn't as lucky.

I’m not sure if this was the true inspiration, but when there is a cloud of dust hanging in the air during and after the stampede I instantly thought of Leona's Unique magic and the background for when he overblots.

Leona is just as bitter about being compared to his older brother as Scar and both of them will snap at anyone who dares to remind them that their brother exists.

The end to the victory for these two ends with them being forced to confess to their crimes, and then left to the mercy of both their betrayed supporters and their enemies.

🐾 Ruggie Bucchi 🐾

Scar's hyenas all have their own iconic laughs like Ruggie's "shishishishi".

Ruggie follows Leona around and does a large amount of work for him with little thanks or repayment similar to the trio of hyenas.

Ruggie mirrors the hyena trio by using his unique magic to control the crowd to run over the Diasomnia fakes, like how the hyenas scared the Wildebeest into a stampede.

🐺 Jack Howl 🐺

You may have noticed I left Jack out of the equation, but let me be real with you, I have no idea what he is based on. He works as a great foil to Leona with his "Hard work is all you need" versus Leona's "Why bother, if it's not guaranteed" mentality, but I got nothing. I've seen people say he is based off of a character from the TV show, or all wolves in Disney cannon and other such claims, but I got nothing. He's just a wolf, don't know why he is one, he just is.

🐱 Cheka Kingscholar 🐱

Cheka's necklace holds a blue feather on the end that looks just like one of Zazu's, the hornbill advisor to Mufasa, own tail feathers. I wonder where he got it from?

Cheka has the same unreciprocated love for his uncle as Simba, at least as a child.

👑🦁 Farena Kingscholar 👑🦁

Farena mirrors Mufasa by asking Leona why he wasn't the ceremony for Cheka, in the flashback after Leona's overblot.

[scripttorture]

Hi! I'm not sure if this falls within your scope, so I apologize if it doesn't. I was curious about if you have any info on common types of torture committed by criminal organizations- specifically in my case, the American mafia/Cosa Nostra. I've had some difficulty getting reliable information and have heard conflicting things about *if* they even regularly torture individuals. Thank you in advance for anything!

That’s a very good question. It’s not outside my scope but I’m not sure how good the information I come up with will be because this isn’t something I typically look into so my usual sources/starting points might not be the best ones.

 With the pandemic on and no books on American organised crime specifically on hand I think I’m going to have to treat this question more generally. However this book came up during my searches and I think it might be a useful starting point for research or worldbuilding. It’s a research piece comparing the functioning and criminal activities of three Italian criminal organisations, the American mafia, Japanese Yakuza, Chinese Triads and a Russian criminal organisation. If nothing else it should give you an idea of how different organisations like this function.

 You might already be aware of the legal definition of torture. Essentially torture is defined as any form of painful stimulus that is deliberately inflicted by a government official (or in some cases an organised group that holds territory) for the purpose of ‘extracting information’, forcing a confession, punishment or intimidation. Any of those motivations still count if they’re aimed at a third party rather then the person being tortured (ie if a soldier captures and beats the brother of an enemy soldier to try and get information from the enemy soldier, that is still torture.)

 Some countries explicitly include international organised criminal gangs in their anti-torture laws. Some don’t.

 From a behaviour standpoint I think it’s fair to say that some of these groups behave more like we’d expect from torturers and some don’t.

 Members of groups like the LRA, Daesh and Boko Haram will generally be classed as torturers if they act in ways that meet the other criteria. Because at their height these armed groups effectively occupied and controlled areas of the countries they operated in. They took control from local governments to the point that those government organisations effectively ceased to function and were replaced by organisations (or lack thereof) that the criminals wanted.

 And all of those groups tortured as part of a wider campaign of terror.

 As you move away from that pattern of criminals trying to create their own country then things get dicer. Whether a group meets the definition of torture depends on the country. And from a research point of view the behaviour we’re looking at may get further away from what we typically see in torture scenarios.

 For instance the SEC and groups concerned with fishing in Thailand don’t really control territory. They can’t be understood to have taken control from the government in the areas they operate.

 But both operate large scale slavery operations that traffick people across boarders in order to exploit them. These operations by their nature concern the abuse of thousands of people. They generally also have specific people that are- I’m gonna say ‘primarily responsible for the stages of the process where a lot of physical abuse takes place’.

 Basically they have people whose effective job is abusing others for the vast majority of their time. Whether it’s the men smuggling enslaved people across the Sahara or guards on the fishing boats out at sea.

 You also have organisations that fall somewhere in between the two patterns I’ve described so far, like Mexican Cartels.

 But there are also large organised criminal gangs that aren’t necessarily involved in this scale of people trafficking or systematic abuse. This doesn’t diminish the impact of their crimes. But there is a difference between crime that by it’s nature always results in direct harm and crime that may but does not necessarily result in direct harm. An extortion racket is not the same as a slavery ring in terms of injury and body count. 

 While it doesn’t form part of the legal definition the scale of violence is important here. A torture case typically means thousands of victims over a relatively short period of time. And because of the scale it means the people involved in this abuse could easily be carrying out violent attacks for the majority of their day, every day for months or years.

 This is not necessarily the pattern in all organised crime.

 Smuggling goods, loan sharking and rackets don’t necessarily lead to the same scale of violence or the same constant exposure to violence.

 Drug smuggling can mean smaller scale slavery but to be honest I know next to nothing about it outside of the slavery aspect so I’ll leave it at that.

 All of this might seem like extraneous information when the main question is about torture techniques. But the thing is- torture isn’t defined by the techniques used to inflict pain and the majority of those techniques are very very simple.

 The most common torture today (probably historically as well) is hitting people. And I’m pretty sure that members of any organised criminal group hit people.

 Most of the other common tortures would be impractical/impossible without the ability to hold someone prisoner for an extended period (days or weeks). Starvation, sleep deprivation, solitary confinement and stress positions are not really possible if a victim can’t be held for several days.

 As for the other common torture techniques used in America today- Well one of them is basically Tasers or stun guns. I’m pretty sure if they could get hold of them a lot of violent criminals would use those devices. They’re expensive but they’re simple to use.

 Waterboarding is pretty simple but it can also easily go wrong and when it does it can cause some pretty…. Difficult to disguise injuries. Like brain damage. Dry choking tortures have the same problems.

 Getting back to the main question- I think part of the reason that you’ve heard conflicting things might be colloquial vs precise usage of the term ‘torture’. Because it isn’t clear to me that the American Mafia do practice torture regularly from a legal stand point.

 Mostly because I haven’t seen anything saying they’re involved in large scale slavery in America.

 But it’s incredibly likely that they do use some of the same techniques. Purely on the basis that most of the time those ‘techniques’ are ‘apply hand to victim’s body with force’.

 And most of the time it doesn’t need to be any more complicated then that.

 Sorry I couldn’t find you anything more specific but I hope this helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[itsmoonphobic]

Moonbow at it yet again with a new Mcyt AU-But like what else am I supposed to do?I got so much positive feedback for my royalty AU that I decided to come up with a new AU! Plus I binged all the Ocean's movies and like the main one that inspired me was Ocean's 8,that movie slaps!If you haven't watched it yet you definitely should!!Anyway-Like I said my family and I just moved and I'm getting an extreme haircut today(lmao) so I'm pretty busy but don't worry the first chapter of "Royal Buisness" is going to be out in a few weeks/months!!Love u all and hope u like it <3💤💙

📷Target Spotted💻 (Mcyt Spy AU)

Sleepyboisinc(S.B.I) -> my absolute favorite bois ♡

-The sleepyboisinc originally started of as a joke.A few five year olds have the dream of becoming secret agents and start their own Buisness.

-No one really took it seriously back in the days when the three boys would draw and write down ideas for advanced technology devices and gadgets,I mean c'mon it's only natural for kids to grow up with dreams.The childish roleplaying on the playground eventually stopped but the dream stayed.Everyone simply thought that the trio would forget about their ideas in a few years and "grow up".

-Well they were wrong.Nobody could have predicted that the three of them continued with their "shenanigans" through all of their years in highschool-

-Techno,Phil and Wilbur stayed in touch while growing up. The three of them developed such a stron brotherly bond that at some point they left out everyone else and only shared their time with eachother.Their families informed them that they should be more open and extroverted but the three of them are stubborn.

-Time skip to College.Techno went on to study Psychology and English,Wilbur went to start a musical career and Phil- he just kinda disappeared?He didn't tell them where he went to college or what he was doing after school.

-So after two years of somewhat going their separate ways and two years of Phil missing without a single trace,both Techno and Wilbur decide to meet up and look for him. What the two didn't expect is that that night their childhood dream would become reality.

-Turns out that Phil,during those two years,secretly developed the S.B.I foundation.Techno and Wilbur couldn't believe that he managed to do all of this by himself and honestly?They were more than impressed and happy.It was their life long dream afterall and the fact that Phil made it all possible was absolutely overwhelming and appreciated.

-Phil explained everything.He told them that he didn't expect it to actually turn out this good and work functionality but it did!Phil also didn't accomplish it by himself but he hired a few poeple they could use on their side.At this point Techno and Wilbur were even more in love with their new jobs that they immediately dropped out of their previous occupations.

-He showed them around and the two of them were awestruck.Phil couldn't help but smile and laugh at their reactions since he only expected it to be this way.Phil didn't have to show them how things work becouse they created and designed all of this together,Phil was only the one who made it reality.

-Everything looked like from their drawings.The whole aesthetic of the building the S.B.I was located in was amazing.The outside looked like nothing special,and that's the way it's supposed to be.People weren't ment to get suspicious and curious.So making it look like a simple buisness was perfect.

-The only thing Techno and Wilbur weren't familiar with was the new staff so Phil gladly introduced them to eachother! Techno could already tell that there are a few poeple who he clearly won't get along with aswell as people he sees himself working with quite okay.As Phil watched them interacting he couldn't help the wide smile forming on his lips: The sleepy bois are finally reunited :)

Techno N.(Blade):

Techno is one of the best if not the best spy and the one with the biggest amount of action going on.His loyalty and dedication to his job are insane.Even back when they were kids Techno was always the one to stick up for Phil and Wilbur and make sure that the kids who bully them never show their faces again.

Techno is tough and clever.He thinks before he acts.His movements aren't exactly the most precise ones but they are definitely swift.Not to mention that there are times where instead of intimidating the target into getting out the information they need Techno turns to violence.He does apologize for it afterwards though so it's chill.

Techno is a professional at his finest.Getting caught?Never. Messing up?Not Techno.Tricks or traps?Don't work- During his training arc Techno learned the ways of a spy in and out. When Techno wants something to happen or go his way he only focuses on said thing and leaves it aside once he achieves what he wanted.

Techno prefers to work alone,he is extremely shy and introverted so it isn't easy working with people he's not comfortable around or familiar with.His social anxiety is not really a big help either- (Protect him) Another fun fact is that Techno's ADHD makes him struggle with his big focus ability.But everyone in the company knows it and they know that he can't do anything about it. •Accepting friends am I right? :)

Techno is the only employee that Phil let's in on the biggest news and insights first(Apart from Wilbur) and he is also the only one he trusts with the more dangerous weapons.Techno is really good with those!

Techno's missions are the ones that mostly need to be taken care of at night-His sleeping schedule is messed up so Phil gave him the night shift.Of course Phil has days where he strictly tells Techno to take them off so he can take care of his health and sleep.Techno refuses but knows that it makes Phil happy so he takes days off for him (I love their relationship <3)

Techno's job is his number one priority.Due to the fact that he used to study and specialize in psychology as well as in English and it's History Techno is very smart. His intelligence and usage of certain words tend to confuse other people and Techno would do it on purpose just to see the expression on their faces.

May I add that Techno is very calm and sarcastic.He also tends to be very polite and cold which makes poeple uncomfortable sometimes.His ego and confidence are both massive aswell which has it's ups and downs!

Techno is really good in cartography(Maps).During highschool Techno unintentionally desroyed everyone in Geography.He didn't like the subject he was only a natural at it.(If you couldn't figure it out already I obviously had to put in an SMP Earth reference)

Techno is one hell of a pilot.Poeple seriously question themselves how he is so good at flying planes or helicopters.Why complain though?A talent like that could come in handy any time when needed.

Phil W.(1ZA):

The boss and founder of the Sleepyboisinc(S.B.I)

Phil was the one who made all of their childhood dreams come true,and he's very proud of how far he himself and his friends have come!

Phil goes on missions on very rare occasions.His main job is to stay in his office and make sure that things run smoothly and the way they are supposed to.

He counts and is known as the information center and the backup for his agents.Him going on missions is very risky since he always has to be available during everything.His main priority is that all of his agents and friends come back safely and most importantly alive from their jobs.

Becouse Phil is mostly stuck in his office busy with paper work,he can read his agents like an open book. Phil's ability to instantly make someone feel welcomed and loved can either be seen as comforting or scary.One look at you and Phil knows exactly what topics to talk about.He can't but choose to use that ability to his advantage.

Phil is a very caring and kind person.He is the definition of wholesome!S.B.I is pretty lucky to have such a understanding and nice boss to work with.

Phil tends to keep his eyes on the troublemakers(I will get to them later 👀)and Techno especially.The first one is pretty self explanatory since the nickname says it all.Techno on the other hand is in Phil's sight not becouse he's a brainless idiot but of his health issues.

He is a very patient and empathetic person it isn't in his nature to be angry or mad at someone but when he is it gets scary.To have Phil actually mad it you,you would have to fuck up big time.Poeple who have experienced Phil being angry with them have nightmares till this day.He won't be violent and he won't insult you but he will hit you where it hurts the most,he will fo under the deepest parts of your skin. (Not physically but mentally)

Phil knows the right time to be serious and the right time to have fun and joke around with his friends.After a successful mission the crew would go out and celebrate their victory.Phil has to make sure that all of his idiot agents don't get too drunk so that no laws will be broken and no unnecessary information will be spread around.Gotta keep up a good rep am I right?

Everyone in the company sees Phil as a big father figure.I mean who wouldn't?The vibes he gives of remind everyone of an overprotective dad.Whenever somebody of his agents has a problem their first instinct is to go and talk to Phil about them.Phil will gladly listen and cheer them up when he needs to <3

Wilbur S.(Dirty Crime Boy):

Wilbur is the S.B.I's decoy and undercover specialist. His biggest flex is that becouse he is so handsome and charming,Phil decided to let him be the distraction. This guy could flirt with anyone and he would have them wrapped around his finger in no time.

There is just something so exciting and addictive to taking on different personalities and outfits.Wilbur can pull out any look or personality trait.His favorite one would have to be a musician,he doesn't have to act around too much since he's in his natural habitat. Wilbur sometimes has way too much fun with his job.

There are times where Wilbur is asked to perform somewhere so that Techno or whoever is on a mission with him is able to do what they need to do.He will get caught up in the moment and forget that he is on a mission so when Phil tells Wilbur's partner to drag him off stage and calm him down they immediately do so.

Apart from that,Wilbur is extremely good at what he does.You know those guys in movies who will drug other poeple's drinks and stuff to either rob them or drag them someplace else?Yeah that guy is Wilbur. His suave attitude and velvety voice makes everyone want to have a drink with him :)

Wilbur has the power of blackmailing on his side.This guy knows everything about everyone.You smoked weed with your ex on a highschool party?Wilbur knows it all.Some shit you did when you were home alone three weeks ago?Wilbur has all the details.He knows so much shit that people who work with him are genuinely scared to get close to him just couse they fear that he will know all their secrets.

Somehow Wilbur is able to get any information that is required for a certain mission.Your grandma's name?Blood type?Favorite type of cacti?Wilbur has it all memorized in his head.Phil may have all the needed information but Wil has the dirty secrets and past shit someone has gotten themselves into.

Wilbur's favorite person to work with has to be Techno.Not only becouse of their brotherly bond but becouse Wil knows that if he's stuck somewhere Techno is always around and will get him out.Wil simply enjoys Techno's company,he doesn't talk much so it gives Wilbur enough time and silence to talk about his day or something stupid that pissed him off.

Becouse Wilbur has to work undercover and make sure that he doesn't get recognized,he is fluent in multiple languages,his most requested ones are: German,French and Spanish!!(My personal headcanon I know Wilbur doesn't speak all three of them fluently)

Wilbur is the one who gets send onto missions that require to travel to a different country.Most of the time Wilbur happily agrees but on rare occasions where he feels as if something might go wrong or when he has a bad feeling about some place he will desperately try and get Phil to send someone else.

Tommy S.(Innit) ->Proud Inniter btw <3

Sixteen years old and already a spy?Tommy is living the dream of surely everybody in his highschool.Being light and quick on his feet Tommy's job is sneaking in and pickpocketing.Need a unique antique located in a safely secured safe?Tommy's got you.A wallet with a credit card or ID?Tommy already has it.Maybe it's a watch or a jewelry piece?It's Tommy's now.

Tommy's outgoing and energetic personality is a huge boost to the company.Whenever an agent backs down from a mission,Tommy will immediately call them out for being a coward.Tommy has the mouth of a sailor so him calling you a piss baby or bitch boy is completely normal to everybody working in S.B.I

They are pretty much used to it that Tommy has no filter when it comes to his opinion on something.He is brutally honest and isn't afraid to call you out for you bullshit.Tommy can be a little too open minded from time to time which gets him into dumb situations.

Tommy has the stupid ability to make everyone hate him the moment they meet him.Tommy tends to start fights or arguments against multiple people who are way stronger and taller than him.He doesn't think before he acts and just dives head in.

Almost 99.9% of the complaints Phil receives from other companies or his familiars are from Tommy.Even though Tommy promises Phil to stay out of trouble and keep his attitude to himself,he still manages to break those promises the moment someone insults his friends or makes fun of him.Phil seriously needs to teach him some proper manners-

"The business bay" is a small alliance that Tommy has formed in S.B.I,long story short it's all the younger agents (Tommy,Toby,Bitzel,Deo and Luke)in the company working together in a group.(Mostly just becouse all four of them go to the same School and Tommy needs people to steal homework from-)

Tommy seeks attention and admiration in any shape or form.Call him an "Alpha male" and you've got your name secured on "Keep them safe" list.The only other person Tommy admires,apart from himself is Techno. Literally the smallest "good job" or "well done" sends Tommy's ego over the edge.He will brag to everybody who is stupid enough to listen to him.He will constantly try and impress Techno in any way,which ends up in Tommy getting too ahead of himself and getting embarrassed for being so clumsy.

Wilbur and Tommy have a wierd relationship.One minute they are normally interacting with eachother and the other they are trying to kill eachother.Tommy complains about Wilbur all the time,about how annoying he is and that he thinks that he's best- Though when it comes to having eachother's backs that rivalry is put aside and they work together to save both of their asses.

Neither Techno or Wilbur will admit it but when Phil sends either of them to get Tommy's ass out of some shit he has gotten himself into the two of them are worried and get very protective over him.Sure Techno teases and ignores Tommy to no end and Wilbur annoys the living shit out of him but both of them make sure to take care of Tommy like their little bro.

AHHHHH IT'S FINISHED!!ANOTHER AU HAS BEEN WRITTEN QJSJWKKQ-Sorry guys I'm very excited about this AU,I have been working on it for a few days now and I had to write down all my headcanons and ideas!Don't worry my royal AU is still a work in progress so keep in mind that the first chapter will come out soon!I hope you guys enjoyed my Spy AU and ofcourse any kind of feedback is welcomed! Love u all <3 <3

[ladylilithprime]

Sastiel Creations Challenge | @ladylilithprime

↳ Theme: One More | Prompt: Day

Fluff Bingo Square: Movie Night

=I Did Not Live Until Today=

Read on AO3

MOVIE NIGHT IN the Bunker had been originally instituted by Dean, and the insistence of Sam that everyone in the Bunker, especially a stressed out and overworked teenaged Prophet of the Lord, needed to take regular breaks to relax and unwind before the constant "go, go, go" made them all go crazy. Hunts would occasionally interrupt the ritual, postpone it for a couple of days, but none of them were allowed more than ten days without a mandatory Movie Night. Dean had insisted that Castiel join these movie nights whenever he was around, intent on "educating" the Angel in what he termed the "classics" of cinema. Castiel had confided privately to Sam that, upon viewing these so-called classics, he was gaining more of an understanding of Dean than he was of why the movies were classical, which Sam had assured him was normal.

Movie Night had been weird after the Trials, because Sam would start out watching the movie with Dean and whoever else was there, but suddenly it would be hours later and he wouldn't remember actually watching any of it despite not having moved. In the wake of Crowley showing up in Sam's head with the brothers' code word tripping off his tongue to warn him that he had an angelic passenger who had taken over the driver's seat, Sam figured he knew what had happened and maybe he felt a little tiny flicker of gratitude for Gadreel sparing him having to watch the monkey movies again, but that was drowned out by the overall feelings of shock and betrayal and rage because how could Dean do this to him?!

It was Sam's decision to continue Movie Night even though it was just him and Castiel in the Bunker now. The original purpose of enforcing a break on overworked humans was still valid, even though now the overworked human was only Sam, and the secondary purpose of introducing Castiel to human entertainment was also still in effect, perhaps even more so after Metatron had downloaded a huge selection of American pop culture into Castiel's head without much in the way of context. Without Dean to steer the selection towards action films and neither of them particularly interested in watching mindless violence and gore, plus Sam's increased aversion to psychological horror films, the movies they watched tended to veer more towards musicals. If Castiel suspected that this, too, might be a bit of Sam's rebellion against Dean's stubborn adherence to mullet rock as the only valid music to listen to, well, he didn't call Sam on it and Sam didn't choose to admit anything.

Tonight was another designated Movie Night, not because it had been too long since the last, but because Sam knew that after the failure of the tracking spell with Gadreel's extracted Grace he, at least, needed something where the fate of the world was less dependant on the outcome. In hindsight, queueing up Les Miserábles was probably not the best idea given the overall setting of the movie and the themes of melancholy and grief that pervaded it, but he suspected Castiel would appreciate the other themes of faith and sacrifice and second chances.

He probably should have expected Castiel's analysis of the story's themes to extend to their lives, but somehow it didn't even occur to him until Castiel blindsided him with an abrupt declaration that Jean Valjean reminded him of Sam.

"I'm sorry?" Sam blurted, not sure he had heard the Angel correctly.

"He is a good man who committed criminal acts for a good cause and was harshly punished for it even after his incarceration ended," Castiel explained, gesturing to the screen where Valjean's pay was docked in front of the other workers, who were openly hostile. "It does not matter to these people that his intentions were noble - to feed his family - or that the crime was relatively minor, all they see is the criminal record and discount the good heart of the man who committed it and is stained by that record in the eyes of the society he serves."

"Cas, that's not... I started the Apocalypse!" Sam said, shaking his head. "That's a good bit worse than stealing a loaf of bread and running."

"You killed a demon," Castiel disagreed. "A demon you had been told by everyone around you was responsible for breaking Seals and that killing her would stop things. You were deliberately not told that she was the final Seal and that killing her would release Lucifer because enough angels, myself included, believed that if you knew the truth then you would not have killed her. Yet you do not blame me for lying to you, or for changing my mind and breaking through my conditioning too late to send Dean in time to stop you. Nor do you blame Dean for breaking under Alistair and being the one to break the first Seal which set things in motion. Instead, you continue to allow people, including Dean who should really know better, to cast the blame for things beyond your control onto your shoulders and even take on blame and responsibility where there should be none, forgetting that any penance required for playing a part long ago set out for you has been more than served."

Sam looked away from Castiel's placid, deeply knowing expression, but found he couldn't focus on the screen until a flash of silver catching light drew his attention. "Look, I don't... whatever redemption I might have earned with jumping has to be cancelled out by the things I did after getting out again, especially all the crap I pulled without my soul--"

"Do you think yourself responsible for your soulless self's actions, even though your soul was still in the Cage being subjected to Michael and Lucifer's torments?" Sam frowned a little at the low notes of guilt and sorrow in the Angel's voice and looked over, but Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the screen as the old priest backed up Valjean's lie of gifted silver and gave over the candlesticks as well. "Hm. Heaven has not treated you nearly so kindly as this priest does..."

"Castiel," Sam started to reach out, but found his courage falter and lowered his hand with a sigh. "I know you didn't leave my soul behind on purpose. I knew it then, too, even with you keeping secrets and never having mentioned it before that moment... sorry, too, about the holy fire."

"There is no apology necessary," Castiel refuted, though Sam thought he looked moderately grateful for it anyway. "You were right to be suspicious of my actions and motives at the time, if not for that specific reason."

"Still..."

"Sam, I assure you, I hold no ill will over your suspicion of me, nor for your actions to try and stop me. If anything, I am deeply grateful for your continued faith in me even after I had gone off the reservation and done you considerable harm." Castiel shook his head. "We are getting away from the main subject, which is that you are not responsible for the actions your body committed without your soul present."

"It was still my body," Sam argued. "My... impulses or whatever, stripped of my inhibitions--"

"Not true," Castiel interrupted. "Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act. While that behavior likely seemed heartless or 'dickish' at times, this was in part because of the contrast to your usual compassion and kindness, but you weren't actively malicious or uncontrolled. Everything, including the decision to go to Dean with the suspicion that something was wrong and to ask him to be your moral compass, was meticulously and logically thought out and reasoned for the most optimal outcome. Recall that your soulless self felt that it was for the best that your soul be retrieved and rejoined with your body, and only rejected the plan when the possibility that doing so would kill you was presented."

"Whereupon I promptly tried to kill Bobby! Cas--"

"Sam," Castiel turned fully to face him and glared at him in a way that reminded Sam forcefully of the fact that this was an Angel of the Lord. "You. Are. Not. To. Blame. Your soulless self attempted to kill a man who showed every sign of being ready to kill you by forcefully reuniting your damaged soul with your body. A soul, I must add, which did not deserve the torment inflicted upon it and to which we owed the continued existence of the human race."

"I was just--"

"Cleaning up your mess, so you've said." Castiel was beginning to look frustrated. "But the Apocalypse was not just your mess. It was Dean's, and mine, and Lucifer's, and Michael's, and every angel and demon and human servant of either side who worked towards setting it off earlier than my Father planned. I would even venture to say that it was my Father's fault for refusing to step in when, despite Raphael's delusions, we had very clear evidence from Joshua that He is still alive and close enough to be aware of the situation." The Angel reached forward then and covered the shell-shocked human's nearest hand with his own. "Your soulless self recognized that, and recognized the unfair imbalance, and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices. Since regaining your soul, Dean's insistence on leaving past transgressions in the past except when it suits him to drag them out as evidence of culpability and questionable judgement has driven your self-confidence down to the point where you have even allowed Dean to make you believe yourself at fault for not looking for a brother and non-human friend whom you had every reason to believe were dead and at peace.

"No more," Castiel said with a fire in his vessel's blue eyes that had nothing to do with his borrowed Grace. "Sam Winchester, you will listen to me and believe this if nothing else: You. Deserve. Respect. And for my part in allowing others to be negligent in giving you that respect, you have my apologies."

For a long moment, Sam could do nothing more than stare at Castiel, stunned speechless and feeling more than a few echoes of the old awe and wonder with which he had first viewed this Angel of the Lord who had saved his big brother from Hell. It seemed impossible to believe, even with Castiel staring into him and all but demanding that he do so. For all he knew, he had fallen asleep on the couch next to Castiel and all of this was somehow some sort of incredibly vivid dream like the ones he tried to pretend he didn't have about the Angel, because if anything stood a chance at making their current arrangement far more awkward than it ever needed to be....

Castiel must have seen something of his thoughts in his expression, because the intensity faded into sadness and then, before Sam could gather his wits enough to try and reassure him, turned to resolve. "I will remind you of this conversation later, so as to establish better credibility."

"Um..." Sam blinked. That was unexpected. "Okay? Thanks? I'll... work on believing you, Cas, I will, I just...."

"Have several years of conditioning for expecting the worst to work around, as well as the more recent problems with maintained perception of reality," Castiel nodded. "I will remind you as often as is necessary of your worth and worthiness."

Sam nodded, more for the lack of any other way to acknowledge Castiel's words than out of agreement or understanding, jumping a little when the music from the television screen picked up in volume. He turned back to the movie, flushing darkly when he realized that they'd completely missed Fantine's entire arc and Valjean's crisis of conscience, and reached for the remote. "Oh, hey, let me--"

"No, it's--" Castiel's grip on Sam's hand tightened, then released with enough abruptness that Sam found himself stopping anyway, turning questioning eyes on Castiel. "I confess that I have been, ah, 'cheating' with this film, as it is one of the stories that Metatron saw fit to share, though not this particular version."

"Should we put on something else?"

"If that is what you prefer. I am enjoying watching it with you regardless."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that was because of Castiel's bizarre comparisons between Sam and Valjean, but he swallowed it back and instead forced himself to settle back into the couch beside Castiel to watch the introduction to the Thénardier family and Cosette. The silence stretched between them as the music played, until--

"Sam? Why is Thénardier's wife making that gesture when she sings that there is 'not much there'?"

Sam swallowed down the urge to choke or laugh, because of course Castiel would ask about that. He cut a sharp glance in the Angel's direction to check if he was being trolled, but Castiel's expression showed only genuine puzzlement. "Uh... Well, I mean, uh... some guys get kinda hung up on penis size, uh, taking the whole 'bigger is better' idea way too seriously and, uh, thinking that bigger size makes them better able to please their partners, which, uh, really isn't true across the board. And, uh, there are a lot of guys who think that having those, um, extra inches is all they need for it to be good for their partner, which also isn't true." He found himself looking at the screen in a gambit to not have to meet Castiel's eyes, and moments later he pointed. "See, she's saying the line again without the gesture. So, uh, the implication is Thénardier falls doubly short of the mark."

"I see," Castiel said, his tone meditative. With his eyes averted, Sam couldn't see the speculative look the Angel sent in his direction, though he definitely heard the pointedly dry tone when Castiel added, "Mrs Thénardier would do better to find a more skilled pizza man."

Sam jerked his head around to stare at Castiel again, but this time the Angel's expression was the same sort of bland that he used when trolling Dean, and so Sam managed to force out a chuckle for the joke before settling in to watch the dynamics between the Thénardiers and Cosette with its very Cinderella vibe. Castiel muttered something about "punching John Winchester again" that made no sense and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know about anyway, and then made a brief comment about Cosette's dream being similar to many human interpretations of Heaven, but otherwise said nothing until Valjean told Cosette that he was now her father.

"Another parallel," he said. Sam, who had hoped Castiel had forgotten about his weird fixation by this point, blinked in confusion.

"Uh, Cas, I'm pretty sure I haven't gone and adopted any random kids," he pointed out. Really, that seemed more like something Dean would do than him, Dean actually really liked kids and liked the idea of being a dad while Sam... not so much.

"Random, no," Castiel agreed. "You are, however, extraordinarily compassionate. I suspect that, if presented with an orphaned child whose situation required more specialized guardianship than a more normal human fosterage system could provide, you would be an excellent parental figure." He was silent for a moment, pensive and troubled, and then said, softly, "I had never had Nephilim of my own, nor am I likely to do so in the future, but if I did and was unable to care for the child myself, I would ask you."

"Me?" Sam gaped at him. "I mean, why me? Why not Dean?"

"Dean has an unfortunate history of being less than tolerant of supernatural occurrences, of children with powers beyond most human capabilities," Castiel said, shooting an apologetic glance at Sam even before Sam was aware of wincing. "A Nephil would inevitably have powers, and I am a Seraph. Only an Archangel could overpower and suppress the Grace of a Nephil sired by me, and there are no more Archangels available to do so. You have powers of your own and training in using them, albeit with an enhancement method that I would not recommend using with a Nephil, and would be well suited to teaching."

"Cas, my powers--"

"Are yours and yours alone. Azazel may have forcefully activated them on his own schedule and attempted to corrupt them and, through them, you, but he - and Ruby - failed. Your soul is far too pure and good for their hooks to find permanent anchor."

"But... I mean, you... angels... you always warned me against using them...."

"Only because the method with which you were amplifying them - that is, drinking demon blood - was so dangerous to you and the people around you, and training them to full strength properly after first tearing down Azazel's blocks would have taken considerably more time and effort... and, I suspect, those of my superiors actively assisting in bringing about the Apocalypse did not want you learning to use your powers without the addictive crutch of demon blood that could be used to prime your rage and point you at Lilith when the time came."

"So why are you just now telling me this?"

"Well," Castiel glanced away, looking somewhat sheepish. "To be honest, I did not realize that you were unaware that your powers were innate and not actually demonic in origin until I overheard you speaking of them in past tense as if they no longer existed because you were no longer drinking demon blood rather than you simply not using them. Given my clumsy understanding of social nuances and the complex mix of negative emotions you associate with your powers, I erred on the side of caution and did not mention it until our current conversation provided an opening."

Well. That was fair. Even so, Sam couldn't help but stare at Castiel as he attempted to process everything he had learned in such a short amount of time. The fact that the majority of Angels hated him was not new, but the fact that Heaven had actively sabotaged his efforts to be better than the demon blood that tainted him was... also not new, exactly, but Sam had never expected to hear it put so bluntly in conjunction with reassurance that his powers - and, by extension, Sam himself - did not come from a source of evil.

Even more bewildering was the hypothetical child Castiel spoke of and his assertion that Sam, not Dean who had always longed to be a parent, but Sam who had barely ever had anything to do with children even when he had been one, was to be given custody of the hypothetical Nephil if Castiel was incapacitated. The way Castiel had talked about the subject made it clear that he had never had Nephilim himself, and Sam knew that the creation of Nephilim was outlawed, and yet the Angel was sitting there, calm as you please, declaring that if he did ever have a child with a human and needed another parent besides himself and, presumably, the mother, that he would pick Sam. Sam, who was uncomfortable around kids at the best of times, even if he could fake passable competence in an emergency. Sam, who wouldn't trust himself to look after a completely human baby, never mind one that had "phenomenal cosmic powers" at its disposal. Sam who, until earlier when Castiel had declared that "nothing is worth losing you", had thought that Castiel might possibly consider him a friend at best and tolerated him as a reasonably useful asset at worst. Mind-boggling just didn't cover it.

And that wasn't even touching the whole thing with Castiel sounding like he was defending the actions of his soulless self. The subject of Sam's time topside without his soul was something Dean had never hesitated shut down hard, but Castiel had sounded almost... complimentary. Which made no sense, Sam knew, because without his soul he had been a tactless jerk, not--

"Your soulless self recognized that... and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices."

Sam swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, and again when it refused to be dislodged. Everything he did to help people, to try and make up for the damage he had caused, it never felt like enough. All the centuries spent in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer systematically taking out their rage on him amounted to only a year and a half on Earth, and the tortures blurred together to the point where Sam had long since lost count of how many centuries it had really been, shoving it down and shoving it down, his shaky forays into meditation and reshuffling his mind only managing to build the flimsiest of fences between his conscious mind and that echoing chasm of memory and pain, bits and pieces escaping here and there to scratch along his dreams. Little reminders that he may be out, maybe, but he would never be truly free. It was a truth, cold and logical and inexorable, that Dean refused to acknowledge in either of them, touched by Hell as they both were in different ways, and neither of them coping nearly as well as they wanted the other to believe.

"Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act."

The irony of an Angel of the Lord comparing his soulless self to other Angels was not lost on Sam, nor was the way that comparison gave him mixed feelings. All the years of praying, of believing in God and His Angels, having faith that some higher power was watching out for Dean and his Dad when he couldn't, that there was real good in the world to counterbalance all the evil being shoved at him from all sides...

"Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood."

...no....

"Nothing is worth losing you."

...but why....

"Sam? Sam, did you hear me?"

"Hm?" Jolted from his contemplating, Sam shot a guilty look first at the screen - how had he missed that much of the movie?! - and then gave Castiel a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Cas. What were you saying?"

"I was asking about Marius's assertion that he is in love with Cosette, when he has only just met her and barely interacted with her at all," Castiel repeated himself after a moment of scrutiny for his friend. "It seems disingenuous, more like the 'love' of the pizza man and the babysitter."

"It's supposed to be love at first sight, Cas," Sam explained, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's like... when two people who've never interacted before meet, and there's this... connection that forms between them, like they click on a level that is deeper than physical or emotional. A look, a touch of hands... you just know, looking at that person, that this is it. This is the one." He shrugged. "It's talked about in books and movies and stories and songs all the time as this big romantic ideal, a lot like soulmates... uh, cupid-type soulmates, not me and Dean type soulmates."

"Do you not believe in love at first sight?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side with that puzzled curiosity that Sam found endearingly familiar.

"I don't disbelieve in it," Sam said, choosing his words carefully. "I mean, being a hunter has taught me that every story has some root in a truth. I just don't necessarily think that it always happens the way the stories make it sound. Like maybe sometimes it's one-sided, or something gets in the way like they live too far apart or one is already married or..." Sam bit his lip before he could continue the thought with mention of angels and humans, because he knew from Castiel that most instances of humans and angels coupling were less about romance and love and more about lust and awkward power imbalances, and the last thing he wanted to bring up right now was the hypothetical Nephil again. "Besides, just because love usually happens more slowly than a couple of seconds doesn't make it any less deep or meaningful or special."

"I see," Castiel hummed, and then, "Sam? How do you know when you're in love?"

...Shit.

"Uh," Sam reached up to rub the back of his neck, only to force his hand back down again when he realised what he was doing. "It's different for everyone, Cas...."

"I am aware," and there was a definite note of impatience in the gravelled voice. "I am asking how you know when you are in love."

"Oh," Sam mumbled. He could feel his face heating up and very nearly prayed that the heat wasn't a visibly obvious blush before he stopped himself; Castiel would probably hear it if he did. "Uh, well... not to sound like a broken record, but it was different for everyone I was... I mean, I felt differently about different people, even though it's all still love."

Castiel made an encouraging noise, and when Sam chanced a look in his direction, the Angel was turned more towards him than the screen, clearly interested and wanting to hear more. Well, okay then. Sam leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, reaching back into the depths of his memory for the times he was in love or thought he was, shying away from some of the memories like Madison or Sarah or Amelia, and focusing on the deeper ones, the ones that got under his skin and stayed there across the years, even just as scars. There was a pattern there, a set of feelings that overlapped each instance.

"Happiness," he began, because that was the obvious place to start. "When you see the person, you feel happy. Being around them, sitting next to them, holding hands, hugging... full of happiness and joy and peace. You feel happy when they're happy, sad when they're sad, hurt when they're in pain... You want to protect them, even when you know they can protect themselves. You would fight, kill, even die for them, not because they would ever ask it of you, but because losing them is... unthinkable. It's agony. And all the pain is worth it, because seeing them smile is... it's better than Heaven."

"Oh," Castiel breathed. "Yes, that... that makes so much sense now."

There was a shuffling sound, and the couch cushions dipped beneath shifting weight, and then Sam felt one of his hands being enfolded in Castiel's, the skitter of that unfamiliar Grace held tightly leashed beneath his skin tingling just at the edge of Sam's awareness. He opened his eyes and looked at Castiel, who was beaming at him now from much closer than he had been. "Cas...?"

"Sam," Castiel was still smiling, but it was warmer, softer than the brilliant joy of before, more comfortable and... "Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I was never able to explain myself adequately to my brothers, and so they frequently drew incorrect conclusions that I lacked the necessary frame of reference to refute or correct. Perhaps now I can make them understand."

"Understand?"

"That I am in love with you, Sam Winchester," Castiel squeezed Sam's hand gently. "My world started the day I took your hand. And I would not have it any other way."

"Cas... I...." He couldn't say it. He wanted to, God, did he ever want to say it back, but the words caught in his throat, too used to being choked back after so many years. "Cas...."

"I know. Sam? Will you hold me again? I enjoyed that quite a lot."

"Sure, Cas," Sam shifted, shoving the whirling of his thoughts back and away, and opened his arms. Castiel released his hand and moved closer, pressing the length of his body against Sam's. He let out a soft sigh as Sam brought his arms up to curl around Castiel, settling in a loose embrace that still managed to fully encompass the Angel's smaller physical frame. Together, they turned to watch the movie, wrapped up in each other and the mutual assurance that their feelings, spoken or not, were returned.

"Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store...."

=End=

[ivymaples]

I'm so bummed about no Harry next week that today I've been daydreaming about James getting Harry a big bouquet of red roses for Valentine's and Harry posting a picture of it on his instagram. No caption underneath, just a 💕 . Do you have any headcanons about how they'll spend their first Valentine's Day together? 😁😁

The fact that we still don’t have any real canon about how they function as a For Real Couple is practically a hate crime. @ The Hague, please get on this. 

But anyway, I bet Romeo offers to clear out for the night (partially out of self-preservation) and when James scoffs to him that Valentine’s Day is a scam by the candy industry, gives him this whole speech about love and romance and showing your affection to the person you adore. So James ends up booking a fancy hotel in town, along with a not-quite-as-fancy restaurant, since all the fanciest ones were full up months in advance. Harry hadn’t really been expecting anything, since they seem to have jumped straight into the serious long-term relationship stage and skipped over the kind of dating that Valentine’s is best for. He does buy an obnoxiously large heart-shaped box of chocolates though, just to see the look on James’s face. 

So they have dinner in town, making fun of all the other couples for being soppy lovesick fools, despite the fact that they’re absolutely indistinguishable from them. And then it’s an early night, I guess. There’s always something a little exciting about hotel sex, even if it’s just that the bed is bigger and you don’t have to worry about washing the sheets after.