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notthestarwar · 1 year ago

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Snippet from: what the living do

Jango, haunting Obi Wan’s ship; tells the story that brought him here to Cerasi, haunting Obi Wan

What if he was a ghost. What if everyone was a ghost.

Jango could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He suddenly knew that he had to get this out. He needs to come clean. The whole thing.

This might be his chance. His chance to have someone understand who he was when he started on this path, right at the start, because that wasn't Jango the man, that was who he was as a teenager. As a child. And maybe, he's just been trying to fix what he didn't get right. What he couldn't get right. Way back then.

"Can I tell you the whole story? All the way back. It's a long one..." He asks her suddenly, before he can think about it too hard.

Cersai snorted. "Jango we've got nothing but time. Go ahead".

Jango made no argument, he didn't want to. He wanted to finally get this out, no more stalling.

Something had changed, he had spent so long avoiding the subject that he hardly knows how to tell it, but it’s time. He wanted to be rid of the weight hanging from his shadow, this burden. Jango wants to be free.

He starts by taking a deep breath, a rush of oxygen that he didn't need, that he'll never need again, filling his lungs.

“My parents were farmers. When I was 10, a group of militants from a group called Death Watch, I suppose you could call them terrorists; came to my house and killed both my parents and my sister and set our home on fire.”

“I still do not know why they spared me. It was not a kindness.”

He's staring down at the floor with its soft rubbery lumps to stop anyone skidding across it. Something that Jango, is never going to have to worry about again and isn't that funny.

“There was another group, the Haat’Mandoade. They opposed Death Watch and they sought to one day succeed the New Mandalorian, a pacifist group that at the time ruled Mandalore.”

“The Mandalorian Civil War. there were 3 factions.

One ultra violent and using tradition as an excuse. Death watch were extremists.

One, extreme in their pacifism and determined to wipe the slate clean and rid us of all and any tradition.

“At the time I lost my parents, the Haat’Mandoade were a small faction, grassroots really, but everyone knew that one day, they’d be more.

And then, one final group. The true Mandolorians.”

"The Haat’Mandoade arrived at my home too late to save my parents, my sister, but they did come. That mattered to me, that someone had cared enough to try.

It was a middle ground that Mandalore desperately needed, we were pulling ourselves apart, destroying our people with our own hands."

They aimed to fall somewhere in the middle, a movement where we could still be Mandolorians, keeping our language and our culture, but working to be better than the Mandolorians of the past. A modern Mandalore for modern Mando’ade. Promoting defence over expansion. Peace rather than war.

Their leader was a man called Jaster. He had originally been a watchman and in his spare time, he was an amateur historian, he wanted to share with the Mando’ade what we once were. He wanted to give us a way forward, taking the best parts of our history and learning from the worst.

They followed a strict code, written by Jaster himself, the Supercommando Codex.”

“The Haat’Mandoade were dangerous to Death Watch. They had relied on the support of Mandolorian’s driven to them by the New Mandolorian’s strict approach to our traditions. With each controversial policy, Death Watch’s numbers would swell with those desperate enough to look away from their more distasteful acts, but as soon as these Mando’ade had another option, one that was fair and more concerned with defence over destruction and expansion, they had no need for Death Watch.

The Haat’Mandoade started as a group of highly trained Mando’ade loyal to Jaster. They worked as a for hire militia when they were not spending their time working to end Death watch, to save others from the devastation they had already brought to so many.

That other option was the Haat’Mandoade, led by Jaster and his super commando’s. They were a middle ground.

The Haat’mandoade wanted to lead us towards a better future and with Jaster at the helm they were well on their way. “

“After losing my parents they took me in, I saw first hand as what had started as something small grew. Jaster had known my father, in truth, it was he personally who took me in, picked up where my Buire had left off, before death watch put a stop to all of that.

He taught me it all, to fight but also to follow a code, to follow his code.To fight for what was right. He taught me of our history, where we had come from as a people, what we had done. Jaster thought it was important for Mando’ade to know that, so we would know better than to keep repeating the same old mistakes.

So I went with them, with Jaster.

“He offered. And that was Jaster in a letter. He knew how to give orders but when it was important, he asked.

And then one day, he offered to adopt me.”

He offered to adopt me, if that’s what I wanted, and of course that’s what I wanted!

He led by consent, he was only willing to lead if he knew that we wanted to follow, that he was leading us in the direction we all hoped for.

There was no doubt in my mind that had I not wanted him to say those words, he still would have looked out for me. Had I wanted distance, he would have found someone else to care for me. That was the man he was and that is why I never would have said no. I wanted it all, everything I could possibly have and I wanted it immediately, so I could hold it tight to my chest and never let go.

Thanks to Jaster he had it all.

I never would have said no, not to Jaster. I was so young and still I already knew what It was to lose it all. I loved him, I wanted Jaster to be my Buir because he was Jaster.

So he adopted me and I found myself with a parent, once again.”

Jaster had given Jango all he could ever dream of just by being himself. Just by offering up what he was to Jango, because really, all Jango has ever really wanted, whoever he is: a boy standing on the outskirts of a burning field; or maybe someone a bit older, looking down on the crumpled body of his mentor; a teenager, kneeling and bound, surrounded by the bodies of people he'd led in to battle; or an adult, just, stumbling down the gangway of a slave ship, blinking away the light of the first sun he's seen in years; was to be loved.

“The thing was though, all those things that made Jaster so great, they weren’t apparent only to me, everyone saw it. It was why he had so much support. It was why his super commandos were so loyal. It was why death watch were so scared of him, why they hated him so much.

Sometimes when you want something so much, you only end up pushing it further away. Like squeezing a slippery bar of soap so hard that it shoots right out of your hand and- splats- right in to the murky depths of the drainwater.

So when Jaster adopted me, it hadn’t just been Jaster the man adopting me, it was the Mand’alor saying those words too.”

Jaster adopting him could never just be Jaster, stepping forward as a buir. It would always also be the Mand'alor stepping forward. The voice of his people, elected by their will. And so in accepting that offer of adoption, Jango, a small boy from a farm in the rural outreaches of Concord Dawn, was stepping in to something he would never really have enough time to fully understand.

His people loved him, that’s why they followed him. That is why they took him as their leader. But he wasn’t just their leader. They had made him King.

“The members of the Haat’Mandoade, their supporters had elected him to the position and now he was a King as well as a man, the Mand’alor and in their eyes, the only rightful one. A complication considering that death watch claimed Tor Viszla as the rightful Mand’alor of Manda’yaim and the new Mandolorians were claiming that the position was defunct.

"I'd been adopted by the King of our people. He was, an elected leader but also a king: the Mand'alor, and, he was killed for it. His second betrayed him. I was 14.

My second chance at family, at a parent, shattered just like that and the Haat’Mandoade found themselves without a leader. They needed a new Mand'alor and they had few alternatives. The thing is they didn’t want an alternative, they wanted Jaster, but he was dead and so, they picked the only person who symbolically, might offer their movement what Jaster once had.

His people’s trust, would paint a target on his back and In the end, it was Jaster’s position as Mand’alor that would take him from me before I could even legally drink on most planets in the Galaxy, leaving me parentless once again.”

They picked me.

I was 14. I wasn't ready to be their leader. But to put me on the throne was to send a message: you can kill our leader but you can not kill what he has started.

“The Haat’mandoade were now My People, the movement was My Movement, I was not just part of a greater whole, I was responsible for them, for it all. I had advisors and Jaster’s friends and Verd but that could never make up for all that I wasn’t, all that I hadn’t had time to be.

So in many ways it was a symbolic gesture, handing me the reigns. But calling someone a King can never just be symbolic. I was at 14, now the leader of our people.”

I couldn't be who they needed, what they needed. I was trying just to keep my head above water. On one side we keep having to fend off attacks, on the other the official government are decrying us, lumping in with those maniacs.

I just tried to keep us going as we had been. Mercenaries for hire to keep food on the table while we gathered support and figured out what the hell else we were supposed to do. We made sure always, that we stuck to Jaster's code.

But a code is not enough to lead a movement, that’s why they had made Jaster Mand’alor in the first place. He’d taught me, those few years we were together and thanks to that in many ways I understood his intentions what he was trying to do, but I was also a child, in even more ways I did not understand, I could not.

We were going to make a new Mandalore, a better future for our people, together. But in my hands, we were barely surviving.

“My people, had put the trust they once had in Jaster, in me and it would be that, that killed them. It would be that, that killed Jasters dream.

"In the years after I took the crown I managed to keep things going just about, thanks to the help of my advisors and my Buirs friends, most of which were the same people. We took jobs, the worlds we visited carried on turning, and then there was Galidraan.

What the Haat'mandoade had, what delicate soft thing had been laid in Jango's waiting hands, it could have been something. They could have been something and Jango, he can never forget that. He'll never let himself forget that.

The Haat’Mandoade started dying the day I took the crown. It took a few years but the writing was on the wall from the first moment I touched it, A boy leader to thank for a dead kingdom.”

We took a contract or rather, I took a contract because I was the leader, I was in charge.

The governor of the place tells us there are terrorists hurting people, he told us they were Mandalorian.

We put two and two together and figured, death watch.

So we took the Job and tried to find them but we didn’t get a chance to take them down before the other shoe dropped.”

Death Watch were on this planet, they were there because we were there. It was a setup, the Governor was in their pocket, when it came down to it, we were on that planet because Death Watch had invited us and what a welcome they had prepared.

The Governor went to the Republic with a plea for help. He told them the same story he had told us, with one key difference. He told them that we were the terrorists and he told where they might find our camp.

“I was a king, but I was also a boy. I couldn't protect them. They were all dead."

Death watch created evidence to support the tale and at the behest of their republic, the Jedi flew in to save the day.

The scheme was a success. The Jedi killed almost all of my people that day. The Haat’Mandoade were no more.”

He can't hide the part that he played. That's who Jango is, the Jedi killer. And he's sat here, In a Jedis quarters with a Jedis dead best friend.

"I killed 6 Jedi with my bare hands but it still wasn't enough to save my people. I don’t tell you this to brag, only for you to see what it was like.

You have to understand the brutality of it, in all directions. I fought with all I had, I would have given my life for my people, you have to understand that. But I survived. I survived and they all died at the hands of those Jedi.

In a day, they had destroyed all that we built just because they blindly waltzed in without checking.”

“Eventually the Jedi captured me and they took me to the local authorities who handed me to the Governor and the Governor was working for death watch, always had been.

They'd killed my parents, my sister, my adopted buir and now they had set up the annihilation of all I had left. All that Jaster had left in my hands.

It’s the truth. There's a part of Jango that never really left that ship.

When he walked out that door he had to tear a part of him loose. Something that got caught during his time there, and was and always would be, lost, thanks to his time in slavery.

The governor sold me in to slavery. It was. It was bad. Torture really. Spice ship. Took me years to escape. The person who left that ship, he wasnt the one that got put on it"

Sometimes Jango closes his eyes and thinks he's still there. And that's ridiculous really because he's never been further from slavery than now, you can't chain a ghost.

Slavery is like that though, It seeps in to your bones, you can never leave it behind. Afterall, didn't he go ahead and enslave the clones, that's what the Jedi had said he'd done anyway.

He'd learnt the violence of slavery at the hand of another and when he'd finally gotten away, he'd just gone and turned it on another, on a million others.

“After I left that ship, what was left of me at least, I found myself back in the Galaxy without any kind of purpose. I had been a king and now, there was nothing. I had led my people, Jasters people, to their certain end.

He takes a shaking breath. He's near the end now. So close he can feel the shape of it, his end. It's almost within touching distance.

What was left of the Haat’Mandoade had scattered. But most of them were just dead. There wasn't really anything left for me to go back to. I'd led most of my people to death. I was hardly about to rally the survivors and secure their deaths too.”

Once, I'd been handed a legacy. A chance to do better. With that code our people could have been something. Jaster had set us on that path and all that was needed of me was to keep our people still following it. But I hadn't been able to do that.”

He'd seen the consequence of violence more than most which probably makes the next part worse. Jango knew what even well intentioned violence could do and still, he set out as a bounty hunter.

By his early 20s, he already found himself responsible for the death of hundreds. People were still dying thanks to what he had failed to do, they would be for decades. Death watch had gone unmatched for all of his time away and still, they wrought terror now he was free. But he couldn’t fix that. There was no way for him to fix all that his incompetence had brought down upon his people, upon Mandalore.

Thanks to Jango, there was nothing left of Jaster’s path and so he set out to find a new one.

His skills lent well to bounty hunting and so that is what he did. It was all he was good for really, killing. Death had torn through his life since he was a boy, he knew the consequences of what he was doing more than most and still, he sold himself as a killer for hire.

"Now I've got a reputation by this point. They called me the Jedi killer. They'd thought me dead for the past few years, but here I was. I'm back and I'm different, but I've got to do something. I need food, I need a life.

No-one is going to hire the Jedi killer for any Non-violent job are they and really, what else was I good for. Its all I knew. I was good at what I did. Jaster had taught me to hunt.

I already had the kind of reputation you need as a bounty hunter, far before I stepped a foot on that slave ship, all of us did, we'd been working as mercenaries. So I picked up from there."

More than anything, Jango is a violent product of a violent world. He just can't help himself.

He'd been good, he'd been more than good. Jango has never been able to approach a task with anything but brutal competence. If he doesn't know how to do something, he learns. More than that, he becomes an expert.

It was that really, that sealed his coffin. Signed the warrant and dotted the t's of his downfall.

"I made a name for myself. Even more of one. Jango Fett, bounty hunter.

Jango was too good. He caught the wrong type of attention.

I was the one they came to for the difficult jobs. The one you contact when you can pay.

A man approached me and he said, I've got a job for you. An unusual one but you are uniquely qualified.”

The Jedi have ordered an army. They want it ready in 10 years to fight in a war the Jedi will lead them in. For the Republic.

“He tells me the pay is good. Ridiculously good. But he says, that's not why you'll want to do it though, here's why:

He says, we've got an idea. Me and my employer.

We want you to be the donor. It'll be a clone army but they won't be able to think like people or anything. Just like droids but they'll be grown rather than made.

The Jedi will have their army but in the end they won't really be loyal to the Jedi and that’s why we want you, Jedi Killer as the template. They'll turn on them and you'll have your revenge.”

“You have to understand, the Jedi, they'd taken everything from me. I'd lost everything i knew so young but thanks to Jaster, I'd rebuilt from there. The Jedi took that from me.

The new Mandolorians were a monster of the Republic's creation and with them, we'd been shoved to the sidelines. They had split our support in half, every non Death Watch Mando’ade was too busy fighting each other to properly oppose Death Watch.

That is why they were so strong. That is how they succeeded. The republic did this.

The Jedi and everything they represented, the Republic, they were the reason we'd been vulnerable to death watch in the first place.

And now, such a obvious show of their arrogance, still claiming to be peacekeepers while ordering an army. So yeah, I wanted it all to blow up in their faces. They were asking for it"

Jango shrugged. “So, I agreed.”

#snippet #mywritingntwyw #mywriting ntwyw #this is from the first multi chap i ever wrote lol #i dunno I'm going through a weird stage with my writing now. i don't like anything that I've got posted tbh.#trying to find what made me like them in the first place #this was a fun scene. i like the idea of your physical state as a ghost changing you.#theres nothing to be afraid of the worst has already happened. nothing matters anymore. so you're overly honest #and for someone like Jango that has been repressing everything so long. i think that would be something like a floodgate releasing

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captain-gazpacho · 2 years ago

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Rant

Renormalize personal blogs. I don’t mean personal blogs hosted on some company’s servers, I mean actual, self hosted websites. Renormalize RSS feeds. I want everyone to have their own server rack hooked up in a closet somewhere running some Geocities looking websites, where you can find all of someone’s videos, posts, etc. And while we’re at it, let’s fix the web entirely. Let’s not cram every kind of data imaginable down HTTP (or more recently HTTPS), let’s take advantage of the multitude of protocols designed for specific cases. And if we don’t have a protocol for something? LET’S MAKE IT. Let’s also get rid of web based desktop applications. Not everything needs to be run through a JS engine to be pretty, just give us applications running on the application layer. Oh, is that too hard? Well then I guess we just need to fix the OS it’s running on. While we’re at it, let’s fix the hardware architectures too. Oh, and wh- YOU GET THE FUCKING POINT. Something went so fucking wrong with the evolution of comp. sci. that we might as well just start completely fucking over. Tear it out by the roots. Wipe the slate clean. BURN IT DOWN! *12 hours later...* AND THAT’S WHY WE SHOULD SEIZE THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION

#... I need a better hobby than just screaming about comp sci failures...

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suekuna · 2 years ago

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𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ?? (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭)

𝐖𝐂 — 𝟐𝐤 +

𝐂𝐖 — 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

‘go to hell.’ the silence in the room was deafening. tears the color of clarity, flowed down your cheeks so easily. gojo is the tide that tore against the riverbed, where your heart resides.

it's over. your story together is over. the memories will become painful that they too, will be over.

gojo stayed silent at your words. as much as they stung, he knew they were well deserved. he fucked up and this was his punishment. though he’s not religious, deep down he knew he'd pay for his sins.

you try to stop your tears from pouring but it's all in jest. 'i slept with her...i'm sorry.' his icy blue eyes paralleled the cold aura suddenly filling the room. how could your boyfriend confess to you so calmly? was he so detached from you? from the situation? or from himself?

you had felt something was bothering your boyfriend the past few days and you kept pressing him for answers. never did you think it would be this. a part of you regrets for prying and the other feels freed by the truth. many had warned you that satoru wasn't the type to settle down, but you didn't listen. was this your punishment?

you bring your arms down from where they were wiping your tears previously. balling your hands into fists, you hope to get rid of the numbing feeling engulfing your entire body.

‘i really thought you loved me...’ you let out a sob. "but you're just like everyone said. a man so greedy, he forgets what he has because it always gets replaced." you look up at gojo and he swallows harshly. this is goodbye.

all gojo can do is watch your silhouette walk out the door and out of his life. 'y/n...' guilt has been eating at him for weeks. now regret and pain join in on the feast.

he has always loved you. you were the one who gave him a clean slate.

you trusted him and loved him regardless of his past affairs and rendezvous. 'you're a good man, satoru. i wish everyone else knew you like i do.' those words stayed with him always. as did your laugh, your favorite things, your embrace, your lips, and your many nights together. gojo was in every possible definition, in love with you.

of course what happened wasn’t justified. you didn’t buy his explanation for why he did it. he knows he was dead wrong.

what happened that night, should have never happened. he was furious and his entire mind was directing scenarios of you and your a co-worker you had recently gotten close to. each scene ended with you cheating and his vision was seeing a brighter shade of red each time he pictured it.

gojo was wary of this co-worker as soon as you told him. weeks would pass and you two grew closer and closer. your boyfriend started asking questions as slyly as he could. 'how old is he?' 'does he have a s/o?' his curiosity never seemed off to you and you'd gladly answer his questions.

eventually, months passed and the questions became targeted and purposeful. 'did you see him today?' 'why was he there?' and the tension came to an all time high on that dreadful night.

'where were you y/n? it's 2am.' gojo was eyeing you as he stood in the entranceway of your apartment. his posture was stiff and his arms were crossed so tightly—it appeared as if he was desperately seeking self-comfort.

'our boss invited everyone for drinks today.' you calmly responded as you removed your shoes. gojo furrowed his brows and wasn’t buying the story you were selling him.

‘until 2 in the fucking morning?’ your boyfriend was slowly raising his voice. ‘yeah, we kinda lost track of time. sorry for making you stay up so late.’ you reached out for satoru��s arm that was still crossed with the other in anger. to your surprise, he pulled back.

‘was he there?’ you retracted your hand and gave him a look of confusion. ‘was who there?’ ‘you know who i’m talking about.’ ‘babe, he’s my co-worker, of course he was invited.’

gojo couldn’t even look at you in that moment. ‘we’ve been fighting about this for days now, satoru. i told you he is just someone i work with, that’s it.’

the silver-haired man finally reciprocates eye contact. ‘someone you work with huh?’ he laughs humorlessly. ‘i’m not stupid y/n…you’ve been fucking him haven’t you?’

how could he? your heart dropped at his accusation. you never even looked at another man in that way while you’ve been together.

‘what? no! baby, i have never cheated on you!’ you desperately tried to express the truth to him, but he didn’t budge.

gojo’s angry expression never faltered. ‘all that overtime?! the phone calls and messages?! explain that!’

your co-worker did have a thing for you. you kept it professional and told him you were in a happy relationship. or so you thought.

‘i told him i’m happily taken!! you and my job have always been important to me!’ you paused as you felt your throat getting dry.

‘don’t put me in a narrative when you don’t even know the truth!!’ gojo still would not budge. how could you explain the frequent late nights you came home?

‘i know what i heard!!’ ‘if you can’t believe me, then leave satoru!’

he didn’t react a bit and brushed past you to grab his coat from the rack. ‘you’re such a delusional asshole!’ gojo heard your last words of frustration as he walked away from the apartment.

he didn’t know where he was going. it was 3am at that point—it was dark.

is she like all the rest? he thought. he ended up on a park bench and felt the crisp air. there was no denying what he heard. the voicemail that bastard left for you suggested you two were messing around.

‘do you miss me? we should repeat last night again soon.’ gojo stomach dropped as he heard the voicemail. still on the bench, he looked out onto the empty field.

you were different than all the flings he had. hell, you were completely in a different galaxy than them. he was serious and committed to making you fall in love with him everyday.

gojo eyes never wandered and he never even thought of being separated from you. he did everything for you. in his mind, you became like everyone else. you walked away as soon as you came into his life.

it’s my turn, he thought. if you were going to break his heart, so was he.

satoru pulled out his phone and opened up his contacts. he finds the number he was looking for. ‘hey, it’s gojo. you busy rn?’

and that’s how he ended up in bed with your best friend. she had given him hints that she was interested in him while you two were in a relationship. how fitting.

gojo knew this was wrong, but why did revenge feel so right?

he was falling apart on the inside; he wanted to cry for you. he wished this was you under him.

all gojo could picture was you instead of her. he wanted to feel you, not her. how is this revenge? does this event count? he thought to himself and scoffed at his fucked up way of thinking. in that heated moment, your best friend was just a vessel for his imagination.

it was you he was making love to.

after that night, gojo never spoke to your best friend again. he knew you’d find out eventually. he was torn figuring out if getting revenge made him feel better. and it didn’t, because he didn’t have you.

in a turn of events, you called him asking if you two could talk. maybe gojo would get the opportunity to confess to you himself. the final act of revenge.

an hour later, you two were seated in the living room. you came clean to him that your co-worker had feelings for you and would flirt with you on occasion. you told him that you turned him down and explained the voicemail as his weird way of teasing you about work. you even apologized to him for not understanding why he would feel suspicious of you.

how could he be so wrong? gojo didn’t know what to say. ‘do you forgive me?’ your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. you were looking at him pleadingly.

no, you've got it wrong y/n. could you forgive me? gojo felt like he was going to puke. you took his silence as a yes and pulled him in for a hug.

you smiled into his chest and squeezed him so tight. little did you know, gojo was looking down in shame.

all of this led up to the moment he confessed to you that he slept with your best friend. gojo will never forget the amount of tears that stained the wooden floor.

your relationship ended that day and he finally cried for you. he didn’t cry for the guilt and pain he felt, he cried for your pain.

days would pass and he was barely functioning. he struggled to eat and fall asleep like he used to. nanami had to stop by once a week and make sure he was still alive.

now, months have passed and he doesn’t remember a single day from them. “this isn’t normal, satoru.” nanami has reached a point where he needs to help his friend before it’s too late.

‘i know. i just need to see her.’ gojo looks up at nanami from the spot he had been sitting in for days now.

kento knew it wasn’t the greatest idea as you had already moved on. however, maybe this would be the closure his friend needs.

‘okay.’

gojo hadn’t been going out much since your breakup. only for essential purposes.

today was sunday. a day you had off from work. nanami had told him where he might be able to see you as he had bumped into you a few times in the area.

gojo looked around the town square. couples were out on dates, families were spending time together, and different aromas filled the air from the food vendors. it felt nice to be outside.

he scans the area and stops as soon as he spotted you. you’re walking hand in hand with another man. in your gorgeous sundress, you look so happy. all gojo can do is look from afar.

you look so happy y/n. gojo felt his chest tighten. you were smiling as you shared your drink with your boyfriend. you didn’t even notice him at all.

you moved on from gojo. you cried for him until there were no more tears left to fall. your heart ached and you couldn't help but blame yourself for choosing to be with satoru.

though it had only been months, you made sure you didn’t rush anything. the timing just happened to feel right for you. your now current boyfriend trusted you and believed in you. you feel content and excited for your relationship to grow stronger.

during the months gojo mourned, he realized he projected his insecurities onto you. he finally had someone good for him and he was always expecting it to come to an end. breaking your heart before you ever broke his stayed hidden in his subconscious. the phrase ‘all good things must come to an end’ had always plagued his life. he turned your relationship together into one of them.

it was bittersweet as gojo observed you two. he could heal knowing you moved on from him but, he’d never heal from hurting you.

memories will live in his mind always. gojo knows it’s not healthy to do this. but you’re more than just some ex, you’re the first person he ever really fell in love with.

gojo does not plan on getting into a new relationship for a long, long time. learning from his mistakes on his own is what's best.

as he watches you interact with your new boyfriend, he can’t help but compare.

you’ll look for men that are nothing like me, won’t you y/n? gojo couldn’t say the same for himself. he would look for only you in other people in the future. he’s cursed, forever and every day after that.

and today was sunday. ironic. to gojo, god did not exist but maybe just maybe, he was still being punished for his sins.

a/n - ahhhh besties this was supposed to be a drabble and look what happened 😩 anyways, pls let me know your thoughts !! i really wanted to try and write from his perspective instead of y/n’s

#jjk headcanons #gojo headcanons #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo x reader #jjk imagines #gojo satoru #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

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thedeviljudges · 3 years ago

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examining the phrase “i didn’t want to see you go to a place you can’t turn back from” from ep 15 (and when gaon said it previously), really hits heavy when you realize that gaon actually cares for yohan but yohan does not care for himself. yohan had a plan all along, knowing he’d either have to flee, be tried and put in jail or he’d die. and not for one second did he care about what happened to him, as long as he got justice—and it’s not even justice for himself, truthfully. it’s justice for eljiah who has to live without her parents, who cannot walk because minister cha hurt her so badly.

it’s actually kind of painful to hear, maybe even for yohan, because at that point, he has someone who cares about him so deeply enough to not want yohan to go down the wrong path, but it’s too late. it was already too late even before gaon was put into yohan’s life because nothing would’ve been able to stop yohan no matter what. there was no other way because yohan had made up his mind to see it through regardless, but he hadn’t expected to have conflicted feelings because gaon actually made him care.

which made it all that much harder when yohan pushes gaon out of the courtroom, and he’s upset knowing he might not make it out alive, and gaon is behind those doors screaming his name. in the end, yohan’s revenge and his sense of justice came before all because at that point, it needed to be done, and it needed to be completed, which goes back to his jesus-like characterization. every plan was set in stone—albeit changes depending on context and circumstance, but the inevitable end was never not going to happen.

and that’s what makes gaon’s words so heartbreaking because if yohan had that to begin with, it could’ve turned out differently. but there gaon is in yohan’s office telling yohan he’s sorry he did what he did because he didn’t want the man to go to a place he can’t come back from, but at that point, what gaon failed to realize is that yohan was already lost to his plans long before he ever showed up. that was set in stone the minute yohan left the church with elijah in his arms.

and while i’m at it, i refuse to believe that yohan was ever meant to be the devil judge because in that same scene in ep 15 when gaon tells yohan that “using the vulnerability of human beings is what the devil does” couldn’t actually be further from the truth because again, if we go back to him being a jesus figure, the devil is never truly involved with blood and sacrifice. he causes chaos, yes, but jesus is the one that knows humanity has blood on their hands (re: their sins) and chooses to forgive them for “they know not what they do” because that is the entirety of the narrative—to give everyone a clean slate, to start over with a new covenant and new rules different from the old testament.

the clean slate in the show is a new judicial system, sure, but it also gives people the power back to make choices, to pay attention and live by new rules. their sins are wiped clean to start anew. gaon is still stuck in a mindset where the devil is compared to human iterations of what evil is, but the reasons they call yohan the devil are not actual reasons he’d ever be considered the devil, technically. humans live by good and bad deeds, and when you do something horrific, you’re considered a devil, but it’s slightly different in the context of the bible. jesus knew humanity would be stained with blood but it would be forgiven and it would be different after his crucifiction and resurrection, which goes to show that our concepts of good and evil are not always practical.

this is also not me saying that all of yohan’s actions were right, but gaon kept on about how yohan is trying to make humanity complicit in yohan’s revenge plot, and to an extent yes, but it also begs the question of whether they were already complicit in the system that was established before, and the answer to that would be yes. yohan was right to say that there are no innocent people in the world (and gaon’s right too that a lot of people try to be good people), and the actions they took via the app during the trials were just more obvious ways of their nature.

i said it before quite a bit, but yohan had to show the world the level of which things could get; he had to hold a mirror up to the entire country so they could look at themselves for who they were and what they were doing, so that when he got rid of the elite, they could do better. and now i’m talking in circles, but that is the exact story of jesus dying on the cross. the blood on their hands gaon was referring too, his fight to say that humanity is good wasn’t a lie either—he just failed to acknowledge that doing good isn’t always the base component of human nature, and that it takes practice and effort to actively work on. he can believe that for what it is, but you cannot remove the sinister component of greed and all the other seven sins that go hand in hand with humans. gaon was on the right track, but not quite right thinking that. yohan was also on the right track with the no innocent people comment, but also not quite right.

#x #the devil judge meta #the devil judge #fjalskdf uh oops

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sholangagaga · 3 years ago

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How did people come to the conclusion that Michael was the main character for most of the games?

It was a mixture of speculation and also confirmation in canon, honestly? At first everyone actually thought that WILLIAM (or just the Purple Guy back in the day) was the main character in the games. TECHNICALLY, they weren't wrong. Right bloodline, wrong purple guy Michael was confirmed/implied to be the main character in a handful of games at the very least.

In FNAF4, Michael is the Boy in the Foxy Mask who torments his younger brother. Michael was apparently a huge dickhead as a kid, and only after his brother died did he sort of realize "Oh hey, I'm a massive piece of shit"

In Sister Location, Michael is there to find out the truth of what happened to his sister, Elizabeth (who was killed by and possessed Circus Baby). But of course, we know that Baby betrays him (I dont know if she KNOWS he's her older brother, but she basically kills and scoops him so ennard can use michaels body to escape)

In Pizzeria Simulator, Michael is (supposedly) the main character who works under Henry Emily, and together they fend off Springtrap, Baby, and Lefty in order to basically wipe the slate clean and kill/free everyone's souls. (which we know doesnt work cause peepaw willy comes back AGAIN)

The only games where its theorized Michael is the main character but not actually confirmed is FNAF1 and FNAF3.

FNAF1 is because Mike Schmidt and Michael were sorta teased to be the same people in the logbooks and in alot of the media, but Scott Cawthon kinda dances around that theory?? He's never said yay or nay, so its up in the air tbh

FNAF3 because the main antagonist is William, and because the game itself seems to imply that the person working there did so under strange circumstances and was also seemingly waiting for something? (in the first night, Phone Dude implies that the Protag had been working there for at least multiple days before the events of the game) Also because the attraction mysteriously only burns down AFTER Springtrap is found, which feeds into the arson theory that the Protagonist was trying to get rid of william??

In my aus and just in my head, I believe Michael is Mike Schmidt and the protag of FNAF1 and 3 (but i always tell people my timelines are in NO WAY congruent to canon)

#but hey!#its just a theory #a game theory #i hope the movie whenever it comes out confirms some theories #but i dont trust scoot as far as i can throw him #fnaf security breach #security breach #fnaf #glamstar au #glamstar fam au #shoucan says

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johnconstantinesdick · 3 years ago

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Okay *cracks knuckles, accidentally dislocates fingers* @agentscamander-romanoff and @steel-phoenix took the bait and enabled me by asking me to elaborate on my Children of the Watch origins theory. Which means I am about to go ABSOLUTELY feral.

Apologies to anyone for having incorrect Star Wars lore, I’ve barely consumed canon content and I don’t intend to start now. Also sorry if anyone has already said this! I’ve never seen this particular theory/interpretation and it’s made me go a bit insane.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, cults, and the aftermath of genocide. I don’t go super in depth on any of it but it’s there. Also, I typed this in the notes app of my phone and autocorrect hasn’t quite submitted to some of these names.

SO. I’m going to break this up into sections. 1. Exploring canon 2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string 3. What does this MEAN??? 4. Complaining about Bo-Katan.

First off, though, here’s my thesis: Children of the Watch is a “splinter group” made up of the children that Death Watch stole, indoctrinated, and abused. They’re also not a cult (Death Watch is though lmao).

1. Exploring Canon:

Okay, so. Canonically, Death Watch has abducted, tortured, and brainwashed children. Arla Fett is an example of that, having been abducted at the age of 14 after her parents were killed and she was subsequently brainwashed into becoming an assassin for Death Watch. She didn’t even hesitate when she found out her brother was alive! That’s how strong the conditioning was! She was so fucked up from it that she spent YEARS in a mental facility, and she outright begged a Jedi to wipe her memories in exchange for a favor. DEATH WATCH DID THAT. And you CANNOT tell me she was the only one they’ve done this to. PLENTY of fic writers have extrapolated off of this and mentioned it, but it’s important to me that everyone know this shit is absolutely rooted in canon.

Another Death Watch Child Abuse Fun Fact: Dred Priest and Isabet Reau, two of the trainers of the clones, canonically had Death Watch leanings and tried to instill Death Watch beliefs in the clones by FORCING THEM TO FIGHT EACH OTHER IN SECRET BATTLE CIRCLES THAT ENDED UP KILLING SOME OF THE CLONES. THEY WERE CHILDREN AT THE TIME, IF IT WASN’T CLEAR. WHAT THE FUCK. If THAT’S not an example of Death Watch abusing the kids under their care then I don’t know what is. It’s suuper not a stretch for me to think that this wasn’t an unheard of thing in more official Death Watch circles.

Also canonically, Bo-Katan has referred to Din’s covert as “Children of the Watch”, and Din, despite obviously being an important and respected member of his community, doesn’t recognize the name, which implies to me that it’s not a name the covert chose for themselves. Rather, a moniker that was given to them after they splintered off of Death Watch. Since this isn’t an opinion and it’s more just… information, I’ll trust Bo-Katan on this one.

We also know for sure that Din’s covert IS connected to Death Watch in some way, seeing as the flashback sequence very clearly shows Mandalorians in blue and gray beskar’gam, the colors of Death Watch. HOWEVER… the Armorer, who seems to hold a high position of authority in the covert, wears gold and copper beskar’gam. Din wears unpainted (v2) or mismatched colored (v1) beskar’gam (I do grant that his paint color counts less towards this because he’s pretty much one of the only people interacting with the outside world and so colors associated with Death Watch are probably a no go no matter what). Paz Vizsla’s armor is a very dark blue with yellow and cyan details and, oh my fucking god I didn’t even know this but he has a fucking MYTHOSAUR SYMBOL ON ONE OF HIS PAULDRONS. THE FUCK???? THAT’S LITERALLY THE SYMBOL OF THE TRUE MANDALORIANS IM. Ok. Okay. I needed a minute. Like I KNOW that the mythosaur skull is Mandalorian symbol in general but I think it just hits different when a Vizsla is wearing it, you know? Especially because the placement is the same as Jaster Mereel’s???? Literal founder of the True Mandalorian movement????? Excuse me???????

Let’s uh. Let’s get back to armor. I can address that… later. So. Anyway. Armor is super important, and it’s uhhh very telling that the covert doesn’t emulate the Death Watch colorscheme strictly. Like, yeah, there’s gray and light blue in there, if you go through some wiki pages, but they’re not the only colors they use, and the Armorer doesn’t even have either of those colors! And she’s the biggest authority we’ve seen! Very fucking interesting!! Bo-Katan still has her armor painted in Death Watch colors! And yet she’s derisive of Din’s covert! Verrry interesting!

We also know that Din’s covert emphasizes children VERY much, more than Death Watch ever would have, imo. It’s expected for the adult members to provide for the foundlings (and it’s VERY interesting that the kids are seemingly all referred to as foundlings iirc. More on that later.), and even though Paz disagrees with Din working with the empire, he and the other members of the covert immediately and with no hesitation come to Din’s aid for this child that Din hasn’t even claimed as his own—it’s amazing! And I will note that Bo-Katan and her warriors do the same upon their initial meeting with Din—Koska dives into danger with no hesitation as soon as Din says the child is still in danger. We see that this solidarity does come at a price for Bo-Katan, though, while the Armorer sees protecting a foundling as a duty that is completely worth all the trouble it brought.

Fascinating also that Boba was 100% on board to help out Din to save Grogu past what Din or anyone else would have expected of him, while Bo-Katan had to be bribed into coming by the promise of Moff Gideon and the darksaber. And she thinks she’s somehow more Mandalorian than him.

And NOW, going way back in time to the beginnings of the True Mandalorian movement, we know that Jaster Mereel originally authored his Supercommando Codex by looking back through history to the Canons of Honor and the Resol’nare, and he took those ideals and ideas and he modernized them to create a set of moral guidelines to follow. And people loved that shit! Death Watch had to infiltrate the True Mandalorians and then trick the Jedi into slaughtering them just to get rid of them, because Jaster’s charisma and his sexy sexy morals were too strong. (God. I fucking LOVE Jaster Mereel if you couldn’t tell.) Anyway, there’s precedent for Mandalorians looking back to their history to bring forth old ideas, repurposed to a modern context. We also know that, canonically, Din’s covert follow the “old ways” of not sharing names and of never taking their helmets off in front of others.

Moving on.

2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string:

So if we extrapolate from the fact that Death Watch are, uh, super fucking abusive towards the kids that they stole/their own kids, then we’re left with… this group of kids, who have been mistreated and indoctrinated for a LONG TIME, and possibly don’t have that great an understanding of non-toxic Mandalorian culture. And if they’ve been abducted or rescued, whatever, they might not fit back in with the places they were taken from, or they may not have a place to go back to, or they may not even remember where they’re from originally. It’s some prime angst material! Good stuff.

And if we pull the implication from the names that “Children of the Watch” is a splinter group off of Death Watch, it really does make you think… huh, you know what? These two things may be one in the same. Maybe.

And, like, we know that Jaster Mereel and Din’s covert both looked to Mandalorian history to find pillars for their community’s morals. Jaster did so in the middle of a lot of political turmoil, as a way to say “Hey, we can still be Mandalorians in the ways that matter, but being Mandalorian doesn’t mean being a morally bankrupt conqueror. We can have honor and still wear armor and fight and uphold the Resol’nare.”

And I think Din’s covert did so when they were struggling with unlearning the toxic ideals that had been shoved onto them by Death Watch. I think they had to figure out their own way of being Mandalorian or else they would have crumpled under the pressure. And so they looked back to the old ways and picked out the more extreme interpretation of Cin Vhetin (clean slate) which says that, once you swear the Resol’nare and become a Mandalorian, your past doesn’t matter, it’s what you do now that does. You don’t take off your helmet, and you don’t let others know your name, because those things don’t matter to who you are and what you do. (There’s also the issue of the helmet and name rule being an important defense tactic to protect the covert, seeing as how Mandalorians post-Empire are the survivors of genocide. There’s already a fantastic post on it here)

Related, another Mandalorian saying is “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.”, meaning “Nobody cares who your parent was, only the parent you’ll be,” which IMO fits in very nicely with how I’m interpreting Din’s covert. It’s all about your actions and future mattering more than your past. I think that when the covert was splitting off and being built, this would be a huge component of them healing. Because the way they were treated and indoctrinated by Death Watch doesn’t have to affect their future actions. They don’t have to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, they can build a covert and a community around caring for foundlings.

Now, onto the foundlings! I find it very interesting that, whenever the covert’s younglings are mentioned, it’s always as foundlings. I think this implies that there’s a focus on saving and raising children more than there is on sharing blood with them, and I think that the covert would be more inclined towards communal raising than typical family units, if only to keep everyone in check and to protect the children from ever being treated as they were. I also find it VERY interesting that there’s a lot of emphasis put on returning children to their own kind. I don’t think Death Watch would have employed that practice, and I think that’s another example of the covert wanting to make their community a better place for children. I think it’s likely a lot of them didn’t get that choice, and they had to leave their cultures and people behind. And so they want to give that choice to their children.

I think it’s also amazing that, like. They keep finding and raising children instead of deciding they’re too damaged or whatever to have kids. Because it doesn’t matter if they have baggage or trauma when a child needs them. That’s FANTASTIC. I’m losing my MIND. It really doesn’t matter who their parents were to them, just the kind of parents they will be. It’s all about breaking that cycle and deciding to be better and I LOVE THAT.

3. What does this MEAN???:

Well. What this means is that Din’s covert has a very clear set of motivations and structure when it comes to how their covert is run. It’s not a cult; in fact it is specifically a group created by cult survivors who are determined to not do to others what was done to them. The rules may seem weird and strict at first glance, but they have a clear purpose and rationale, and no one is trying to amass power. They’re just… trying to do better, and be better.

(This also means that I’m 99% sure that, with the assistance of time travel, at least half of the covert would be SUPER INTO Jaster Mereel. I like to imagine that Paz had, like, a poster of him on his little sewer bedroom wall. I fully believe he painted that mythosaur skull on his pauldron in honor of a good man who was killed by Paz’s own relatives for standing by his morals and daring to try to reform and rally Mandalorians. I also think it would be funny if, like, Din doesn’t know shit about ANYTHING to do with modern history, but Boba mentions that his grandfather is Jaster Mereel and Din is like “OH I KNOW THAT GUY! Yeah he’s cool, he’s the historical crush of like, my entire covert.” And Boba is like. What.)

It also means that it can be up in the air about whether Din was found by Death Watch before his covert splintered off, or if his covert was still just wearing Death Watch colors when he was found. Fun thing to play around with, but right now I don’t want a solid timeline.

Hmm just thought I should add: while the Armorer does seem to have a position of authority, I don’t think the covert can be structured politically with clans and houses like other Mandalorian groups. Like, clan just means family in this context, and is less a part of hierarchy, and I don’t think they would even recognize houses within the covert? Like they MIGHT decide to call themselves part of House Djarin now that Din is Mand’alor, but before that they weren’t like. House Vizsla with Paz as the leader just because they used to be Death Watch. I don’t vibe with that. This isn’t really super relevant, I just wanted to add it.

4. Complaining about Bo-Katan:

Anyway Bo-Katan is absolutely full of shit and it’s doubly disgusting that she’s standing there in Death Watch armor, seemingly still allied to this fucking cult of imperialism and conquest, and she accuses Din of being in a regressive cult, and she implies that the way he engages with the Resol’nare is wrong and like. Repressed or something. God I hate Bo-Katan. But I love to hate her. She’s horrible but I want her to be included in the list of Din’s friends but not the list of people he’d trust his kid with. I have contradictory Bo-Katan feelings, whatever. The most important thing is that all of her opinions are horrible, like, all the time. And we shouldn’t trust her when she says Din’s part of a cult. Literally why does anyone take that at face value. If we’re taking her word as the authority on Mandalorian issues then I guess Boba and Jango aren’t Mandalorian!!! Seriously.

TLDR; Din’s covert (aka “Children of the Watch”) is made up of survivors of childhood abuse, torture, and brainwashing at the hands of Death Watch, and they’re dedicated to making sure their children don’t go through the same thing. They’re not a cult, but Death Watch sure was! Jaster Mereel is the love of my very aromantic life and Bo-Katan’s opinions can’t be trusted. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

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kitkat1003 · 3 years ago

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Who Are You Really?

Chapter 3: To Mold; To Raise One

Summary:

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked. The warrior was forgotten by the hero. By everyone. And Macaque? He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Spirit Masterpost

If he had to say anything on the matter, he would have said they’re useful.

It hadn’t taken much, not really. He finds them in the woods, alone with nothing to their name but whispers of favors to powerful people and three eyes that stare through you. He finds them, appraises them, and despite the way their tail curls around their leg and despite the way they hunch down on themself, something is there. A little broken, but there.

Like a memory of a debt owed, Macaque knows he can fix them and is willing to try.

Convincing them isn’t difficult. They perk up at the word favor, ears pressed up against the sides of their head and their eyes wide and earnest. Desperate for a use, excited to have purpose—he dangles it in front of them and pulls them in.

There were more than a few roadblocks.

There is the anxiety, of course. Kid barely can stand the sight of their own shadow, much less the ones he can summon at the drop of a hat. He gets them used to the clones soon enough. Exposure works wonders, and if they don’t like it at first? Tough. The clones are a part of him, he says It wasn’t as if he could just get rid of them because they don’t like them.

A well placed guilt trip, and Kid stumbles over themselves to fix their error. Good.

They’re soft. Gentle. Caring for all the other living creatures almost to the point of those being above their own needs and wants. Careful of pretty flowers they don’t want to step on, kind to the trees and grass as much as one can be.

Wide eyed, but not doe eyed. Their eyes are something, though.

It’s interesting to watch the large pupil move, the smaller two following. They bounce around like ping pong balls, always taking in every detail. When they wink, they either close the large one, or the two smaller ones. Sometimes, when they’re trying to focus on something, they’ll close one of the smaller eyes.

“My vision’s a little lopsided,” they admit, when he questions. “It, uh, can make things blurry.”

Not doe eyed, he knows, when he looks at them. The furtive way they glance around. They look at dead animals far too long to be normal. Stare wistfully out at human settlements. And when they’re not looking at anything, their eyes look...tired. Empty.

Haunted, even.

Guess they call themselves Spirit for a reason.

It takes a while to teach them to stop caring about the petals you ruin in your walk, to crush bugs underfoot without thought. It would go faster if he taught them the hard way, with broken bones and bloodied fists, but breaking more than they already are serves no purpose. Beyond it all, Macaque wants a tool to use, and a tool shattered beyond repair isn’t useful. So he has to be patient about it.

Of course, his patience runs out sometimes, but they never complain. Maybe he gets used to yelling. It shuts them up real quick, so it works.

Training them is another matter. As much as he wants to beat all of the lessons he’d learned into them, he has to be patient. A warrior isn’t made on the first day, there’s a process. And they’re flighty, too. One wrong move and they might run away. Sure, he knew they’d come back, like a dog on a leash whenever the word favor was involved, but waiting would add more time to the process.

So he takes things slow. Somehow.

They have stamina. Running and jumping through forests day by day leaves them lithe and lean when it comes to muscles. They tower over him even when they bend over; they are always bent over. He forces them to stand up straight, just to get a measure of their height, and they loom like a tree in the forests surrounding them.

A good foundation, but their stance is so easily toppable that he barely has to push them and they stumble back, falling to the ground.

So he starts there.

“You need to be unmovable,” he says, using a stick found in the woods to prod at their limbs until they’re in the right position. “Rooted to the ground.”

“Like a flower?” they reply, turning their head around to look at him.

He smacks them on the side of the head with the stick for that.

“Like a tree,” he corrects. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a flower?”

He hears them mutter about how they think it wouldn’t be too bad to be picked, but they correct their stance and go silent before he can bark at them to be quiet.

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked.

The warrior was forgotten by the hero.

By everyone.

And Macaque?

He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Once their stance is steady, he teaches them self defense. How to punch without breaking your fingers. How to kick without losing your balance. How to dodge, duck, strike.

Kid takes to it like a duck to water, with a few hiccups. The largest of which is a lack of want to land a hit.

Oh, they’re plenty strong. They can lift up half a tree’s worth of firewood with a bit of strain. They could likely kick harder than they punch, with how much they run, but to get them to do either is an uphill battle.

“C’mon kid, hit me,” he says, gesturing to his chest.

They pale, shoulders hunched, fingers rubbing against each other awkwardly as they keep them from becoming a fist.

“But-why? I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.” They frown at the thought.

Macaque laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, trust me. I’ve been hit by bigger and stronger people than you, kid,” he gives them a half grin and snorts at the thought of them being able to hit that hard.

“I don’t…” They draw circles in the dirt with their toe, glancing between him and their feet. “I don’t like hurting people.”

He sighs, long suffering. “You have someone you want to protect?” he asks.

They blink a few times. He watches their pupils dilate, shifting as they think. They don’t have the best poker face, but when they want to hide something, their face becomes carefully blank, a slate wiped clean.

It’s kind of creepy, in a way.

“Not anymore,” they finally mutter, forlorn. Ears downturned.

There’s something deeper there, but Macaque doesn’t have time to hear their life’s story. Especially when they’re training.

“Yeah, you do have someone.” He walks over and sticks his finger into their chest, poking them hard enough that they wince. “You. You want to stay alive? You fight.”

They stare at him, hard, and he raises a brow.

“Look,” he says. “You hate anyone?”

Kid glances down at him—he hates that they’re taller than him, even when they’re hunched down—and their gaze flashes to something dark.

He stares back.

“Yes,” they whisper. “Some. One.”

Macaque does not stiffen. There’s nothing haunting about how quietly, how gently, how angrily Kid says that.

“Alright then,” he takes a step back, arms splayed out to make himself a target. “Hit me like I’m that person.”

He watches them stare at him. They tilt their head to the side. Their pupils shift.

A minute passes, and Macaque is about to say something else, when they blink once, and then strike.

His clothes are ripped, a slash across his chest. Kid holds their hand out like it’s a weapon, claws bared. They took off some fur, too, but they didn’t go deep enough to break skin, though Macaque thinks it’s not for lack of trying.

Another blink, and they come to, yanking their hand back and cradling it against their chest.

“Oh-sorry-I-I was just doing what you told me, and, uh, I didn’t,” they mutter out more apologies, looking away.

Macaque laughs.

“No, no, that was great! We’ll have to get you used to punching and kicking, but using claws ain’t half bad.” He looks them up and down, seeing them in a new light. “If you like something sharp, then, well, we might as well get you a weapon, right?”

“A...weapon?” They look surprised that he’s not upset.

Macaque only yells when they make a mistake, though. And when they’re being annoying, but regardless. Why punish them for a job well done? He told them to hit him, and they did. Not exactly how he wanted, but as long as they’re more willing to fight, he wants to encourage the behavior. An inch of negativity towards them and they’ll jump a mile back from where he wants them to be.

“Something sharp,” he repeats. “Claws will only get you so far.”

He pulls out his staff, twirling it around a few times before holding it out, sideways, for the kid to look at. They peer down at it, tilting their head to the side. They close one of their eyes, to focus. Their eyes trace the spikes on the ends of the staff. They swallow, fidgeting, as their gaze ends at the sharp points.

“It’s...nice,” they say, a little nervous.

“We should go to a market. I’ve got a bunch of weapons we can test out, but your weapon has to be for you.” He pats the kid on the back, smiling.

“Shopping?”

He watches them perk up, eyes wide, a smile on their lips. There’s a certain charm to it. As tall as they are, they have quite the young face.

“Yup,” he says. “But first, I’m teaching you how to sew. If you’re going to tear my clothes, you’re going to know how to fix it.”

They duck their head sheepishly, embarrassed, guilty, but happy that he’s going to teach them something new.

Hook, line, sinker.

He takes them, first, to one of his caves, his hideouts. He has his stash of weapons there, so they can start training with them to get the kid used to weaponry before he buys them anything.

The trip takes a week, and during it he has to stop himself from strangling the kid every evening. They light up every two seconds, prattling on about every little thing they spot, skipping along with both their pack of things and his own. He thought making them carry his things as well as their own would get them tired enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to them chatter well into the night, but they manage to ask so many questions it makes his head spin.

“Do you think that anyone is going to like you if you never shut up?” he growls out, one night. “I can barely hear my own thoughts, you keep spouting out all of yours.”

They blink. Hunch their shoulders. Shift their gaze off to the side.

“I don’t know a lot,” they mutter. “I thought asking questions was how, uh, I learn? My mom always had me tell her what was on my mind, so she could let me know if I was thinking of something wrong.”

They shrug their shoulders, gaze off somewhere, or sometime else.

“Well I’m not your mom,” he snaps. “And neither is anyone else. Trust me, no one wants to hear your thoughts.”

The kid looks up at him, hunched over and sitting down. Their pupils shift, again. Their expression goes carefully blank.

“Oh,” tThey reply. “Sorry.”

Macaque lets out a huff. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here. Not only is it a bad look, it also makes the kid less likely to trust him. It’s a balancing act, where he toes the line. Sure, the kid can take a bit more attitude than most, but you kick a dog enough and it bites back.

If you kick a dog, and then feed it nice food for a month before kicking it again, well...it takes it a lot longer to think of biting.

“Look,” he sighs. “I’m saying this for your sake, kid. I’m patient, but most people aren’t. You think a regular demon will just tell you to shut up?”

He pauses, levies them an incredulous look. “You’d lose a tooth or something, or an eye.”

They flinch, when he says eye. He files that away for later.

“How about this,” He continues. “You get 3 random questions per day while we walk, and 2 random comments. Sound fair?”

Kid looks up at him, a little less despondent, and then they smile.

“Okay.” They turn to the fire, grabbing a piece of firewood from the pile and adding it to the fire.

They glance up at Macaque, after a bit. “Thanks.”

Macaque reaches over and ruffles their hair, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a fake smile on his face when Kid giggles and leans into the touch.

When it comes to weapons, the kid is clumsy.

Most long weapons are surprisingly difficult for them to wield. Their height should be an advantage in that regard, giving them more of a reach, but instead all their long limbs are good for are getting hit whenever they slip with a staff or spear in hand. They nick themselves a few times, and Macaque thinks he’s going to have to make a fuss with cleaning them up, but every time they get cut they pull out well worn gauze and some mixture, and carefully clean and wrap the wound themselves.

“My mom taught me,” they explain when he stares for too long.

Anything long is difficult for them to handle, so he throws those out the window. Now, short blades they do well with, but they don’t like to stab.

“Curved blades,” he suggests, handing them a pair. “They’re more for slashing. Like a couple of extra claws, but longer.”

They hold them awkwardly, but with some careful correction they do a few practice swings, glancing over at Macaque for approval.

“Looks good,” he says, because they seem most steady with the twin blades, and that’s something to hone in on.

The kid beams. Macaque finds himself smiling back.

They train for a couple months, not just with the curved blades. A jack of all trades is far more useful than a master of one, after all, and letting them have at least a rudimentary understanding of how to use most weapons will make it so even if they’re without their typical arsenal, they’ll be able to make do.

That, and between the hand to hand combat lessons, will make them a force to be reckoned with, though they still refuse to strike with a killer’s intent.

All in due time, though. Macaque would hate to waste all this effort to create something of use by scaring them off with his impatience.

They know of the Monkey King.

“I hear about him all the time,” they say, over dinner. “He’s a very famous monkey!”

“Sure,” Macaque grumbles, ignoring the urge to punch their teeth in.

It’s not their fault, he knows. Anyone who knows anyone would know of the Great Sun Wukong enough to—

“Have you met him?”

Now, there’s a question. Something dark and pleased rises up when he hears it, because he can’t ruin the reputation of Sun Wukong to the world, but starting small never hurts, and why not score some trust with Kid along the way?

“We were actually pretty close,” he explains.

The look on their face when he shows them his scar and tells them how he got it is just priceless.

Shopping with them is...something else.

He takes them to the market closeby, a few miles out from where they met in the woods. They’re like a kid in a candy store, bouncing between market fronts and looking over every random object with interest.

“Some of the people here owe me favors,” they whisper conspiratorially to him, waving at a few of the shop owners. “I helped them out! It was nice.”

“Mhmm,” he nods along.

Kid is very, very insistent on favors. The wording is important, and Macaque pockets it, pulling out the phrase whenever Kid starts to get too hesitant about doing what Macaque needs them to.

“What’s the whole favor business for, anyway?” he asks, because he genuinely is curious.

As much as Kid’s ramblings can get annoying, they do provide insight. Information on insecurities makes for a fun leverage.

“They owe me,” Kid replies. “I do what they want, and then they can’t hurt me.”

Short, simple, to the point. But oh so interesting, an insight Macaque files away. He can’t go around hurting Kid after the favor is done, then. That’s fine. He has plenty of time to get them to heel without yanking on the leash.

A few tugs will do well enough, anyway.

They reach the weapon shop, and Kid is enamored with a purple pair of their preferred weapon, fluttering over to them and tracing the shapes with their fingers. They’re practically bouncing on their feet, grabbing fistfuls of their pant legs to stop themself from snatching up their prize immediately.

They glance back to Macaque for approval.

“Not a bad color.” Macaque has always liked purple. Maybe that’s why Kid doesn’t annoy him as much as most people. They’re bright in personality, but wear the colors of shadows, and hide in the shade rather than stand out in the spotlight.

Kid preens at the compliment.

“Can-uh-is this what-can I have them? Please?” They’re vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and earnest as they hope for a yes.

“Maybe,” Macaque replies, smooth as silk. “It all depends on if you’re going to use them properly.”

That gives them pause. Their excitement diminishes into confusion as they try and parse out just what Macaque means, ears twitching.

It is almost charming in a way, how they always seem to be moving a little bit. Whether their tail is swaying back and forth, or they’re curling and uncurling their toes, or fluttering their fingers at their sides, they move.

“I...know how to use them,” they finally say. “You taught me.”

“Practically,” Macaque replies. “But you still won’t fight with them.”

Kid blinks again, tilting their head to the side. Genuinely confused, befuddled, uncertain of his words. He watches their eyes slide to the side, glancing around and trying to figure out what exactly he means.

“I…,” they start, haltingly. “I thought I was?”

Macaque sighs, more out of exhaustion than annoyance, but they take it as such, ears drooping low. Their tail brushes the floor.

“Intent, kid,” he says. “You can use the weapons, but you don’t fight with them. Not with intent.”

“Intent to what?” Kid asks, hesitant but insistent.

“Kill,” Macaque says, simply. “These weapons are for killing. If you aren’t going to use them like that, there’s no point in you getting them. No point in continuing the favor.”

He can tell the second part hits them hard. They stiffen, hands clasping in front of their stomach, tight. Their feet overlap each other, toes curled, shoulders hunched, tail coiled around their leg.

Fidgeting, tense like a coiled spring, Macaque waits, because he’s seen this before. Every time he pushes, they duck their head in quiet defiance for only a moment, before

They buckle, going limp.

“No,” they mutter. “You’re right. I’ll get intent, sir.”

Sir is new.

Macaque likes it.

“Good. Then they’re yours—” He gestures to the twin blades, with purple glossy handles and white grips. “Take them.”

Their smile is smaller than it was before, when they pull the pair from the rack. Their hands tremble when they hold them; they grip the blades tight to keep them steady.

Macaque pays for the blades, and ignores how still they’ve become.

With Kid’s preferred blades acquired, Macaque ramps up training. He pushes them farther, because he’s laid the groundwork, and now the only way to get them to bend is to force them into the position.

Starting small is important. Kid is still fit to scatter if he scares them. It’s like placing a frog in a pot of boiling water. It doesn’t work. You set them in the room temperature water first, and then turn up the heat. Slowly, still. If he cranked it up now, well, they’d still jump out.

So, they start with a shadow clone. Looks like a real person, but is detached enough from it that Kid won’t get too freaked when they attack it. No blood, no screams, just smoke and mirrors to get them in action.

Maybe he should be concerned that he’s teaching them to fight a visage of him, but Macaque knows Kid isn’t stupid enough to think they can beat him.

That would be ridiculous.

He guides them through the motions, hands on their wrists as he tugs their arms into the correct positions, jerking their hand forward in a slashing motion and letting go just as they make contact with the clone, dissipating it with a single strike.

Typically his clones are more powerful, but an easy win to start will embolden them to strike harder next time.

“Nice job!” he pats them on the back, hard enough that they stumble a little from the force of it.

They’re smiling though, small and secretly pleased. They love praise, he finds, desperate for approval. A few kind words can feed them for a week, if he plans it out right. Not that he’s always planning. Some do just...slip out.

“Now,” he summons another clone, placing it a few feet away. “Try this one on your own.”

Kid nods, turns, and settles into a stance. They charge forward and strike.

Macaque smiles.

From clones, comes animals.

After all, he explains, they have to eat. Sure, a true warrior eats less than most, but they still need to have food. Starving themselves when they’re in the middle of training, in the middle of gaining muscle and strength, is stupid. They need to bulk up.

“I don’t, um, usually eat much,” Kid says.

Macaque scoffs.

“That’s why you’re a stick.” He gestures to their general size, how their clothes hang off of them.

They fidget, shrugging a little.

“I guess,” they reply, which is their typical response when they don’t exactly agree but don’t have the courage to actually disagree.

“Well, I know,” he bites back, finding some sort of pleasure in how they shrink away from him. “We need to make sure you know how to make food anyway. You’re no use to me half-starved.”

He drums up options, glancing off into the forest they’re surrounded by.

“There’s plenty of food out here,” he says. “We can fish in streams, shoot for birds, and there’s a human settlement just out west a couple miles, so—”

“We are not,” Kid interrupts, interrupts, voice harder than he’s ever heard, “Eating humans.”

Their eyes are sharp. Angry, even. So rarely does he find anger in them, find fire where there is cool terror and anxiety. This is something noticeable. Kid likes humans, enough to fight for them.

They’re trembling, waiting for his reaction. Clearly, they’re terrified that he’ll snap at them, that he’ll shut them down. But they don’t apologize.

Interesting. How rare is it that Macaque sees them be brave?

“Fine,” he shrugs. “They scream too much to be worth it, anyway.”

That much is true. While he might not be showing off the six ears that beget his title, they’re still there, and shouting is nothing that he wants to deal with.

Kid relaxes, relief evident on their face that he’s not yelling at them. It’s good that they’re smart enough to fear his reproach.

“But, that means you’re gonna have to learn to gut fish,” he jerks a thumb towards the stream behind them.

Kid smiles, with all their sharp teeth on display.

“Sir yes sir!” They salute.

Macaque has to wonder who taught them such a motion as they jump up and rush to the water.

He stands and prepares the next lesson.

In the weeks following, they learn to fish with both a line and with their hands. He teaches them to use a bow for the birds, as well as the bears. They only kill one bear, because the amount of meat will last them ages and it’s foolish to waste such meat.

They trade some of it for spices in the human markets, once Macaque makes sure they know how to look human. Apparently, it’s the only form they can shift into. Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Kid takes to cooking with a gusto he doesn’t expect.

“I would help my mom with dinner,” they explain, setting up the fire one night. “I didn’t know how she was making what she was, but I loved all of it. I—”

They cut themself off, suddenly shy.

Macaque doesn’t pry. Half because he doesn’t care, and half because he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor. For most things, Kid can be cajoled into explanation, but if they truly don’t want to say anything, he’ll get nothing. Which, considering his secrets, is fair enough.

“I...like that I can make something nice,” Kid finally admits, turning away from him to grab some spices. “For you.”

Oh.

Somewhere along the line, Macaque stops finding them as annoying as they should be.

They smile at him like he’s a star, the sun, and years of being a moon, of being second best, makes that look something to covet. If that means he lets them drag him into the forest to look at some rare plants, if that means listening to them ramble about the medicinal properties of said plants, well.

It’s only because it ingratiates them to him. That’s it.

Physical affection, too, is something they desire. It’s a reward. That is it. A reward for a job well done, a pick-me-up when they’re too morose to be useful, a new tool in his set to fix them into something worthwhile.

Say nothing to the times they shivered in the cold, slowly shifting towards him, pressed against his back to conserve warmth. Macaque didn’t push them off because he was asleep. Say nothing to the days they would shiver in the day, lack of proper fur like he had to keep them warm, and he’d lend them his scarf. He didn’t need it anyway. He’s stronger than they are, he can deal with the cold. He’s setting an example.

He refuses to groom them. Grooming is something private, something reserved for people who are no longer around, who left, who left and took the whole of him with them. And Kid is not that someone.

Sometimes, though, he wonders.

Bright, like a star, they can shine in the darkest corners. Hands bloodied from a carcass, they’re always gentle with the animals they kill. Always certain to make the cuts clean and precise, so the animal dies quickly.

It’s a small mercy, but to choose to find that mercy and lean into it…

They’re not naive. Neither was he. Enough knowledge of a cruel world to understand hate, but enough kindness in a soul to push back against it. But that type of soul is flighty, off to the next weeping child to console, the next problem to solve, the next world to save.

That type of soul leaves, and doesn't come back.

Better to crush that type of soul, then.

“Mac!” Kid calls, holding a full net. “Look at how much fish I caught!”

Macaque fights a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks out and wishes it hurt less when he sees them flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” they reply. “I got excited. We’ll have food for weeks! I’ll dry some of the fish out for snacks, and I have some spices that would go really well with—”

They pause, flushing, ears pointed up and pink with embarrassment. They bite their lip.

“Sorry,” They say, again. “I know you don’t like me rambling…,”

Not typically, no.

But now…

“Well, if it’s about our food stores, it’s important,” he says, a justification that rings hollow. “So go on, kid.”

They brighten, eyes wide and happy as Macaque becomes their sun, again.

Macaque basks in it, just a little, and thinks he can wait a little longer.

They get very good at using the blades. Between traveling, getting food, making food, and training, they can hold their own pretty well.

Of course, they only really fight animals and clones. Whenever Macaque suggests they spar with him, they lock up, terrified by the idea. That’s fine, though, because Macaque wants them to be in top shape when they actually fight him, anyway.

They can manage against eight clones at once, dodging punches and slashing through them. Of course, the clones aren’t at their top durability or strength, because Kid isn’t Monkey King levels of powerful like he is.

But, they seem to be doing fine, so he raises the intensity level a little bit. Has a couple of the clones level up, so to speak, to keep Kid on their toes. They can’t expect every enemy to be the same skill level every time. They have to be used to surprises.

Maybe he does it too quickly, because Kid ducks, slashes, and is unable to dodge the kick to their side that sends them flying.

Their head cracks against a tree trunk just outside the clearing.

When they drop, they don’t move.

Macaque is up on his feet in an instant. The clones vanish as he sprints across the clearing, at Kid’s side so fast his vision blurs with the motion.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Macaque lifts Kid up in his arms. They’re limp in his grasp, eyes closed, and they look dead but he knows they’re not, he checks their pulse and they’re fine, it’s fine. He wouldn’t kill them. Not like this.

He feels where their head hit the tree, and his hand comes back wet.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He reaches into Kid’s pockets, and finds that roll of gauze they always have on them. They buy a new roll every time they go to the market, just in case.

He hasn’t needed to wrap wounds in a while, considering his healing...style, but he remembers how it goes.

Blood drips onto the ground, even as he wraps the wound as best and as tight as he can. He folds Kid’s gangly long limbs so he can lift them up, and their forehead rests in the crook of his neck. He can feel their breath on his fur.

Good. They’re still breathing.

He squats down and presses hard against the dirt, lifting off the ground and speeding through the forest. There’s a demon market a few miles out, there’s got to be a healer there, they can fix this. They will, whether they like to or not. No one says no to the Six-Eared Macaque, regardless of circumstance.

He hears a shuddering whine crawl out of Kid’s mouth. A hand grasps at his shirt, as pained gasps reach his ears.

He can hear them so clearly. Curse of six ears. But, he can still hear their heartbeat, and even the gasps are a good sign. They can still breathe. It’s fine.

“Give me a minute, kid.” He whispers, forgiving the hand because they’re injured, that’s the only reason. “We’ll get you fixed up, just sit tight.”

They whimper and curl up tighter, as their wrappings on their head stain quick.

It takes Macaque twenty minutes to get to the market. Twenty minutes for eleven miles, as he rushed between trees, over boulders and hills, through towns. It would have been quicker, but whenever he picked up too much speed, Kid would whimper as the wind whipped at their face and head wrappings. So Macaque took it a touch slower, if only to keep him from hearing that noise.

They’d passed out a few minutes before he’d arrived at the market, though, so he’d managed to speed things up a little.

He slips between the shadows of market stalls, eyes searching for a healer. They’re typically at one end of the market or the other, to keep the stench of blood and pus and rot from infected wounds away from the rest of the market.

He finds the tent and dashes inside.

The healer is some sort of fox demon, tail twitching as Macaque enters. Sharp eyes fall on him and then Kid in his arms, and when Macaque speaks up his tone leaves little room for argument or reproach.

“They hit their head.” He doesn’t explain how. It’s none of their business what he does with his tools. “Fix it.”

The healer raises a brow, glancing at the two monkeys, one with sharp eyes and the other curled and trembling in the other’s arms.

“There is a fee,” comes a silk voice, near a hiss. They point to their price.

Macaque summons a clone and sets Kid in its arms, growling under his breath. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his coin pouch, digging into it and grabbing out the correct amount. He slams it onto the counter with a force that would have caused the coins to scatter all over the room if not for how tightly he grips them in his fist.

They trickle down onto the desk with a clatter. Macaque places his trembling fists at his sides, enraged enough that his eyes glow. If not for the fact that this healer is needed, their blood would paint the tent and everything inside of it.

The wary look the healer sends him is proof that they understand that.

“Fix,” he growls. “It.”

The healer gestures to the table off to the side, and Macaque has his clone set Kid down before dispelling it.

The healer moves Kid onto their side, lifting their head and glancing at the covered wound. With a careful claw, they cut away the bandage, a swirl of magic creating a small bubble over the wound, keeping the blood from spilling.

The lack of pressure, the new sensation of magic, gets Kid to stir.

They twitch, fingers and toes curling as their eyes blink open. Confusion paints their posture and expression, and they take in a hitching breath, ears swiveling to try and figure what is happening.

“M-Mo-Mac-h-hhhhhh,” they gasp out, trying to move.

The healer presses them gently back down onto the table, placing a careful finger to their forehead.

“Shhhh,” they whisper. “Rest, child.”

Kid’s eyes slide shut. They relax.

The healer first gets a rag and some water, carefully dabbing at the wound, cleaning away any dirt that may have gotten into the crack. They use their claws to align the tiny pieces of the skull that have dislodged both from the wound and from the journey. Then, they grab a jar off of the shelf, pulling off the lid and dipping their fingers in to scoop out an orange-yellow cream substance. Gently, they rub it across the wound, and then wrap it again.

They use a spoon to put more of that cream into a smaller jar, and hand it to Macaque, along with a roll of gauze.

“The wound will heal in a few days. Change the bandages twice a day and reapply the cream. It speeds up the process and prevents infection,” the healer explains. “The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate. Be aware.”

Macaque sticks the jar and gauze in his pocket and nods, picking Kid up. He’s gentle about it, supporting their head on his shoulder. They shift a little in their sleep, pressing their forehead against his neck. Their fur brushes against his chin.

Their tail curls around his arm, a comforting squeeze. The end wisps against his palm.

Macaque pointedly ignores how any of this makes him feel and heads off.

Back at camp, he sets Kid up with blankets and enough soft material for a pillow, making sure their head is elevated and kept away from the hard ground. He sends a few clones out to grab firewood, setting up a flame and throwing some stuff together for a soup.

Macaque, on a whole, doesn’t cook much. He’s content to chomp on apples and whatever fruits he finds. Occasionally, he’ll cook some meat. Otherwise, he just won’t eat often. Kid’s the one who makes all the different concoctions.

He hopes the mix of spices is good here.

Kid wakes up a few hours later, when stars dot the sky and Macaque shivers a little at the night chill. Bleary eyes stare up at the sky, pupils shifting to try and focus, though Macaque doesn’t see them settle.

He scoops a bowl of soup, still warm though the fire has died down, and shuffles to Kid’s side.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers.

Macaque is not a delicate man. But no one is here to see, no one who could matter, so he hooks an arm beneath Kid’s shoulders and lifts them up so they’re sitting up against his chest, though not fully considering the height difference. God knows they won’t be able to sit up on their own, and he refuses to waste good soup.

Bleary eyes blink, staring up at him. Recognition flickers in their gaze.

“Mom?” they croak.

Macaque. Freezes.

He carefully lifts the bowl of soup to Kid’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says, pointedly ignoring their comment.

Hallucinations, the healer told him. That’s all this is. Kid isn’t seeing him, after all.

Kid takes a few steady gulps of the soup, turning away to breathe. Macaque exercises patients by glancing up at the sky and ignoring how idiotic this is. He’s not a babysitter. He doesn’t do this. He isn’t their parent. He isn’t...

“Did Dad hurt you?” Kid turns back, looking up with eyes that stare through him rather than at him. “Your eye…”

They reach up, fingers close enough to brush the line where his scar is, hidden beneath glamour. Macaque pulls away, lifting the bowl up to Kid’s lips again in lieu of responding to that.

“Drink,” he snarls.

They flinch, nodding and getting the rest of the soup down. He helps them back to their bed, and their eyes stare back up at the sky with that same faraway look.

“I’ll be better next time,” they whisper, quiet but strong. “So you won’t get hurt.”

Macaque turns away, and doesn’t look back until he knows they’re asleep. Hallucinations, he knows. Hallucinations. That’s the only reason they’re saying anything like that at all. They don’t know him, he’s kept his heart under his cloak, never on his sleeve. That's why he’s their teacher, so they will learn to do the same.

He watches the fire sway in the night, until he can find it in himself to sleep.

The next day goes mostly smoothly, with incoherent ramblings occasionally from Kid that Macaque tunes out. He changes their bandages in the morning and then goes out, leaving a shadow clone to watch the camp while collecting food and other supplies.

They sleep through most of the day, but at night when he goes to change their bandages again, they start to squirm.

“Kid,” he starts, trying to hold them steady. The wrappings are already off, and he’s trying to keep dirt from getting in.

They kick and writhe, whispering and growling and making an assortment of whimpering noises he can’t make heads nor tails of. He grips them tight enough to bruise, to keep them steady.

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouts.

“YOU HURT ME!” they scream, and it sounds so much as if the words had been torn from their throat that Macaque is surprised he doesn’t see blood splatter out of their mouth. “YOU HURT ME!”

Their hand claws at his, and he drops them with a shout of pain as they tear off the skin of his knuckles. They drop to the dirt with their own short cry of discomfort, curling in on themself as Macaque backs away.

“You—” They cough. Their breaths are short and uneven. “You-it-it’s like an earthquake,” their voice is quiet and strained and quick. “Cracks beneath the surface. Snow, melting from inside. Inside out. Cracking. Melting. I’m-I’m-I can’t see it.”

They gasp it out, trembling.

The water is boiling. Why is Macaque the one burning?

They still.

“You don’t look,” they finally say, a hoarse whisper. “You don’t want to. You don’t want to see.”

Macaque swallows. Stares at the-the—

The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.

Child.

He shuffles forward, so, so gentle as he reaches toward them. They don’t move when his hand brushes against their back. They’re boneless when he pulls them toward him. As if every last drop of them was poured into their words, they’re empty.

He patches their wound. Sets them down. They’re silent, asleep on the bed.

He sits, watches the blood from his knuckles drip to the ground. It’ll heal on its own. He can heal on his own.

He doesn’t sleep.

The next couple of days are easy. Kid doesn’t say or do much, moving when prompted and sleeping when not. Macaque ignores the buzz in the back of his head that feels like guilt. He leaves Kid with a shadow clone and tears down a forest. Anger is easy to deal with. This is not.

A little under a week after the incident, Kid wakes up with a groan.

“Mac?” They rub at their eyes sitting up with a bit of effort.

Macaque fights the urge to tell them not to call him that. He’ll save it for later.

“About time you woke up,” he says, with an easy grin on his face.

Kid blinks up at him, confused.

“You hit your head,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “One of my clones caught you off guard. You were out for a few days.”

Kid blinks a few more times, tail and ears twitching. They tilt their head to the side in thought. They reach up and feel the back of their head, poking at the freshly healed wound. They wince.

“Oh,” they say. They smile up at him. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

They stand up on shaky legs, shuffling a little before they steady.

“I’m gonna see about some food. I’ll make you your favorite tonight!” They grin, all teeth, and vanish into the forest before Macaque can stop them.

He stares at their retreating form. He sends a shadow clone to keep an eye on them, in case their wound acts up.

He sits and ponders their smile.

YOU HURT ME!

Thank you for taking care of me.

The strange thing is, he doesn’t think they were lying either time.

He eases them back into training, and they fall back into it with ease, the injury fading from view as their fur covers it up. He’s still ever so careful the next couple of weeks. The last thing he needs is for them to get hurt again.

They’re too much like him. Too much like the sun, the hero, but the difference is that the hero could be like that because he was powerful. The hero could strike down any foe, the hero had power. It allowed him to be soft.

Kid does not have power. They can get hurt. They can die.

Their heart is on their sleeve. They smile. They curl up, sometimes, hiding their chest, but more often than not they’re splayed out, an open target. Wide eyed, not completely naive, but just hopeful enough to get them killed.

And he...he doesn’t want them killed.

It’s sad, he thinks. If they were stronger, maybe they could stay as they are. But they aren’t, so he will rip their heart from their sleeve and teach them to keep it hidden.

Whether they like it or not.

“You’re too...you. To be intimidating like I am,” he tells them, pacing. “But there are different types of scary. We’ll have to find the one that fits you.”

Kid is sitting on a rock, watching him pace. Their eyes follow his movements like a pendulum, swinging back and forth. They tap their palms on their knees, nodding along as they listen.

“Um, Mac?” They start.

He glares in their direction. They shrink down, shoulders hunched.

“Sir,” they amend, quickly. “Um, why do I have to be scary?”

It’s a valid question. Annoying, but fair, and an explanation will get them to further listen. Still, the fact that they don’t know, when they’re as old as they are (not that Macaque knows how old they are), is annoying.

“Because,” he stresses, rolling his eyes. “When you intimidate, people won’t fight you. Intimidation is making sure everyone in the room knows you’re the strongest one there. Even if you’re not.”

And they won’t be, more often than not. They’re crafty, and fast, but not strong. In a standstill fight, they’ll lose a lot. But that’s why the intimidation look has to be perfect.

“Oh,” they reply. “Cool!”

“Of course it is,” he shoots back, puffing out his chest. “Now, angry intimidation won’t work. You don’t have a good angry face.”

“I don’t get angry often,” Kid shrugs.

“Exactly. You don’t have it in you,” he rubs his chin in thought. “We could go for the ‘danger behind a smile’ angle.”

He takes a few steps toward them. With how they’re sitting, a rock as a prop up, he’s at eye level with them standing.

“We want a small smile, kid.” He reaches a hand towards their face, to help shape their grin.

They flinch back, and have their blades out in a flash. Their eyes are wide, locked onto Macaque’s outstretched hand.

Macaque blinks, startled by their sharp shift in mood, and Kid comes back to themself, lowering their hunched shoulders.

“O-oh,” They breathe, letting their hands drop. “Right. Y-you’re right. I think.”

They set the blades on the ground, shuffling their feet.

“...Alright,” Macaque continues. He knows they were hit by a clone of his, and, well, the clones are made looking like him. They might be more shaky than they say, over that. He certainly has taught them to be quiet. “Now, you want the smile to be small. Your eyes are wide, and your pupils are small. You want to look like you’re a second from ripping their heart out and eating it in front of them.”

Kid makes a face. “That’s gross,” they say.

“It’s an analogy,” Macaque groans, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his eyes. “Just do it.”

They try it, and Macaque has to give them a few pointers. No, your smile is too wide. Don’t fidget. Keep your tail still. Don’t look away. Keep eye contact.

Finally, they have a good look.

“There,” he says, stepping back. “That will make sure nobody messes with or hurts you, kid.”

Their expression drops away into something blank, and Macaque stills. He wouldn’t tell them, but when their expression is empty it’s far scarier than their smile. Better they not know that lest they use it to an excessive degree.

“Um,” they start, a little shy. “But, you do this. And you got hurt?”

Their eyes trace the scar hidden beneath glamour. Macaque turns so that eye is out of view.

“It doesn’t always work,” he mutters, casting a glare in their direction. “Because some people know that they’re stronger than anyone, so intimidation doesn’t work.”

“What do I do then?” they ask, with all the wide eyes of a student expecting their teacher to have the perfect answer.

“You claw at any part of them you can reach,” Macaque replies. “And you run.”

He ramps up their training. Any time they aren’t traveling is spent sparring, practicing, cooking, hunting, no free time. No time to play or joke around.

They’re confused, at first, by the change of pace. They try the same tricks, the same comments. Macaque does not budge.

“Quit it.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

They quiet, eventually. Learn to be smaller and less bright, keep their light within themself so it doesn’t attract too much attention. They learn to keep their thoughts inside, following orders with a blank face and the occasional grin.

They still get overexcited, and sometimes Macaque bites his tongue. If it’s just around him then it’s fine in small doses.

It’s not because he’s scared of their light going out. It’s not because he likes it when they ramble and drag him along until they get him to grin. It’s not.

He gets them a new outfit. Their old one is worn, the fabric thin and worn and ripping. They sew up the patches and clean it as best they can, but considering the age it’s soon to be a lost cause.

They do love shopping, so he strings them along.

They sprint through different styles. Everything is new and interesting to them, as if they spend time outside of the present and are then shocked by the new future. He trails them along different stalls, pulls them away from items they shouldn’t touch, and critiques outfit after outfit.

They find the right one, though he’s quick to tell them how rare that is, so they don’t get a big head. Besides, with how tall and gangly they are, finding something that fits them is pretty difficult. It takes them two hours to find something right, two hours better spent training, moving around.

He goes up to pay for it while they spin around and jump excitedly in their new look, and his eyes widen at the price.

“Enchanted pockets,” the tailor explains. “They hold up to a full pack’s worth of items without showing it.”

And, well, Macaque didn’t expect to spend this much. He turns around, because they don’t need those pants, they can carry a pack just fine, and—

Kid sees him looking and waves, gesturing to their new outfit and striking a valiant pose.

Macaque sighs, softens, and pays.

They tell him the flaps on the side are just like his, something excited and happy in their tone, and he grins. If they’re just like him, then they’ll be smart. If they’re just like him, they won’t make silly mistakes like trusting people, like getting attached, like getting hurt.

The issue with that is when you stare at a person who is functionally a mirror, you start to see all your flaws.

His final challenge isn’t supposed to work.

Kid has barely been able to spar with him, when he gives them his challenge. They spar and they don’t fight hard, and Macaque always wins.

But then they say they have to go, and Macaque knows they’re not ready (secretly, they’ll never be ready because they’ll never be powerful enough, but if he keeps them within arms reach he can make sure they stay away from him) so he picks something he knows they can’t do.

Kill.

He expects them to get to where that demon is and balk. He expects that they’ll try but their fears will halt them in their tracks, and they’ll come back with their tail tucked between their legs and apologies spilling from their lips. He expects that he’ll smile, and say that they’ll just have to stay with him, then, now won’t they? And then they will, and everything will be fine and good and right.

He doesn’t need or want anyone, but...he doesn’t mind if they’d stay.

He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know what they’ve lived through, what they’ve done before. He doesn’t know how deep their ties to favors run. He’s never asked, he doesn’t know.

Two days after he tells them to kill, they come back with a severed head.

They’re smiling, when they do. Their tail curls around their leg and they’re trembling, but they’re smiling like they always do. Macaque is supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying, and he’s supposed to know them and read them like an open book, but Kid smiles and it looks real.

They’re trembling. He barely hears what they’re saying, over the sound of their thudding heartbeat.

The eyes on the head are sewn shut. He asks, and they give him an excuse, and he doesn’t press because he never has. He’s never cared enough to ask about their past, their feelings, never dug deep enough. He thought they were surface-level, because they’re quiet, and they don’t talk about themself too much beyond comments about their mother. He’s staring at a stranger he’s known for over half a year.

He’s not supposed to be caught off guard. So self-assured, he plans his schemes with the knowledge that he understands all the moves the player will make. Now he’s in the dark, lost with the simple sight in front of him.

Macaque doesn’t understand, but if Kid’s a stranger he’ll keep them as one.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two gifts. He’d gotten them months ago, finding a jeweler who could enchant the token, and a book binder at the market that could create a tome practically infinite in space but small enough to be a notebook.

He holds it out, and then they smile so wide he thinks it could crack the porcelain of the mask of indifference they’re wearing so perfectly. They strangle their tail as if it were their neck, and he knows that must hurt.

They have blood, staining their feet. Every part of them is pristine, but the dried blood is crusted on their feet, covered with dirt.

He watches them go, tired eyes and bloody feet.

He makes his dinner by himself. He makes the fire by himself, he sits by the fire by himself. He sleeps by himself. He travels by himself.

There is no voice, pointing out different flowers. He doesn’t hear about this certain mixture that can cure this illness. He doesn’t get any anecdotes, he doesn’t hear the patter of feet as they run ahead.

It’s quiet, save for the typical sounds of the forest. As it should be.

The Six-Eared Macaque walks alone.

Just like a warrior should be. Isn’t that why they left, to be alone? Isn’t that what he wanted?

Macaque ends up back on that cliff, where they stared up at the sky on New Year's. He never cared much for the holiday, but the Kid was insistent, so he'd let them drag him along.

He closes his eyes, and for the first time when he thinks of fireworks he doesn't see Wukong's smile. When he opens them, the sky looks devoid of stars.

The moon looks lonely, without them.

Centuries later, a silver token with amethyst gemstone eyes buzzes in Spirit’s pocket.

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid oc #monkie kid #monkie kid macaque

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lizzie-tempest · 4 years ago

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How would it be if Yandere! Sans (Underlust, SwapLust, FellLust and HorrorLust) fell in love with a person who ignores his existence? As if she didn't like him (Sans) romantically...

This will be the first time I’m writing about any of these guys, so I admit I kinda struggled with this one. I couldn’t find much about SwapLust, FellLust and HorrorLust so I hope that I did a good job and kept it true to their nature? >_>

UnderLust

Usually Lust doesn’t mind the numerous people (human and monster) who desperately try and get his attention in some way. He thinks it’s funny, and is more than happy to spend a little time with any who entertain him in some way.

And then he sees you.

He can tell that you’re not like the others straight away. You’re not trying to get his attention, you don’t dress provocatively to try and entice him. The few times you DO talk to him, you’re polite and civil and keep straight to the point.

It’s refreshing. And he wants to be more.

He doesn’t quite know what to do when you let him down gently after he confesses his feelings to you. You feel terrible that you don’t feel the same way and he can tell you’re being genuine. He let’s you know that it’s okay, telling a joke to make you laugh and you become fast friends.

One day he hears about the harrassment you’ve been getting from some of his more extreme admirers and he’s furious. You beg him not to do anything and he reluctantly promises that he won’t. Of course, he’s lying but you don’t need to know that.

He takes matters into his own hands. He kidnaps the ones harrassing you and takes out his anger and frustration about not having you romantically on them. He beats the hell out of them, inflicts on them what he’d LOVE to do to you, and then he kills them. He sets up alibis so no one ever suspects him.

When the bodies of the bullies are found, there’s nothing linking him to the terrible crime that’s been committed.

He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat when he pulls you close, to calm you down from such a terrible thing happening so close to home.

It’s weird how the same thing always seems to happen to your partners after you introduce them to Lust...

SwapLust

It’s love at first sight when Charm first sees you. And like his namesake, he turns up the charm when he gets the chance to talk to you. He’s certain that you’ll be head over heels for him in no time.

Except that’s not what happens.

Charm is kind of disappointed when you don’t seem to react to his flirting and compliments. He’s known to be one of the greatest lovers ever! How could you not love him?

Although he accepts your tentative offer of friendship, it isn’t long before he’s wanting more.

He tries again to get you to accept him as a mate. Maybe now that you’ve spent some time together and know more about each other, you’ll be more open to the idea?

You reject him again and hesitantly tell him about the person you’ve been going on dates with.

And. He. Is. Furious.

At the end of the day, Charm is still a Swap Sans. And one thing more dangerous than a yandere Swap Sans is a JEALOUS yandere Swap Sans.

The way he sees it, if he gets rid of the competition then he can prove that he’s the better choice. So he does just that.

Unfortunately, he happens to make you watch. So that he can prove that he’s good enough. Once the deed is done, you’re too busy sobbing and wracked with grief that you’re unable to stop Charm from pouring some kind of potion down your throat.

Once he does so, you start to think that what he did was...okay? It meant he loved you, right? You cling to him and beg him to take you home, you want to prove that you can be a good mate too!

Charm grins back at you. You two are going to be so happy together.

FellLust

Eros is a bigger flirt than all of these Sanses and he doesn’t like taking no for an answer.

He’ll start by buying you drinks at the bar, getting friendly with you, shooting compliments and pick up lines at you faster than you can respond. You’re redder than a tomato by the time you can get a word in, which he considers a job well done. He’s more than ready to take you back to his room. He tells you a crude sex joke and offers to give you the best night of your life.

Imagine his shock when you slap him and tell him no.

This is the first time that anyone has done that to him. Eros can’t help but laugh as you storm out.

The next time you’re out drinking, it’s only a matter of time before Eros sidles up to you. You roll your eyes at his jokes and shoot him down before he can even ask and then leave.

At this point, he’s getting pretty annoyed. Do you think you’re better than him or something?

It starts to become an obsession with Eros. He uses every trick in the book, pulls out all the stops. You reject him every time. It’s only when he finds himself buying flowers and chocolates that he realizes that he may actually be in love with you.

He’s hoping that this softer approach will bring you around. Maybe he can wipe the slate clean and start again with you? Yeah, that would be good.

But when he finds you, you’re kissing some guy he’s never seen before and from how you’re holding hands and looking at each other, you must’ve known each other a while.

Something in his soul breaks at that. He throws away the presents that he got you and slips away in the shadows. He’s got some planning to do and he can’t be distracted.

Hopefully, if things go his way, he’ll have you in his dungeon by the end of the week.

HorrorLust

Sin is infatuated with you when he first meets you. Of course, when he first meets you it’s at a strip club. You’d been invited to some bachelorette party and ended up at Grillby’s club. Naturally, now that food was no longer an issue and with their magic levels pretty much back to normal, the monsters reverted back to the way they were before the famine. Living in a permanent state of heat.

Although Sin had been a performer at Grillby’s for a while, it didn’t give him the same enjoyment that it used to. It was just another job now. Besides, it’s not like many humans wanted to be with him for the night anyway, not with the gaping hole in his skull.

So when he’s called over to your table, he can’t help but feel wary. However, when sitting down with you and your friends, he’s pleasantly surprised at how friendly you all are. And you! Oh, you are a delight to talk to. He doesn’t know why, but there’s something about you that makes him feel like he did before monsters began starving and he got this horrible crack in his skull.

You make him feel like he’s not even in heat anymore. Is this what love is?

He tentatively makes an offer towards you, your friends grinning and cheering and encouraging you to take him up on it. You’re blushing furiously, but you refuse. He’s disappointed but he understands. Why would you want to have sex with him when he looks like this?

You seem to know what he’s thinking (or maybe you just looked at how heartbroken he was) and you desperately backpedal, offering up friendship instead. It’s not what he was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing. He’ll take you up on that offer.

You don’t expect him to be so...possessive.

He thwarts any attempt to talk to you when a guy wanders over when you’re hanging out, he growls aggressively if a monster so much as looks at you.

It...unsettles you. Especially when you see the adoring way he looks at you.

When you tell him how uncomfortable you are and how you want him to stop, he laughs. And laughs. And laughs until he sounds insane.

“oh, pumpkin. you’re so cute. i can’t stop. i need to make sure that everyone knows you’re mine.”

He grabs you and teleports away, your screams fading away into the nothingness of the void.

#anon ask #imagine #yandere sans #underlust #swaplust #felllust #horrorlust #violence #death #kidnapping #forced drugging #lizzie writes #lizzie imagines #sorry this took so long

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ahalal-uralma · 3 years ago

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First of all, she is not my best friend and you know nothing about me. She is a two faced bitch, just as you are. I know @worldofdisquiet was actually you! I saved the messages with the threats you sent me. Also, you think you are so smart, but you just love to listen to yourself, don't you? In the perspective of who's watching you on the outside, all we see is a huge narcissist! You say i'm wasting my time, but look at that huge response you made! I didn't even bother to read half of it.

I will write things in whatever length I feel like writing them. Your refusal to read them isn’t my problem. I do not know what drama you are embroiled in with other people, but it is not my concern, either. It is your problem. Please keep me out of it. I was wrong to allow others to vent to me about it before. But, that is all that did happen and it’s in the past.

I hope one day you can remove your self from everything you have been engaged in and start off fresh. If you’re taking those steps already then good, you are doing the best thing.

Just remember that making hate blogs and chasing people across the internet under anonymous acts counter to that. So is inciting others to anger who don’t even know the people you dislike. Get rid of those habits.

Trust me, I will not come after you if you wipe the slate clean. I’m not immune to efforts of kindness or growth. I will just go about my life in continued peace feeling silently proud that I could help motivate someone to feeling better. Do not derail your progress for other people. No one is worth the detriment to your healing and happiness. That includes me.

I don’t care if you think I’m a bitch or otherwise. I will still sleep the same at night. Stop making up blogs I don’t possess and can prove I don’t have. It’s pointless and you know it.

Also, I do not recommend diagnosing people online. You are not a medical professional and I’m considering that a good thing given my past experiences. You have great intelligence and skills, but you strongly lack the necessary empathy and impartial mindset for the psychiatric field.

We are not friends and I am not obligated to listen; and even if we were, you have to accept everyone has their own problems to take care of, too. You can’t expect people to revolve their focus around everything you are doing all of the time. This is how you are setting yourself up to get really hurt and disappointed.

Everyone has limitations to what they’re capable of. People can and will disappoint you. They are human. It’s a human to make mistakes. If you expect people to mess up sometimes, you’ll find you’re better prepared to handle it when they do.

#ask #asks #answered

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lozzypoz321 · 4 years ago

Text

Ransom’s young daughter gets sick and he has to take care of her, only to have to take her to a family party because he can’t get a babysitter. The rest of the family is confused when they see him acting so carefully.

Word Count: 3K!

Warnings: None, other than pure fluff and some sickness.

A/N from ssebstann: This our first collab fic! This came from an anon who asked me if I would ever do this and here we are! I’m so proud of how this turned out and I hope you all like it and more writers would like to collab! I had so much fun doing this!

A/N from lozzypoz321: I’m really happy with how this turned out and I owe it all to the queen up above, I loved this and I hope everyone does too!

Sickness Struggles

Ransom groaned as he woke up, it wasn’t his normal time, though. It was barely 6 am, and he knew it wasn’t your time to get up either, you had just fallen back asleep after climbing out of your bed and complaining to your dad that you didn’t feel well. It wasn’t that Ransom didn’t believe you, he just hadn’t fully woken up yet and wanted to go back to his peaceful, sleeping state. But, here he was about 2 hours later, hearing you crying from your room. Before he could get to your room, you ran past Ransom and straight into the bathroom that was beside your room.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Ransom asked. His stomach flipped when he heard you heaving and coughing, he grimaced. Ransom went into the bathroom and pulled your hair away from your pale face. You coughed again and fell back, your dad caught you in his arms from banging your head on the marble slates. “You really are sick, aren’t you?” He looked down at you, your hands were shaking and you looked utterly miserable.

“I tried to tell you, but you didn’t believe me,” You weakly pouted as he picked you up and put you on your unsteady and trembling legs. “Bet you believe me now.” You sassed him.

“I kind of have to. Look at you, you’re whiter than a sheet, honey,” He said, looking at you pitifully. “Alright, let’s get you back to bed.” Ransom took your hand and you trailed behind him, your small feet padding on the wooden planks of the houses’ hallways. You stood back behind him as he opened the door of your room and waited expectantly.

“I don’t wanna sleep in my bed,” You said confidently. Ransom cocked his eyebrow at you and walked towards you. “It’s too cold.” Ransom finally caught on to what you wanted and he nodded in understanding.

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that you wanna sleep in my bed and get your sickness everywhere?” He asked you, jokingly, of course, he didn’t want you to feel bad. After all, it wasn’t your fault that you were sick. Ransom looked at you and noticed the sick puppy look you had on your face and he instantly felt guilty, he didn’t want to upset you. “Hey, I was only joking, honey! You can go and sleep in my bed, alright?” You smiled gratefully and lifted a weak hand to rub the excess sleep out of your eyes. Ransom picked you up and you wrapped your shaking arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala.

“Are you leaving today?” You asked him, you didn’t want him to go. If he did, you would be left with a babysitter who only sat and watched the TV in the living room, you know, the huge one that had all of the movies on it.

“No, but I have to tonight, I have to go see grandma and grandpa at a party,” He said, laying you on his bed and pulling the soft comforter up to your chin. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, Ransom frowned and wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. “It’s alright, honey. You’re gonna be okay.” He assured you.

“I don’t want you to go,” You whimpered. Ransom smiled at you sadly and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll be back before you know it, I won’t be there long,” He said. You sniffled and nodded, rubbing your runny nose with the sleeve of your pyjamas. Ransom brought your sleeve away from your face. “No, no. Don’t use that, Y/N.” Your eyes filled up with wet tears again, thinking you were in trouble.

“I’m sorry,” You cried. Ransom pulled the box of tissues out from the drawer of his bedside table and put one in front of your nose.

“You gotta blow your nose, baby. Otherwise, it’s gonna get all sticky and make you uncomfy,” You looked at the tissue in front of you and blew into as hard as you could. After Ransom put the tissue in the trash can, he turned the TV on for you. “I know I shouldn’t be letting you watch TV at 6 in the morning, but I don’t exactly know what else I can do with you this early in the morning.” He mumbled. Sniffling, you put your small arms up at your dad, signalling that you wanted to cuddle.

“Please?” You stuck your bottom lip out and pulled the best puppy dog face you could muster. Ransom sighed, knowing he probably shouldn’t, but would anyway. He budged you over gently and got into the massive bed, settling you in beside him with his arm around your small frame protectively.

Without trying to disrupt you, he leaned over to the oak bedside table and retrieved the TV remote and began to flip through the channels. After a while, he settled on a F.r.i.e.n.d.s episode. He didn’t like the show but knew it was one of your favourites. He slid down the sideboard where his back had been rested and laid down on the fluffy white pillow that made him sigh in content. About halfway into the show his eyes began to get heavy and your breathing began to slow down, and soon enough both of you were in a deep slumber.

Ransom mumbled sleepily when the sound of a ringtone woke him up. He blindly threw his arms out without opening his eyes, trying to find the source of the incessant noise. When the ringing didn’t stop blaring in his ears, the man had no other choice but to open his eyes and ignore the resistance in his body that begged for him to lay back down and go to sleep.

“Shut the fuck up,” He groaned and fumbled with the phone to answer the call from the baby sitter, Morgan, he had booked for you. When he successfully swiped the answer button and the noise stopped his mind was put at peace.

“Hello?” He tried not to sound as if he had just woken up but failed miserably, from the other side of the call he heard the woman quietly chuckle before going back to being serious.

“I’m sorry for such short notice, Mr. Drysdale but I’m afraid I can’t take your daughter today, I didn’t realise I was double-booked for the day” Ransom inwardly cursed, thinking of ideas of what he could do with you. Not needing to listen to her apologies, he hung up the phone and chucked it on the bottom of his bed, which he now remembered upon seeing you, all the night's events that occurred previously.

As though you had read his mind, your body suddenly awoke from unconsciousness and you lurched forward involuntarily and vomit spewed out of your mouth and onto the freshly vacuumed carpet. At the sight, both of you grimaced, you using the back of your sleeve to wipe the excess from your mouth which made Ransom scrunch up his face in disgust.

“Oh God, honey,” he sighed, feeling sorry for you before going back to the current matter at hand “I am definitely not cleaning that up” You used all the strength you could possibly muster to push yourself up off of your fathers bed and set your feet onto the ground, carefully making sure not to land on the pool of sick. You looked back up to Ransom, tears once again filling your eyes as the thought of being away from him flooded your mind.

“Please don’t go, I don’t want you to go,” You whined. Ransom took a deep breath at the nagging reminder of figuring out what he now had to do with you. He knew he couldn’t call another babysitter, it was far too late for that, and he had no friends that could look after you for the short time he was going to be gone, and he couldn’t possibly leave you alone when you were sick, so the only option left was to take you with him to the family gathering. The sigh that left his mouth was one of someone who had given up on life. He took your hand to guide you past the vomit and took you to the bathroom next to his room so you could brush your teeth and get rid of the after taste, although stopping halfway to pick you up so you didn’t collapse onto the hard wooden floor and knock yourself out. Ransom was surprised at how hot your forehead felt and instantly retracted his hand making you shrink back into yourself, thinking he was scared of you. He sighed, and quickly retrieved your toothbrush from your bathroom so you could get rid of the sick stench that he was sure was the reason your breathing had got noticeably heavier. Your hand shakily found the mint toothpaste that your father used and weakly squeezed the tube, only a small amount of past leaving the bottle but you didn’t care enough to waste any more of the limited energy that you had left in you. About halfway through the slow brushing Ransom mentioned to you that you weren’t going to be home with the babysitter.

“What do you mean?” You spat the toothpaste out into the sink and looked up to your dad. Ransom looked at you with an almost guilty expression, but also he knew that you wouldn’t be that bothered about it, you would be with him all night and not some stranger.

“Well, Morgan kinda cancelled and now I don’t have a babysitter for you and you need to come with me tonight,” He explained. You nodded slowly, taking in what you could from your father’s quick explanation.

“Alright. Just please, don’t leave me with Jacob,” You requested. Ransom nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He keeps going on about all of this political stuff and I don’t understand.” Ransom couldn’t help but chuckle at your childish innocence.

“Good, you don’t want to. Not his side of politics anyway, I don’t even think it is politics, more just mindless drooling,” You giggled. “Now your breath doesn’t smell like acid and whatever you ate last night, we should probably actually get you cleaned up.” He said, turning the shower on.

“Can’t I just stay in the car and not see anyone? It still counts as being there with you!” You pointed out. Ransom threw a towel at you, and you caught it with an oomf. You sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

“Okay, shower. You smell,”

“You better hope you don’t sneeze when I’m straightening your hair, I’ll end up burning your ear,” Ransom taunted you, looking at you in your mirror. He was standing above you while you sat at your vanity table in your room.

“Dad! Don’t say that,” You whined. You sniffled and rubbed your nose with the tissue on your table. “With my luck, I will and you then you’ll burn me.” Ransom laughed quietly and shook his head.

“I was kidding, Y/N,” He deadpanned. “And anyway, you’ve taken medicine, so you should be fine. And with any luck, you might give it to your best friend Jacob!” He cheered sarcastically.

“Do you like anyone?” You asked him. He shook his head.

“I like you, but that’s really it,” He shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal.

“You must lead a sad life,” You mumbled. Ransom feigned shock and offense, before realising your point wasn’t too far off. “But you live a sad life with an amazing child.” You gave him a smug smile.

“Oh yes, definitely,” Ransom said, dragging your straighteners down your hair.

“I’m your favourite child!” You exclaimed. He hummed and nodded, putting your straighteners down and placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, you’re my only child,” he reminded you, and grabbed a bobble from the wooden surface to use to tie your hair back. “But, I guess you are my favourite.” He confirmed, pulling half of your hair up and tying it up.

“I don’t look sick, do I?” You asked him. Ransom shook his head.

“No, you look perfect, Y/N. You managed to get a bit of colour back onto your face and you don’t look like you’re at death’s door anymore,” You gave him a glare. “Again, I’m kidding.” He kissed the top of your head and gave you your jacket. “Alright, let’s go.” You put your jacket on and followed him out to the beamer. You put your head against the window, your eyes following the scenery as it passed. You were trying to concentrate on not bringing up any possible bile that was in your system, with your luck it would happen in your dad’s other most prized possession.

“I don’t know why I’m shaking,” You said, looking at your dad with confusion written on your face. Ransom turned to you as he pulled into the estate, putting the car into park.

“Probably because you’re still sick. We won’t be long, I promise,” He assured you, putting his large hand over your much smaller one that rested on your leg. You nodded and got out of the car, following your dad into the house. The symphony of the dogs barking together made you jump and grab onto your dad’s arm. “It’s alright. I think they’re tied up.” He said.

“It’s not that I’m scared of them, they’re just really loud,” You mumbled. Ransom nodded and made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth. “Can we go in now, it’s really cold out here.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” He said. You walked up the front steps of the mansion and your dad opened the door, seeing that everyone was already there, and you were both fashionably late, as per usual for you both.

Your grandma, however, wouldn’t let you call your lateness fashionable. Linda looked over your way and clenched her jaw.

“Always late. I’m not surprised”

Your Grampa, Richard, shook his head at her and stood up to greet you both.

“Now, now, Linda” He walked halfway to the door and motioned you further into the house. Ignoring the stares from the rest of the family, you wrapped the nearest hand around your dad's leg and let him guide you over to an armchair in the corner. Him not bothering to greet his father back, or carry a conversation with Walt who was now looking at him with his bottom lip curled. You tried not to peak at what was on Jacob’s phone as he stood near you, while he typed furiously over something, but it was no use. You lifted your head and instantly regretted it. Without trying too hard you caught sight of the words Hitler, Syria and #4chan so you decided not to indulge any further. Part of you wanted to know what he was talking about, but for the most part, you were fearing what he was looking at.

“I hate this place” Ransom muttered and lifted up his arm so that you could pull yourself up onto the chair arm where he sat.

“Can we go now? ” You whispered back to him, making your dad chuckle. Just after he did, his eyes narrowed at someone across the room. Looking over, you found that Walt was glaring at both of you, but mainly you. You felt your cheeks heat up and you hid your face behind the top of your jacket.

“Walt, why are you eyeing up my daughter?” Ransom asked. All of the conversations in the room ceased and all eyes turned to you and your dad in one corner, and Walt in the other.

“Why did you bring her? She’s clearly sick, we don’t want whatever sickness she has!” He yelled. Ransom chuckled.

“Then why are you here? Everyone must have surely caught whatever you have by now, I mean, you must have something to make you like that,” Ransom motioned up and down at Walt. Linda and Richard wanted to hide and never be found. “And, she has a name.” Ransom finished with a hard stare on his face, if looks could kill, Walt would have been six feet under on the damn spot.

“I don’t even know the kid’s name!” Walt yelled.

“It’s Y/N,” You said quietly, only loud enough so people could hear you. Walt smiled at you sarcastically.

“Thanks, but I didn’t ask,” He said snidely. A grim smirk grew on Ransom’s face.

“Walt, if you even dare try to talk to Y/N again, I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass, people are gonna think that I’m making hats,” Ransom threatened. “Now, if we’re all done. Me and Y/N are going to be leaving now.” Before Harlan could object and try to calm things down, your dad grabbed your hand and began to pull you to the door and out of the house. Ransom let you go and get into the car while he got in the driver’s side.

“You handled that well,” Ransom commented. You slid part way down the seat and slightly shook your head

“I was dying inside,” You murmured. Ransom rolled his eyes and gently pulled you up by the collar of your jacket. “I’m not lying, is Walt always like that?” You asked him. Ransom shrugged.

“Maybe he finally found out what all of the shit that Jacob says online,” Ransom said, making you laugh.

“I saw that, it was disturbing. I’m gonna lie at school and say I’m related to Meg instead.”

A collab between me and @ssebstann ! 💞

Written by both of us. Wattpad; @Lozzypoz321 Tumblr side acc; @padfootbuckster Pinterest; @lozzypoz321

@marvel-ous-hobbit @snarky--starky @rae-is-typing @stargazingfangirl18 @canadianhufflepuffavenger

#Ransom Drysdale x daughter!reader #Ransom x daughter!reader #Ransom Drysdale #Ransom Drysdale fanfic #ransom drysdale #Ransom Thrombey #Ransom Thrombey x daughter!reader #knives out #knives out oneshot #Ransom Drysdale onshot

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j0elmill3r · 4 years ago

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Sickness Struggles

Ransom Drysdale x Daughter!Reader

Knives Out Masterlist

Word Count: 3K!

Warnings: None, other than pure fluff and some sickness.

A/N from ssebstann: This our first collab fic! This came from anon who asked me if I would ever do this and here we are! I’m so proud of how this turned out and I hope you all like it and more writers would like to collab! I had so much fun doing this!

A/N from @lozzypoz321: I’m really happy with how this turned out and I owe it all to the queen up above, I loved this and I hope everyone does too!

“I tried to tell you, but you didn’t believe me,” You weakly pouted as he picked you up and put you on your unsteady and trembling legs. “Bet you believe me now.” You sassed him.

“I don’t want you to go,” You whimpered. Ransom smiled at you sadly and kissed the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” You cried. Ransom pulled the box of tissues out from the drawer of his bedside table and put one in front of your nose.

“Hello?” He tried not to sound as if he had just woken up but failed miserably, from the other side of the call he heard the woman quietly chuckle before going back to being serious.

“Oh God, honey,” he sighed, feeling sorry for you before going back to the current matter at hand “I am definitely not cleaning that up” You used all the strength you could possibly muster to push yourself up off of your father’s bed and set your feet onto the ground, carefully making sure not to land on the pool of sick. You looked back up to Ransom, tears once again filling your eyes as the thought of being away from him flooded your mind.

“Can’t I just stay in the car and not see anyone? It still counts as being there with you!” You pointed out. Ransom threw a towel at you, and you caught it with an oomph. You sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

“Okay, shower. You smell,”

“I was kidding, Y/N,” He deadpanned. “And anyway, you’ve taken medicine, so you should be fine. And with any luck, you might give it to your best friend Jacob!” He cheered sarcastically.

“Do you like anyone?” You asked him. He shook his head.

“I like you, but that’s really it,” He shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal.

“You must lead a sad life,” You mumbled. Ransom feigned shock and offence, before realizing your point wasn’t too far off. “But you live a sad life with an amazing child.” You gave him a smug smile.

“Oh yes, definitely,” Ransom said, dragging your straighteners down your hair.

“I’m your favourite child!” You exclaimed. He hummed and nodded, putting your straighteners down and placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, you’re my only child,” he reminded you and grabbed a bobble from the wooden surface to use to tie your hair back. “But, I guess you are my favourite.” He confirmed, pulling half of your hair up and tying it up.

“I don’t look sick, do I?” You asked him. Ransom shook his head.

“I don’t know why I’m shaking,” You said, looking at your dad with confusion written on your face. Ransom turned to you as he pulled into the estate, putting the car into park.

“It’s not that I’m scared of them, they’re just really loud,” You mumbled. Ransom nodded and made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth. “Can we go in now, it’s really cold out here.”

Your grandma, however, wouldn’t let you call your lateness fashionable. Linda looked over your way and clenched her jaw.

“Always late. I’m not surprised”

Your Grampa, Richard, shook his head at her and stood up to greet you both.

“Now, now, Linda” He walked halfway to the door and motioned you further into the house. Ignoring the stares from the rest of the family, you wrapped the nearest hand around your dad's leg and let him guide you over to an armchair in the corner. Him not bothering to greet his father back, or carry a conversation with Walt who was now looking at him with his bottom lip curled. You tried not to peek at what was on Jacob’s phone as he stood near you, while he typed furiously over something, but it was no use. You lifted your head and instantly regretted it. Without trying too hard you caught sight of the words Hitler, Syria and #4chan so you decided not to indulge any further. Part of you wanted to know what he was talking about, but for the most part, you were fearing what he was looking at.

“I hate this place” Ransom muttered and lifted up his arm so that you could pull yourself up onto the chair arm where he sat.

“Walt, why are you eyeing up my daughter?” Ransom asked. All of the conversations in the room ceased and all eyes turned to you and your dad in one corner, and Walt in the other.

“Why did you bring her? She’s clearly sick, we don’t want whatever sickness she has!” He yelled. Ransom chuckled.

“Then why are you here? Everyone must have surely caught whatever you have by now, I mean, you must have something to make you like that,” Ransom motioned up and down at Walt. Linda and Richard wanted to hide and never be found. “And, she has a name.” Ransom finished with a hard stare on his face; if looks could kill, Walt would have been six feet under on the damn spot.

“I don’t even know the kid’s name!” Walt yelled.

“It’s Y/N,” You said quietly, only loud enough so people could hear you. Walt smiled at you sarcastically.

“Thanks, but I didn’t ask,” He said snidely. A grim smirk grew on Ransom’s face.

“You handled that well,” Ransom commented. You slid partway down the seat and slightly shook your head

“I was dying inside,” You murmured. Ransom rolled his eyes and gently pulled you up by the collar of your jacket. “I’m not lying, is Walt always like that?” You asked him. Ransom shrugged.

“Maybe he finally found out what all of the shit that Jacob says online,” Ransom said, making you laugh.

“I saw that, it was disturbing. I’m gonna lie at school and say I’m related to Meg instead.”

Permanent Taglist; Open!

@an-adventureland @demons-hunt @eviemarvel @avenging-natasha @bonkybarnes107 @this-kitten-is-smitten@justrandom02@lozzypoz321@herecomesthewriterwitch@tomms-h @40srogcrs@kashoot-me-now-please @ellehooo @rororo06 @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @bval-1 @marvel-ous-hobbit

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aestheticsuwu · 4 years ago

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🌹🎇°Feelings Of Us° 🎇🌹

Sam LaRusso x Miguel Diaz

( Bonfire Au Part 1 ) [excuse my shitty writting ]

..... .. . 🎇🌹🎇 ....... ....

》♡》

After the whole fiasco of getting rid of Kreese and made the cobras realised they had put their lifes on the hands who didnt care , Sam and Miguel decided to throw a bonfire celebration . They pulled all the strings they had to finally put an end to the rivalness . Things with her and Robby were akward at first, and Tory agreed to not to start any fights for Aisha .

It was like a clean slate for everyone as they will now be joining their dojos after her dad and Mr. Lawrence decided to keep the joint dojos . Both of them had decided to also start a relationship after her parents divorce .

All the parents agreed to let them have a bonfire at the beach , now what was left was to invite certain people , Demetri invited Robby , Aisha asked Tory , and Yasmine invited Kyler . Yasmine helped with the whole contreversy , She had changed with Demetri's help . Kyler had apologized to Miguel and Hawk with yasmine beside him .

....

" Hey , they'll show up maybe their just late "

Miguel words helped eased the nervousness , The only people was Myagi-do/ Eagle fang and Moon with her girlfriend Piper , there was no sign of Robby or Tory either .

It was fine if they didnt come atleast they had put effort into the idea , Instead of worrying she grabbed Miguels hand in hers and played volleyball with Moon and Piper versus Demetri and Hawk .

She was waiting for Miguel to come back from changing to go for a swim when she saw Yasmine with kyler behind with a cooler and blankets .

" Hey "

" Hi , we had to take a detour at the last minute , Kyler wanted to buy some drinks and snacks as peace offering . "

Looking at Kyler , he had a nervous smile that she returned and She also noticed their joint hands .

" Thats great ! Were about to get in the water , Miguel went to change with Chris . If you want Moon and i can go with you Yas . "

" Yeah that would be great . "

....... .....

Among playing and enjoying the water she hears Aisha calling her , she sees Tory beside her .

" I brought vodka we dont have to drink it and dont worry LaRusso , i didnt steal it this time . "

Tory said with a small smile and Sam took the olive branch , and guessing by the huge smile of Aisha all turned out good . She whisper to her to tell her all the details later .

Somehow they were all getting convinced by Hawk to play chicken fight and listing out all the rules . Even Kyler persuade Yasmine to Join in , While Demetri wasnt having none of it , shouting he didnt want to carry anyone of the possibilities of causing his death of drowning .

" Is that Robby ? " He puts a stop to the his rant to question Sam out loud .

Turning to the direction where demetri pointed and saw the blond with another boy heading their way . Both demetri and her walked towards them , Miguel walking behind them .

" Hey ! You came " Her eyes caught the bag the taller boy was carrying , Sam smiled happy that Robby was going stay . The tall boy was serious the contrast of Robby who wore a small smile .

" Yeah , I want to apologize its only fair that you guys already did . I was blinded with hate and it got the best of me , making me ignore the warning signs and im just glad we got out of that situation . Lets start all over because i really missed you guys "

" We missed you too Robby ! " Her and Demetri rushed to hug him , Shes willing to admit her eyes got watery and she guessed demetri got teary eyed because once letting go he tried to change the topic once robby questioned him .

" Are you crying Demetri ? "

" Me crying ? pfft no , im just excited to play chicken fight . "

Demetri said while discreetly wiping away any tears .

" Werent you saying that it was one of Hawks dumbmest ideas and something about drowning . "

She said teasing him , they all laughed as he flushed . She felt miguel graze his hand next to hers and she wanted to hold his hand but was afraid to hurt Robby . But she guessed she didnt have to worry when Robby introduced his not so friend .

" uhh .... Sam , Demetri this is Doug , Hes-- "

He turned to look at Doug , and the first time she had seen a different expression on him .

It was kind and he had a teasing smile as he spoke .

" Im his Boyfriend "

The little silence ended when Miguel did a handshake with Doug . She was happy for Robby , They laughed as Miguel soon started spilling out that Doug had a huge crush on Robby .

...... ..... .. ...

After playing alot of rounds of chicken fight , Kyler and Yasmine offered to go pick up the pizzas but she guessed they wanted to have a little bit of alone time. Finishing their food , everyone wanted to go on a walk , they all agreed to come back once they all finished .

The sand felt nice , not to hot . She can hear laughter , screams and Demetri telling Hawk to put him down . She was happy having everyone she needs , happy as well .

" Im happy , Thank you for helping me organized this and for being with me . "

Miguel kissed her as he holds her close , her heart beats with his , but she should've known he had something up his sleeve once a smirk appeared .

" Im glad your happy , Sam . All i want is for you to be happy and if i didnt help you i wouldnt be able to do this ---"

" Miguel ! Oh My God , Miguel ! Dont !!

Miguel picked her up and started running to the water . She tighten her arms around him , if she was going to get wet Miguel was going with her .

He walked out of the water and put her down as they laughed . She kisses him hoping he can feel the happiness she felt in that moment with him , she was rewarded with his beautiful smile .

Hand in Hand they went back to start making the bonfire . Everyone started coming back to help out . Moon and Piper started handing out drinks and snacks . Miguel and the rest of the guys started the fire . Soon they started singing off key , suprisingly everyone knew the words to baby by justin bieber .

Aisha and Tory sat together as they laughed at Hawk and Miguels singing . Robby sitting on Dougs lap , looking so adorable . Kyler and Yasmine were handing out spare blankets and joining in to sing Bohemian Rhaspodey . She watched how Hawk serenated Demetri and playing the guitar , where god knows where he got it from .

Tonight was a success in her books , She will hold this memory close to her heart . For now it was her turn for Miguels singing for her .

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pokeverse-amethyst · 3 years ago

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Sooooo… this is gonna be a long one, strap in. What follows is a metric ton of HCs about every single evil team and how they have worked themselves into every aspect of daily life, as to make them way more difficult to get rid off than just with a couple of arrests. Timeline wonkiness when trying to explain what likely happened first is to be expected, I’m playing fast and loose with all of this stuff. I might be way off topic in some regards but HECK HERE GOES. ~~~

TEAM ROCKET: This is pretty much of a no-brainer. What we have here is a classical mafia structure, and you just need to look at countries with extensive mafia presence to know that they are baked into every single fucking thing. Giovanni has worked years upon years to cement himself straight into Kanto and Johto, consequently making it impossible for any of the other teams to even THINK about gaining a foothold there. No further explanations necessary. ~~~ TEAM AQUA / TEAM MAGMA: This one is a bit of a more difficult one. But then again, let’s presume that most of the teams recruit a mixture of people who fully believe in the team’s message, who misunderstand the team’s message, and who see themselves in the team, but not necessarily in the message (so just looking for somewhere to belong and to gain some kind of direction). Oh, and monetary gain. Can’t forget that. So in the case of both Aqua and Magma? I like to believe it started out with Maxie and Archie working together on a plan to give nature back to Pokémon. Like, with trying to get more protected zones established, kinda like Fiore has them? But they were hitting resistance too often. Now I’m not saying that they were on the wrong track from the start or developed into what is basically eco-terrorists, but… they probably saw way too much bad shit happening to Pokémon around them. Maybe they heard what Team Rocket was doing to Pokémon in Johto and Kanto. Maybe they heard rumors about what Cyrus nearly accomplished, what Lysandre almost triggered, what Ghetsis managed to fuck up with his whole power play madness (TWICE, too!), what the Aether foundation might have had triggered if not for the intervention of a Legendary, what Rose made possible in the GALAR REGION of all places… Suffice to say, they probably felt like they needed to seriously up their game… to make sure that the other teams didn’t fuck up the world beyond repair before THEY could make the world a better place. The only thing that finally broke Archie and Maxie up though, was an inability to settle on what would be better. More landmass, more sea? What would be the gentler way of resetting humanity? Suffice to say, their vision might have attracted way too many who nudged them along. So TLDR: Archie and Maxie mostly reacted to what the other Team Bosses were doing and were helped along by Grunts/Admins that were way too into the whole “we will be the only humans deserving this new, shiny world”. They were numerous enough and determined enough to turn into a slightly terroristic group, but until the ultimate use of Kyogre/Groudon, they never really registered that much on Interpol’s radar. And when Interpol learned of them stealing a whole ass sub? It was already too late stopping them in their tracks in time. After all, Interpol had all the other regions to monitor as well… ~~~ TEAM GALACTIC: So. Charon doesn’t need much of a head canon fuckery. He just did it for the money, that much he stated openly. And Jupiter, Mars and Saturn? They all admitted openly to being along for the ride because they believed in Cyrus and the world being fucked up beyond repair, thus needing a good ol’ divine intervention from the whole-ass creation trio. But I don’t think any single one of them fully understood what Cyrus’s goal was. The commanders (that are not Charon) squarely fall into the category of “misunderstanding the ultimate purpose of the team”, as do all the Grunts. And as mentioned above with Team Aqua and Magma, Galactic probably saw some of the stuff that was happening around them and ultimately decided (and this is mostly for the Grunts and the Commanders) that Cyrus probably wasn’t so far off with the human spirit being incomplete. But they made one crucial mistake (pretty much the whole team, even Charon). They thought that Cyrus’s assertion over the incomplete nature of the human spirit was a reason for the man to believe in a world that should be made whole, not in wiping the whole fucking slate clean and going Tabula Rasa on the whole of creation. Much to the annoyance of everyone involved (and with that I mean the Creation Trio and the big boss of them), he actually went far enough to step on everything just to gain the power to control the legendaries. Also, time to unearth an already yoinked HC of mine that Giratina mostly retreated into the Distortion World to get some good alone time in, only to be disrupted by Cyrus bursting in. On that point also: time not really working all that clearly in the Distortion World. Kinda like Narnia rules, in as there is no fixed constant for time moving forward in either one or the other extreme. Sometimes, time will move forward extremely fast, other times, you spend years and years in the Distortion World and only a few seconds passed. After all, everything gets a bit… wobbly in there. But around the time Cyrus entered, Distortion World time became… more orderly. And that was what prompted Giratina to go VERY UNAMUSED ON HIS ASS. Think of it as time being influenced by what is thrown into the Distortion World. BACK to the Team, though. Galactic honest to Arceus believed that what they were doing would give the world a much needed boost… and were unpleasantly surprised when they were later on all shown that Cyrus wanted to go destruction and rebirth on the world. But that is not to say everyone was unhappy about this revelation. ~~~ TEAM PLASMA & NEO PLASMA: What easier time to convince disparate beliefs than with the apparent reason that they were just helping Pokémon that would have been unhappy in the care of their trainers? Wether the Grunts believed that the Pokémon should then consequently be released back into the wild or that they THEMSELVES deserved the Pokémon way more than others? What easier way to convince them of Plasma’s ideals? And there was no real discussion amongst the Grunts over this dichotomy. Sure, a few were disputing the one or the other stance, but most were still agreeing that the trainers they took the Pokémon from did NOT deserve them. No matter how pure their reasoning was. No matter how reality really looked like. Sure, they were removing Pokémon from some really nasty trainers? But on the greater scale of things, they mostly took Pokémon from trainers who they loved being with. And Ghetsis had his thumb on this a lot. See, Ghetsis didn’t want N to sway too much, before he finally met the protagonist. So Ghetsis made sure that only obviously abused Pokémon removed from trainers were brought to N. …why, no, this doesn’t mean at all that they were usually just from the outside. Ya think Ghetsis only had his main team? Dream on. ~~~ TEAM FLARE: What is there to say about Team Flare? They are basically a mix of the worst of the self-viewed elite of the region. There is entitlement to being viewed as the best of the best (and you can’t tell ‘em otherwise), there is doomsday fans who would do the whole shit with bunkering down and then fighting in an apocalyptic wasteland and fancying themselves new leaders in that changed world, there’s the ones who just think they will be able to surpass even Lysandre… What about the Admins of Flare? They half share Lysandre’s views of beauty. But mostly, they are in too deep to quit, and also half about relishing the fact that they get to work on something truly unique and devastating. They want this whole power thing to work out for them because some time in their lives, they might have felt like they were owed power and didn’t receive it. They were owed recognition and didn’t receive it. They want to be the new top of Kalos without working TOO hard for it. Without anything laying rocks in their path. Without any obstacles telling them that, no. They fucked up. ~~~ AETHER FOUNDATION: The moment Lusamine found out about the Ultra Dimension, she ostensibly was lost to her goal of getting her hands on the power to change the face of the world. And to preserve beauty. In many ways, her goal was similar to Lysandre… to a degree. The Aether Foundation is half staffed by people who truly believe that conservation work is the most important factor in the Pokémon World, to preserve some of the more endangered species around the world, and half staffed by people who truly believe that the Ultra Dimension holds answers to problems humanity might not even have recognized as such. This latter half was unpleasantly surprised when they started to learn the truth from the Ultra Dimension researchers. Finding out that Necrozma had destroyed the natural light of that world and was now the only source of more light for the city? That was a shock. But that didn’t necessarily mean that the Aether Foundation would have been broken up by that. Because honestly? The part of the conservation enthusiasts who were not deterred by the Ultra Dimension incident made the Foundation bloom beyond what it was possible to become. So in short: this foundation survived its leader far better than many others, and actually managed to get accepted. ~~~ MACRO COSMOS: This is the team that shocked their region with just how far their influence had gone. And that is to say that they existed at all, right under the noses of the region. Rose’s whole deal is a big part why Leon would later be plunged into a crisis of conscience, despite everyone assuring him that he had no way of knowing just how far Rose was willing to go to show the region how wrong it was to not immediately acquiesce to all that he envisioned for the future. The mere fact Rose was UNWILLING to wait what would at most have been half a day for Leon, to celebrate with the others after another big Champion Tournament? That was what sat so ill with many in the region. It wasn’t so much the message that Rose felt everyone had missed (that was actually just his version of events - most of the Macro Cosmos Grunts were attached to him solely for the reason of having privileges that none other had, and when they saw how he was acting, only the most dedicated few could ignore what was going on). So we are dealing with another team that was shocked how far the leader would go, but even more so than the Aether Foundation, the members scattered when Rose enacted the Darkest Day right out of nowhere. There is still worries that remains of Macro Cosmos could be out there, trying to bust Oleana and Rose out of prison and actually finding another way with which to scare Galar into complicity. How well that would even go is a whole different question… because the new champ is even stronger than Leon, and THAT is real fucking bad news for anyone who would want to establish themselves.

#Big whopping HC post incoming #Dash Commentary: Musings in Primorvia #Primorvia's Voice [Mun]#The Mountains Hold Many Paths to Secrets [Headcanon]#This went on for longer than I expected #I have no idea where even half of this came from #If I accidentally rephrased something someone else HC'd before I'M SORRY I KINDA LOST TRACK WHERE WHAT MIGHT HAVE COME FROM #Anywho have an oggle at almost 2k words of RAMBLE

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iwantutobehapppier · 5 years ago

Text

Nobody Loves No One (1/?)

Pairing: Bucky x Enhanced Female Reader

Summary: You know one thing, James Buchanan Barnes was trustworthy and you weren't. When he inserts himself into your family drama and past can you show you're worthy of his trust or deign to hurt him as most of life has?

Word Count: 4,312

Warnings: Eventual Smut, night terrors, angst, verbal abuse, implied abuse, canon typical violence, and cursing. 18 and older only

A/N: This is something I’ve been working on for a while. I really hope you all enjoy it. I’m not sure how many chapters it will break up into. I am still working on the 2k requests I promise! I just really wanted to get this out there after months of working on it. I once saw a note on an AO3 story where it said “Continues to aggressively ignore canon” that's how it is here. Steve didn't go to the past, Avengers Compound rebuilt and everyone is alive. I hope you all enjoy! Reblogs and comments welcomed!

There wasn't a moment you knew him that you didn't trust him. The harsh realization that you never felt this way about anyone else, family included, made keeping him at a distance the only option but hard to follow through with.

He noticed right away, after all, he was trained in the art of reading a situation. Honestly, you weren't trying to be subtle just trying to protect. This only made him seek you out more.

James Buchanan Barnes was trustworthy, you weren't.

You killed for fun in the past, enjoyed the hunt and more than anything lived for the warmth of your enemy’s blood spilling down your hands. Winter Soldier didn't have a choice in his killings but you did and you always made the right choice, at least when you got older.

You became an Avenger to circumvent jail time and the killing became more methodical and less for pleasure. It was to complete the mission not bask in the trail of destruction you could cause. The first time you killed someone like the old days on a mission was in front of Steve and Bucky.

Blood from your broken nose covered your upper lip and chin. When the HYDRA agent punched you square in the jaw you screamed out, not in pain.

With a glower, you grabbed the startled agent by the shoulders and chucked him to the ground using your superhuman strength.

You whipped your boot knife out and fell on top of them using the momentum of your fall to push the blade completely into their chest. A gleeful smile pulled at your lips, your eyes dilated in pleasure watching the light fade from the shocked face of your adversary.

Steve calls out your name, you look up to the sight of him and Bucky charging towards you.

"We heard you scream," Steve’s voice trailed off, he slowed his approach at your blood-stained teeth on display in a sadistic smile.

Bucky continued forward, the deranged look did a lot to him but never a deterrent.

"You alright Toots?" You cocked your head to the side at the sound of his voice. The smile slipped from your face looking down in practiced shame.

"I'm fine." A hollow whisper.

Bucky stood next to you placing his metal hand under your chin forcing you to face up.

"Come on, there are more goons you can stab like a lunatic." You stood up your eyes hooded as an unhinged smile pulled at the corner of your lips.

They saw you in your most primal and pleasure-filled state, where Steve was cautious Bucky became fascinated.

He spent more time with you outside of missions, even had you watch movies during your joined insomnia fits. You learned he had a sweet tooth but only if cherry flavored or chocolate. He loved documentaries, he had watched Cosmos five times. When you introduced him to NOVA the two of you spent an entire night watching your favorites.

He told you about HYDRA late nights when the majority of the team would be away on missions, the violence and how it hurt when they'd wipe the slate clean. He only felt safe sharing in isolation, worried others could overhear even across the compound.

You joked once that it didn't matter after the data dump everyone knew. He was hurt at first but understood you were only trying to spare him the need to hide who he had been.

"Tell me somethin’ no one knows." He leaned into you on the bench at the lake dock. The stars and waning moon illuminating your furrowed brow in memory.

"I was 13 when I killed someone for the first time." The shame you had trained yourself to feel when enjoying death didn't come. Instead, you felt that smile Bucky liked to see on missions pulled at your lips.

"13 eh? What'd they do?" His eyes drifting towards you, that smile made him want to kiss you. Your lack of shame and his abundance something that drew the two of you together. A dysfunctional balance.

"Short version?” You ignored his gaze knowing he would look but never touch inappropriately. “He was touching a friend of mine in a way no adult should so I made sure he couldn't touch anyone ever again." You felt him tense as you leaned against him sharing the bench. A fleeting thought of maybe you shouldn’t have shared this chased away when his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders fingers so gentle curled around your shoulder.

"That was the first time I learned someone could bleed out. I didn't mean to kill him honestly just wanted him to stop." Your tone petulant.

A rough chuckle fell from his lips causing your body to shake as you remain against him. His arm pulled your back almost flat to his chest.

"Well Toots I'm sure ya learned real quick how to let 'em bleed without dying on ya"

You nodded your head in agreement, lesson learned indeed. You laid down, your head on his lap, a hand behind his head you toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Before Bucky would be embarrassed at the sudden intimacy but now he closes his eyes, an unconscious soft rumble pulled from deep in his chest past his lips.

Touching him with such ease was a slow progression that only happened in private. Neither of you ashamed but both apprehensive to show such affection openly. You could recall a time he would remain tense when your hand would rest on top of his. The ease in which you touched him slowly opened him to reciprocate and now you often found each other in such intimate but innocent embraces.

"You?"

"What people assume is a Nazi back in '43," there's a pause, gauging whether he could trust you as you trusted him. Like a fool he did.

"The truth is?" You implored he huffed, pushing your hair from your face he rested his metal arm on your stomach the other at the top of your head gently caressed the furrow wrinkles on your forehead.

"A guy Steve tried to stop from knifin’ this lady in an ally. He nicked Steve's arm and I lost it." Bucky took a deep breath, his metal hand on your stomach bunched up your shirt in a fist.

"I was so scared of Steve bein’ killed...I couldn’ stop myself. I only realized the guy was unconscious when Steve started yellin’ my name." Bucky swallow audible. "Saw his obit' in the paper a few days later."

"So we both didn't mean to." A short laugh escapes your lips.

"Accidental murders?" You shake your head at the idea.

"No never an accident. Always with intent even if I didn't know he'd bleed out I never regretted what I did to him." He was silent at that, you both knew he couldn't say the same there was too much unintentional and innocent blood on his hands.

"So how'd a 13-year-old girl get rid of a body?" You grimace and turn to face the lake, his metal hand slinking up your raised shirt. The cool metal hand resting on your lower stomach. He never pushed boundaries, though you would never admit it out loud you wished he would.

"Uh, so my father's a butcher and well he had this industrial meat grinder." Bucky's brows shot up.

"Oh, please tell me you pulled a Sweeney Todd?" Bucky’s love of musicals endearing especially when you’d catch him humming or the rare chance singing under his breath.

"My father would have killed me," you paused Bucky noticed the far off look in your eyes as you took in the softening hues of the horizon.

"I told him the next day after I put the remains in the dump.” You trailed off remembering your father’s tantrum. “He was upset don't get me wrong but I think that was the first time he was proud of me." With a bitter laugh, you sat up. Bucky pulled his hands from you with remorse, he wished he could remain in an intimate embrace forever, even if he didn't deserve such pleasures.

"But daddy issues will have to be for another night because looks like dawn is breaking." You nodded your head across the lake.

"Hmm, I like a girl with daddy issues." Bucky joked but you were fairly certain he meant it.

"I've got more than you can handle Barnes." You both stand stretching out your stagnant muscles before making way back to the compound to start another day with minimal sleep. Walking ahead you missed his last remark.

"You've got no idea how much I can handle toots."

Late one night you returned from a mission with Natasha. Parting ways you made your way to your quarters when halfway down the hall you hear soft whimpers, pausing you listen for where they could be coming from.

An agonizing cry carries through the door to your right. Bucky. Your heart began to race as you put your hand on the door handle. If he was hurting you didn’t want him to be alone. But was it your place to encroach in his personal life like this? You two were friends, close friends, but was this a boundary you could cross?

The whimpering starts back up and before you can think further you’re entering the room. It’s dark, but you can make out Bucky’s form tossing on his bed. You place one knee on the bed leaning over him, trailing your hand up to his flesh arm gently, trying to rouse him from his inner demons.

“Bucky,” The docile tone barely carries but it's enough for him to still, with your other hand you brush his hair off his damp forehead. His brow softens and you hate the way your heart flutters in response.

He rolls over to his side, his back to you and you remove your hand from his arm hoping this was enough to ease his demons for the night. A metal hand quickly wraps around our wrist. You try not to react, keeping yourself calm.

“Stay,” His voice is sleep ridden, the deep richness much more alluring than should be possible. He tugs your arm and you fall onto his bed. Your chest against this back.

“Please” You ache, his voice shaky and vulnerable, you wrap your arm around him, placing your palm center in his chest and rest your head on your bent arm.

“Of course,” Is all you can muster as he burrows into you. His breath evening out quickly.

When morning comes you aren’t sure what to expect but it certainly wasn’t this. Your fingers curl into a soft shirt as sleep began to fade, laying on your stomach your cheek pressed against warm firm muscles. Your eyes snap open and lookup.

Clear blue eyes peer down at you, Bucky halfway propped up against his headboard. The soft side smile curling on his lips makes stupid fluttering in your chest again. Oh, this was not good. Bucky’s arms curled around your back pushing you into him. Or was this perfect?

“Morning Toots,” the timbre of his voice pulls you back to reality.

“Morning,” Slowly sitting up to one side of the bed you stretch your arms above your head looking around. It hadn’t been even 4 hours since you crawled in bed with him but it felt like you had a full night rest. Looking out the corner of your eyes you catch Bucky still watching you.

“Thanks for last night,” A warm hand rests on your back, it's comforting in a way you can barely remember feeling in your life.

“Of course,” you mutter feeling uncomfortable with your own emotions. Bucky raises a brow at the shift, clouds forming over his eyes insecurity at seeing and hearing about his night terrors two different things.

“I mean,” You try to recover, not wanting to hurt him with your own damage. “Of course I’d be there for you.” looking at your lap you finger the hem of your sleep wrinkled shirt. “There’s no one I’d be there for more,” you look back at him bitting your lower lip, “Thank you Bucky.”

Something shifted, his eyes softening with an easy smile. You squeak when he pulls you back into the pillows.

“Alright Toots,” he mutters, your head below his chin both facing upward. “Let’s watch some morning cartoons then maybe breakfast?”

You nod your head unable to utilize your voice at this intimacy.

"I told you I'd take care of it just like I told you never to call me." Bucky paused at your cracked door, alarmed by the uncharacteristic rush of words and panic in your voice.

"They aren't gonna do shit," he knew he shouldn't be listening on what was clearly a private conversation but he could never stop himself when it came to you.

"Pops, they know if they pull anything I'll take them down and this time it won't be innocent getting hurt. They're all plenty guilty." Bucky could hear your teeth grind together spitting the words out.

Bucky could make out an older male voice saying your name with worry over the phone thanks to the serum enhancements. Worry over what was still unclear.

"They came round last night is all and gave their cryptic bullshit." Loud coughing came through on the phone "I thought you should know. Don't let me stop you from playing the superhero."

When the cell phone beeped for end call Bucky made his way towards his room.

He didn't see you again that day until he came to your door to see what movie you'd like to watch later. You were pulling your worn leather jacket on and the look on your face told him he wasn't going to like whatever you had to say.

"I'm sorry Buck but I gotta take care of some personal matters and I don't know how late I'll be." You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in worry. Missing time with Bucky seems like a crime considering how close you two had grown over the months.

He wanted to say I heard you on the phone don't do whatever stupid thing you might be doing alone but all he could get out was "That's alright, you want some company?"

"Nah, I think I should go it alone. Maybe next time?" You offered. Wouldn't it be nice to introduce him to your family? Pretend for a moment both of you weren't cracked pieces but instead friends with normal nuclear families.

But you didn't play pretend, not anymore.

"Be safe Toots." You left with nothing else.

He followed you if you wouldn't invite him along he'd at least keep an eye on you. Bucky knew you would only be upset if he got in the way but also knew if you needed help you weren’t someone to ask for it. Your tone on that call left him feeling uneasy about you going alone, while you didn’t need protecting Bucky couldn’t help the way he felt.

He almost lost you right away when Steve just had to show him this cute video he found online.

"I've gotta go, man!" Bucky's knees bounced erratically as he sat at the table waiting for Steve to pull the video up on his tablet.

"Jeez, where do you even need to be?" Steve muttered navigating the tablet.

"I've got stuff going on outside this place." Steve eyed Bucky but nodded his head.

"I can't find it right now anyway. Go on and stop acting like you've got ants in your pants." Bucky took off before Steve had even finished.

By the time he caught up, you had passed Hackensack and still heading south. Where you going into the city? He knew you were from the city but not sure where.

Keeping a safe distance you both made it to Staten Island. He shook his head taking in the sights of what used to be bustling areas of Staten Island now run down with some abandoned industrial buildings and overpopulated projects.

When you stopped in front of a butchery he knew this was the place and grabbed his trusted Betsy, useful in keeping a proper eye on you and safe. Not that you needed a lot of help with the latter. Looking across the street at the destitute multi-family building he decided that would be the most advantageous.

You walked into the brick worn store feeling nostalgia and apprehension all at once with the dinging of the doorbell atop the door frame.

"Pops?" You called out trailing your fingers across the wrapped hanging meats. He hadn't moved the unsold meat to the walk-in yet. You remembered long-lasting bruises from beatings over not getting the meat back in the chiller before dinner.

Your name was called out from the back but it sounded strained. Your brow creased, slowly making your way to the back end of the establishment.

Taking notice of the walk-in fridge door open and the yellowed overexposed strip curtains flapping you called out for your dad once more and his response sounding strained still from inside the fridge.

Standing a few feet in front of the barely see through curtains you could make out what appeared to be your dad in a chair. If you weren't suspicious before you knew now, things weren't right.

You took one step closer to the walk-in before someone charged out, a pipe in hand. Grabbing the pipe before it could impact, you head butt the would-be assailant gaining a sick satisfaction from the sound of their skull cracking. Your enhanced strength and skeletal makeup always fun for taking out bad guys.

A forearm wrapped around your neck from behind, you managed to get one hand between the arm and your neck to keep direct pressure off. Feeling the muscle in the arm and chest now pressed against your back you knew this one would take more work.

With a macabre smile, you began to charge the two of you back to the front of the shop slamming their back into a meat display case. Once the grip loosened from the behind, you flipped him from behind by holding the back of his neck, letting him land on his ass in front of you. Without missing a beat you snap his neck and release him to crumple on the floor.

"How many more?" You grunted.

"I don't know shithead maybe 20? They went upstairs." Your father's hoarse voice called from the walk-in. As you passed by and lifted a curtain slat to make sure he was alright you noticed the worn lines along his face you were unfamiliar with. In the past decade of your life, you had avoided him as much as possible, unwilling to subject yourself to his verbal abuse.

"You gonna die on me old man?" Helping him stand you took a catalog of his wounds nothing seemed severe, appearing they only roughed him up saving the lethal force for you.

Making your way up to your father's flat just above the shop you tried to quell the fluttering in your chest at the thought of all the carnage you were about to unleash. Seeing the light underneath the door you were almost giddy with excitement. No Avengers here to see the delight you took in pain.

Rolling your shoulders back and cracking your neck you whipped out two knives and kicked the door in, sending it off its hinges and into the room. The men inside are dressed in the typical mog sleaze attire you almost roll your eyes but knew better. They charged and you retaliated.

The sound of a window shattering followed by bodies drop you around you and high power rounds freeze your assailants in place but you fall to the floor for protection.

They brought a sniper?!

You were stunned as the men sent to attack you had bullets flying through their skulls. With a grimace, you stood back up realizing who was behind the gun.

"Bucky," you hissed in agitation.

Taking out a guy charging to your right from the kitchen with a quick uppercut feeling the jaw crush at impact and foot to the chest cracking ribs and sending them flying into a wall, you made your way over the pile of bodies to the shattered window.

Stilling you heard the baseboards behind you creak, ducking you whip your head back and smiled at the sound of a whizzing bullet flying through the air. The man behind you falling to the ground.

Standing up straight you lifted the holey curtain to the side looking up at the rooftop across the street.

Under the cover of darkness, you could make out his metal hand giving a two-finger wave and his stupid handsome boyish smile. Nodding your head in thanks, you made your way back downstairs to your father, assured Bucky would be there in no time as well.

You found your father dragging a body from the front end of the shop towards the basement access leaving a trail of blood. Rolling your eyes you lifted the body up with ease then proceeded to toss it down the basement stairs.

He stared you down, keeping eye contact you raised an eyebrow challenging the old man to say a word. Before the traditional verbal sparring could start between you two the sound of boots crushing on broken glass interrupts.

Your father puts his fists up at Bucky's dark shadow leaning against the frame between the front and back of the shop. Bucky studied the body language between the two of you. Your father was a short man and the only visible familiarity the scowl you both pointed his way.

"Pops, this is a friend. That's my job right?" Your father side-eyes you, one that used to scare you as a child now reminds you how much you hated him as a kid.

"We need to call the team," Bucky made his way towards the two of you.

"No!" Your father and you echo. Bucky's brow rises in suspicion, stopping mid-step.

"Listen, Barnes,” Bucky frowned at the formality. “I don't expect you to understand but I've got old contacts that can help me take care of this." You try to keep it vague knowing he'd press you about it later if he felt it was pertinent.

"Yeah Barnes," your father's chest-puffing out and you roll your eyes at him trying to assert dominance. "They're pretty good at cleaning up these messes shithead makes."

"My mess?!” Your face written with disbelief. “ Pretty sure you made this one all on your own." He really hadn't changed over the years, never any culpability. Arguing you missed the way Bucky's eyes narrowed on your father.

"Now shithead," Bucky’s hands curled into fists at your father’s disparaging words. "I may have caused the situation but you laid the bodies down."

The animosity in the back of your father's butchery was palpable. Just like growing up. The only new piece in the aquation being Bucky’s steely glare pointed at your father. You didn’t have it in you to wonder why he held such a hard look for a man he just met. Though your father didn’t really instill much camaraderie in strangers, let alone in his own family.

"Call them and clean up the shop old man." Walking past your father he grabbed your upper arm, looking back at him, his eyes softened in an abnormal manner.

"Don't be dumb," his voice full of concern caught you off guard. Not knowing how to handle this side of a man you only knew as rough you pulled your arm from his grip.

"It's all I know how to be right?" Looking at Bucky you nodded your head to follow him out the front. Missing the remorseful look of your father.

Standing in front of the store with Bucky you feel nervous. When he steps in front of you keeping eye contact you lift your head up and feel your heartbeat faster but not from the adrenaline of a fight.

His eyes locked onto the blood marring your check, his right hand comes up to wipe clean. You stop breathing for the briefest of a moment at his touch.

"You're dad's a real charmer, Toots." You chuckle shaking your head causing his hand to fall away. "I'm starting to see why you killed so young, dad like that would drive anyone to violence."

You can't help the glare you direct at him.

"He didn't drive me to murder, not at first at least." Bucky opened his mouth to clearly inquire what that meant but you cut him off.

"I appreciate your help Buck," you rest your hand on his left shoulder squeezing gently where metal meets flesh "I really do but I've gotta do the next step on my own."

"And what's that?" Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and you sighed, it was hard to refuse those beautiful blue eyes.

"If you're gonna come with I'm afraid you'll get more red on your hands." Bucky shrugged his shoulders with a flare of dramatics your hand slipping off.

"I'd hate to miss seeing that little crooked smile you get when you enjoy a kill." He takes a step closer, your breaths mixing. "Really gets me going." His words and smirk that slides over his face pull a gasp from you.

"James Barnes!" Your tone hushed with an indiscernible tone, "your momma know you talk to ladies like that?"

His smile only widened, skin folding at the corner of his eyes.

"What she don’t know won't hurt 'er." He lifted his hand gesturing towards his car. "Betsy's secure in the back waiting to see what other shenanigans you can get her into tonight." You snickered at his nickname for his m249.

#james buchanan barnes #james barnes #Bucky Barnes #james barnes x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x Female Reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #eventual smut #cannon violence #bucky barnes x reader

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