#look at my strange little man. my household freak

[azira-fucking-phale]

For all my pathetic man enjoyers I kindly direct you to this scene from Close Encounters

[boricuacherry-blog]

The Gay home evoked the aura of the Addams Family. The minute I walked through the door, I was uncomfortable.

Mother Gay was essentially a sweet lady but had little interest in me. I quickly saw that her main concern was the man who ruled over the household like a lord: Father.

Father Gay's presence - or absence - was always on Mother's mind. For long periods of time he remained in his upstairs bedroom, separate from Mother's. When he wanted something - a cup of coffee, a sandwich, a freshly ironed shirt - he rang a bell attached to a string. When he decided to make his grand appearance, it was always an event.

The first time I saw him I was shocked. In that instant, I knew why Marvin had been loathe to discuss him.

He came down the stairs with pink rollers in his hair. He wore a form-fitting shirt unbuttoned to expose his upper torso. It was not a pretty sight. The curlers were strange enough. But the white-toned panty hose under his plaid Bermuda shorts and the fact that he was wearing his wife's red flat sandals put him in a category all his own. I didn't know the name of that category. All I knew was that this man was beyond strange. Slight of build with undistinguished features, he was imperiously vain. He strutted like q peacock. He spoke like a trained actor. When he addressed me, he was courteous. But I was so freaked out by his appearance, I hardly heard his words.

Mother Gay called him Doc. He called her Babe and kept a notebook that critiqued her housekeeping. Surveying the house like a drill sergeant, he jotted down, "Dishes: dirty ... couch: dusty ... curtains: soiled." More disturbing than this, though, were the frequent female visitors who arrived at the house, and with Mother Gay's knowledge, paraded up to his bedroom. They were typically women from his church with big behinds.

"Father," Marvin's brother Frankie told me, "is a booty man."

When Father wasn't around, Frankie was also telling me the facts that Marvin had not been able to bring himself to describe - the gruesome details of the beatings that Marvin suffered as a boy.

"My sisters and I obeyed him," said Frankie. "That was the easiest way out. Why make him mad? But Marvin isn't made that way. You can't tell Marvin what to do. Mother spoiled Marvin early on, made him feel like he was a little prince. Well, the king might be the king, but the prince ain't listening to him. Making it even worse, the king is dressing up like a queen. He's wearing frilly blouses that look more suited for Mother than him. Sometimes we catch him wearing Mother's underwear. We hate that. We hate how he goes out in the streets with his hair in curlers. It's bad enough we can't go to any of the normal black churches where our friends go. We gotta go to his strange little church that tells us we can't dance or listen to rock 'n' roll. And we also gotta hear the taunts of our buddies calling him queer. We know that's not true. But we can't shout back and say, 'Hey, our dad likes women, 'cause we see 'em coming through the house.' We just gotta shut up and take it. That's rough, especially since we're always reminded that our last name is Gay. There were times, though, when we didn't take it. There were times when both me and Marvin had to fight to defend our father's honor. After one nasty fight where Marvin got his nose bloodied and Father asked him why, Marvin just came out and said it. He told him that he looked like a homosexual and that he was bringing shame to all of us."

"How old was Marvin when this happened?" I asked.

"Nine or ten."

"What did your father do?"

"He beat the holy hell out of him. Only this time it was different. This time he locked him in our room and made him wait there for an hour. While Marvin waited, Father kept snapping his belt against the door so Marvin could think about what was about to happen. It was like torture.

'"You got one chance to get outta this,' Father said. 'You gonna come out here and apologize to me and everyone else in this family, or I'm coming in after you.'

"Marvin shouted back, 'You're the one who should be apologizing! You're the one going round looking like a queer.'

"That did it. Father went in after him. But this beating was different. Not only did he give him a whipping, but he tore off all his clothes beforehand. It was a struggle. Marvin fought back, but he was only a kid. He couldn't fight off a grown man. Father overpowered him, he beat Marvin butt naked, not just with the leather belt but with the buckle as well. He tore into his skin and left these big welts. Then Father made him stay home from school for weeks 'cause he was scared the teachers at school might see the marks on Marvin's back and call social services. After that, you'd think Marvin would learn - as I did- not to answer back. But he never learned that. No matter how bad the beatings, Marvin never backed down."

"But it wasn't just Father. It was an uncle of ours who actually molested Marvin. When Marvin told Father about it, Father didn't believe him. But I knew Marvin was telling the truth. I saw it happen. I wanted to stick up for Marvin, but I was afraid of Father. We all were."

I was happy to escape the oppressive atmosphere there. On a few occasions Marvin took a break from touring to visit his family and me. I noticed how he and Father assiduously avoided each other. Father rarely left his room. When he did come downstairs, Marvin got up and left. Few words were exchanged. The atmosphere was ice cold. Not even the smallest hint of affection. I was happy to escape the oppressive atmosphere there. Compared to the Gays, my mom seemed perfectly sane.

-Janis Hunter

[j-amespotter]

★ exile - s. b.

“you’re not my homeland anymore.”

Pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Reader x Male!OC

x. x. x.

Summary: Sirius is caught in the middle of a quarrel between two lovers; AU where Harry is raised by his godmother.

Genre/Warnings: angst, language, mentions of death & war, dumbledore-bashing 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone, but i plan on writing a part 2 based on the song ivy (for those who would like a semi-happier ending). let me know if you want to be on my general/a character-specific taglist. 

masterlist

Sirius probably should not have stayed behind. All context clues pointed to the fact that he probably should leave the dining room. However, it was his dining room. It wasn’t his fault you were having a full-fledged argument with someone that was a complete stranger to him in his house. 

To be fair, he was still processing. Twelve years in Azkaban had him always prepared for the worst, but with Remus’s forgiveness and Harry’s acceptance of him, he was on a high. A high that, unfortunately, came crashing down the minute he discovered his girlfriend (Ex-girlfriend? There wasn’t ever actually a break-up, but Sirius got the hint pretty fast) had married in the fourteen years they spent apart. 

He supposed he should be thankful. Thanks to you and your husband, Harry grew up in a loving household. Harry had a family. 

John. His name was John. The name itself disgusted him. As he got to know John, it comforted him to find out that he was every bit a square as his name suggested. He was nice, though. Sirius couldn’t deny that. Stable. Perfect. Blonde. 

It was thrilling, actually. Watching his perfection deteriorate right there, in Sirius’s dining room. And besides the personal delight it brought to see you frown at John, Sirius had a right to be there. You were fighting about matters that concerned his godson, and he had already failed Harry for twelve years. 

“I’m telling you, (Y/N). We need to trust Dumbledore,” John argued with his wife. He sounded tired. Sirius hoped he wasn’t smirking, but at the same time, he didn’t really care. As perfect as this man seemed to be, he very obviously lacked the stamina to keep up with you. This fact satisfied him immensely. 

Sirius watched as you scoffed. “Dumbledore has got nothing to do with this. He’s my godson. I’m the one that raised him. Dumbledore stepped in when it was convenient for him – now when Harry’s grown up and useful.” 

John looked at you with an odd, doubtful expression on his face. “You weren’t the only one that raised him,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that…” you trailed off nervously. Sirius found it strange to see you back down so easily. He dared to hope that there was some trouble in paradise but was too well-acquainted with disappointment to let it flourish.

The three of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Sirius, having remained uncharacteristically quiet in the encounter thus far, wondered if he should intervene. Before he could form a coherent thought, John broke the silence. “I don’t see why we should tell Harry the prophecy if you haven’t even told me yet.” 

For the first time all night, and quite involuntarily, you met Sirius’s eye. Out of the five people who knew of the prophecy’s full contents, only three survived. Fortunately for you, your husband did not notice the interaction – Sirius gathered that John remained blissfully unaware of your romantic history. “Nobody in the Order knows,” you said, “and nobody is supposed to know. I don’t want to tell Harry the prophecy. I just want him to know what to expect. There is danger in the Department of Mysteries, and if Dumbledore thinks Voldemort will try to lure him there, he should know it. You know how Harry is, John. If we don’t give him answers, he’ll go looking for them himself.” 

John winced at the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name. “But Dumbledore…”

“I agree with (Y/N),” interrupted Sirius finally. “It is not Dumbledore’s decision; it is ours. (Y/N)’s and mine. We are his godparents.”

John, who had no reason to dislike Sirius, stared at him in irritation. “Fine, if that’s what you think. You reap what you sow, I suppose.” With a firm glance, he turned to you. “I have sacrificed so much for you and Harry, yet you always keep me at arm’s length. Let me know when you’re ready to be a family.” With that, he got up and left the dining room. 

You flushed. Sirius felt a wave of fury at the man. How dare he throw that in your face? Selfish bastard. He waited for John’s footsteps to fade away. “Some guy you’ve got there,” he remarked sarcastically. 

Your eyes snapped in his direction. “He’s not ‘some guy.’ He’s my husband. And what business did you have, stepping in like that? I can handle myself.” 

“You didn’t ask me to leave,” Sirius pointed out without missing a beat. 

“I let you stay out of courtesy, Black. You are Harry’s godfather. I can’t change that.” 

“Good. Merlin knows you tried,” he said, glancing in the general direction of the door John just walked out. “See, we even argue better.”  

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t love him,” said Sirius matter-of-factly.

Anger flared in your eyes. “Yes, I do.” 

“Bullshit,” said Sirius, invigorated by your blazing look. “You're forgetting that I’ve seen it when you’re in love. Was on the receiving end, in fact. If you love him, you absolutely worshipped me.”

You looked at him, scandalized by the insinuation. “You’re an arse.” 

“Maybe, but one that speaks cold, hard facts.” He watched you, his pale eyes attempting to memorize your features. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped. 

“Can’t help it, love,” he said casually. It felt like fitting into an old rhythm. Sirius refused to believe you couldn’t feel the same way. 

You sat in silence for a while, but not like the awkward silence that enveloped the room when John occupied the space. You stared at your glass, lost in thought. “At least he didn’t leave.” 

Sirius swallowed heavily. “You didn’t stop me.” 

You looked indignant. “You must be joking.” 

“You’re freaking me out, Sirius. What the hell happened?” You clutched his arm, shaking him for answers. 

Sirius was inconsolable. “J-James and Lily… d-dead.” His voice cracked. 

Tears spilled out of your eyes. “N-No, that’s not possible. You said they were safe, that everything was fine!” 

He was trembling. You could barely make out his words. “The little rat…” 

“W-Who?” You were crying. Lily… your best friend… She couldn’t be dead. Bright, bubbly, perfect Lily Potter could not be dead. 

Suddenly, Sirius was standing up, wiping his eyes. “I have to go.” 

Your eyes widened. “What? Where? Where’s Harry?” 

“With Dumbledore. I have to go.” 

“Wait, don’t leave me here–” But with a crack, he was gone. 

Sirius sighed, rubbing his unkempt beard. “You didn’t come after me. You didn’t stop them from taking me. You didn’t get me out.” 

“How the hell was I supposed to do that? You didn’t tell me about switching the Secret-Keepers. You didn’t have an orphaned baby in your lap. And I saw your picture in the paper. Do you even know how deranged you looked? What was I supposed to do?”

“Goddamnit, I don’t know! Everything went wrong…” Sirius said, raising his voice slightly. “I lost my best friend.” 

“So did I,” you whispered. “Harry lost his parents. We both needed you.” 

“But I wasn’t there…” 

You shook your head. “No, you weren’t.” 

“And John was?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m here now,” said Sirius in a resigned voice. 

“I can see that,” you joked with a sad smile. “I’m glad. We both are – Harry and me.” 

“You raised him well,” said Sirius sincerely. “James and Lily would’ve been proud of him.” 

You smiled at him like never before. His heart thudded against his chest. “I hope so. Thank you.” 

“Does he make you happy?” 

You stared at a spot over his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s none of your concern, Sirius.” 

“It always will be, you know that.” You deserve better, he wanted to say. Better than him and me. 

You deserved someone who completed you, not just someone who fits the mold. As you bid him goodnight, Sirius couldn’t help the twinge of envy brewing in his chest. Beyond his jealousy and hatred of John, he felt sad. Sirius recognized the unhappiness in your eyes, and he felt helpless. There was nothing he could do for you anymore. 

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly​ @lunalovecroft​

[thewincestgospel]

Wincest and J2 High School Fics

2028 AD by inlustwithsammy 

It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.

a first time for everything by riyku  In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku

Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...

All The Other Kids  by AureaMediocritas   Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.        

Baby Steps by cherie_morte    AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.

Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey  In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.

Bend and Break by Winmance  If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex. But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.

Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.

Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805   There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars

The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords  Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Flagstaff by  Linden  John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Go, Dean... by orphan_account  Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?

“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”

Good as New  by  sixtysevenlmpala  When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.

Hope You Don't Mind by compo67  Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.

I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.

The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon  Unrelated Wincest High School AU. Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?

Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl  Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.

Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.

Mr High School by  kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash

Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15  Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."

Say the Words by dollylux  A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)

Touch and Go by versaillesatnight  Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.

White Knight by echoes_of_another_life  Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.

Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).

You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink)  The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.

you're a real f*ing page-turner by  grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.

Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.

[quiet-onset]

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact. 

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant. 

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside. 

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume. 

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up. 

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew. 

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

— 

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.” 

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.” 

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay. 

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go. 

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you. 

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment. 

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America. 

And Captain America he was. 

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed. 

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you. 

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Took you long enough.”

[iwalc]

Take me home

Hi people! I hope you are all well! Here is a something I've worked on for a while. Uhm, I realise now that I have never posted anything I've written on here before, so I am a little nervouse, ngl. I've been into a horrible writersblock for over a year now and this is the firt piece I've even been able to finish, which also makes me kind of nervouse. Either way, here it is. I hope you'll like it, and if you do, pls let me know.

Wordcount: around 2500.

I haven't really proofread anything, so if there are anything that's a bit off, then I apologise.

Damn it. I lost. Again. Here I am pissed drunk in a bar, far away from home. Or... what's supposed to be my home. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast.

Almost a year ago I moved from home. It was sudden but necessary. I got into college in London and saw my opportunity to leave my abusive household. For years the mental abuse had just gradually gotten worse. Although I love my parents to bits, it was not a healthy surrounding and I needed a new perspective. I moved into a small apartment a few minutes from my college. The apartment wasn't really luxurious. But what could I expect with rent that cheap. It was alright. For me at least. Soon after the move classes started. The first few days were rough. A lot of new things, new people, new surroundings and I was all alone. You see, I am not a fan of new things. I'd rather be stuck with everything the same than have the winds of change knock everything I know to pieces. That's what I soon noticed. I didn't recognise anything anymore. Everything was to pieces. I've never felt so lost or scared.

After a while, these strange feelings of insecurity and fear decreased a bit. I started seeing people from my classes. We went to lunches, studied, went out on the weekends. For the first time in a long while it felt like my life was starting to get better. I felt alive, not only like I was just existing. I felt normal. I lived in a large city, in a tiny apartment, barely being able to pay rent, eating fish sticks and whatever else cheap food that Tesco happened to sell out, spending all money on weekends clubbing, listening to bands, laughing, getting shitfaced, having the time of my life.

On one of these nights, I met someone. Someone that would change my life drastically, and thank god it was for the better. It was an ordinary weekend. Me and the girls got ready for a night out, as usual. Only this time we were to meet Angela's boyfriend and his friends. Everyone was crazy excited. I tried to be, but as we have stated before, I'm not doing very well with breaking routines or new things, hence my increasing anxiety. To cut the chase, Angela's boyfriend had nice friends. Especially one of them. Brian. I don't really know what drew me to him. He just seemed so calm and safe. Somewhat on my level. The others, Angela, Jessica and Amanda, were all outgoing girls, finding it easy to talk and meet new people, having no trouble being in the centre of attention. I did not enjoy those types of things. I enjoyed letting others being in the centre of attention and them leading the way. I thrive in the shadows of other people and Brian seemed to be the same way. He was the quiet one, the one in the shadows. But he didn't seem shy. He sat comfortably in the booth, a beer in his hand, listening in to the conversations, taking part in them whenever it was needed. He seemed so calm, safe, secure. Something I craved. He was tall, green, welcoming eyes. Angela sat down beside her boyfriend, Roger, a blonde, seemingly handsome guy. Jessica was called over to Freddie, a dark-haired man, seemingly not afraid to stand in the centre of attention, he was very authentic and expressive. At first, I'd say he'd be a bitch, but he was so nice and welcoming. Such a sweetheart. Amanda sat down between Jessica and John and they got carried away with their conversation pretty quickly.

Me being me, trying to read the room, the new people, anxiously stood there, at the end of the table. My anxiety started to peak at this uncomfortable social situation. I had no idea what to do. I froze. The others seemed engulfed in their conversations and bonding and hadn't noticed my uncomfortable state. But Brian did. He seemed to understand and saw my anxiety. It was amazing how he just knew how to deal with it without scaring me off more. He redirected his attention towards where I stood. He calmly called my name. His voice. I've never ever felt more secure. After a few calls, and his hand gracing mine, I zoned in again and once again became aware of my surroundings. His touch. Warm. Soft. Peaceful. "Hey" he said softly, "would you like to sit down?" he asked as he carefully for a second took a hold of my hand, with me not showing any sign of uncomfort, he carefully guided me to sit down beside him, a soft smile gracing his lips. "I'm so sorry for zoning out like that, thank you" I quietly whispered. He once again took a soft hold of my hand, smiling, "Don't apologise, I understand". Something told me he did understand.

And ever since we met that night, at a pub in Kensington, he has made me feel at home. Safe. Comfortable. My pieces were glued together again. Brian was my everything. He still is. The last few months with him has been filled with such happiness and security I never ever thought I'd experience. I love him to bits. He understands me and my needs like no other. He knows how to take care of my anxiety attacks. He knows how to help me relax. He is my rock in a stormy ocean.

Until today. Earlier today, the pieces he glued together, fell apart, again. Today we moved in together. We figured it would help with our economic situation since we were both students. I mean, we love each other so why not. Well. This is why. I am once again falling apart. My pieces are flying away. I couldn't handle one more change. I've broken up with my family, moved away from home, started college, all in the period of 6 months. It was too much. And now this. I love him. But my world has been picked apart once more.

The whole day I've been feeling my anxiety increasing. Usually, Brian notices or I feel comfortable telling him, but this time I noticed how excited he was, I didn't want to hurt him with my bullshit. It's horrible feeling yourself falling apart but not be able to do anything about it. It was 7 pm and Brian was unpacking things in the living room while I sat on the sofa trying not to lose it. He kept talking about how happy he was and how this was a dream of his. How excited he was to share his life with me, to love me. All the while he was so happy babbling away, I was freaking out. To say the least.

My anxiety kept increasing and now I couldn't handle it anymore. I felt my breathing quickening, my hands and legs started to shake and tears started to stream down my eyes. I couldn't do this. What have I done? "Love? What do you think hanging this here?" Brian asked excitedly holding up a poster on the wall. I couldn't breathe. "Love?" Brian asked before he turned around. My knees were up to my chin, hands holding them in place, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my eyes. Brian was shocked to see me in this state of mind but wasted no time. He hurried up to me on the sofa. He sat down on his knees in front of me, his hands on my cheeks. "Love, look at me" he pleaded with a calm voice. "Love" he said, more firmly this time. "Shh you're okay, love, I got you" he said as I lifted my head to look at him. I was frightened. His beautiful, angelic face that earlier always brought me peace and comfort were now triggering my anxiety. I ran. I ran out of the apartment, down the staircase and out of the building. Before leaving the building I heard Brian calling my name, running after me.

That's where I am right now. I ran to a pub, the pub we met at. I'm drunk. Anger, love, confusion, roads that lead nowhere. As to lately, I don't know what has gotten into me. We all know life's a rollercoaster, ups and downs, downs and ups. This time I wasn't prepared. I've hit the ground. Hard. Everything happened so fast. Wrapped up so consumed by all this confusion. With every thought I down a beer. "Could I get another one pls?" I slurred to the bartender. But no. No way I was going to drink more tonight. I don't know if it was intentional or not to go to the only pub in London where I'm recognisable since we go there all the time. Maybe I wanted to be found. The bartender declined and then went through a doorway to the kitchen. I heard him talking on the phone. He was talking about me. More than that I couldn't recognise and soon after my head hit the table and I was out.

I woke up in a bed. It took some time to locate where I was, but soon I noticed I was in our apartment. My head was killing me along with the anxiety and guilt. What the hell happened. I had no idea.

Soon enough Brian entered the room. I couldn't do anything. I barely dared to look at him. He looked exhausted. And there was something else, it shocked me that I couldn't decipher what it was.

"Hi" he calmly said as he strode to my side of the bed and set down a glass of water and aspirin.

"Hi" I vaguely answered.

The silence took over the room. I barely dared to move but did to take my aspirin and drink some well-needed water. Not letting my eyes of Brian, I watched as his tall body sat down on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he calmly asked as his hand strode closer to me but he didn't dare to touch me, probably confused by my signals yesterday.

I met him halfway and took a hold of his large and warm hand. As soon as he felt my hand on his he held mine tighter and let out a breath I didn't know he was holding.

"I don't know how to answer that" you answered honestly.

Brian hummed and stroked my hand with his thumb, looking at our locked hands.

"You scared me" he whispered. Tears threatening to leave his eyes.

That hurt.

"I'm so sorry" I panicked and sat up, only to regret it as my head almost pounded you dead. "Ow," I winced as my free hand went to hold my forehead.

"Careful" Brian voiced as calmly as ever. His eyes scanned around the room, trying to muster the courage for what he was to say next. He cleared his throat. "Can we talk about what happened?" he almost whispered, taking my hand in both of his, stroking it with his thumbs.

Of course, he wants to talk about it. There is nothing strange about that. However, I rather not. What am I supposed to say? That I panicked, that his face suddenly made me uneasy? That... I don't know. Suddenly I felt his hand upon my cheek. I must've zoned out.

"hey, it's alright"

I let out a loud sigh, catching Brians attention. "Brian, it is not alright. I'm a mess. What I did wasn't alright." Tears were now streaming down my cheeks. Burning like fire. Brians weight shifted as he crawled onto the bed, laying down behind me, embracing me like never before. His arms around my aching stomach and my arms. His leg over mine. His chin in the crook of my neck, whispering calming sentences while my tears shook my body. His body warming mine. It's always so calming.

How can I be so damn lucky? I ran away from home, from my love, I got piss drunk at a pub, and still, he took me home, taking care of me, holding me, loving me like no other. It's suffocating in the best way.

The tears calmed down. "Brian, I want to come home", I sniffed, crampingly grabbing onto his large, warm hand. "I'm hurting. I'm so lost. Confused. Angry." the tears were now rapidly streaming down my face again as I poured my aching heart out. "I really had to get away from home to live my life, to get better. When I first got here I felt cheated. It was so hard and I've never been worse my whole life. I've never felt more alone, left out, beaten up." I kept rambling on. "I know, love, I know." Brian cooed into my neck, stroking my arm. "But you don't Brian. I can't seem to find my way home. I'm so lost." I said as tears wrecked my body. Brian, holding me, securing me, hushing me, whispering sweet things. "I don't even know how you put up with me. I'm so broken. I came to you with a broken faith, and you gave me more than a hand to hold." The first time I voiced my fear and insecurity about how Brian feel about me. I'm so scared he'll leave me. He's all I've got. "Love, shh, It's ok. Hey, listen to me." he started as he turned me so I could look at him. "I understand that you feel like you're lost, I really do. Everything you've ever known has changed in less than a year. Space will eventually make it better, time will make it heal, and soon enough you won't feel like you're haunted. You won't be lost forever!" He praised as his hand stroked my cheek. Emphasizing the last sentence. I won't be lost forever.

"I'm so scared Brian"

"I know baby" he embraced me, "I know."

"I need you, Brian, don't leave me please, you're all I've got." I cried into his chest.

"Baby I won't. I never could. I love you! I will hold you. I will take you home. I'll be here every step of the way. I'll be your home." He said as my body once more broke down in tears.

I know there must be somewhere better because he always takes me there. Maybe I've found my home. I think he's my home.

[awyeahitssam]

Harry opens up about the Dursley’s - to a point. Voldemort/Harry pre-slash, warnings for discussions of child abuse and captivity.

The door creaks open. Harry looks up from his book, stilling the restless tapping of his fingers on the page. 

“Good afternoon,” he tells Voldemort cordially. Every time he’s angered the Dark Lord he has been left alone for days; Harry’s relative politeness seems to please him. Not that he, by any means, enjoys dining with the Death Eaters, but a change of scenery is always nice. One can only read for so long in a windowless room.

Voldemort does not, of course, return the nicety. Instead he conjures a chair and takes a seat in front of Harry, something strange gleaming in his red eyes. “You will tell me about your relatives,” he commands.

Harry is surprised, though perhaps he shouldn’t be. Voldemort has always shown great curiosity towards him, yet he readily believed that Harry had been, as Snape suggested, raised in the lap of luxury. “Will I?” he asks, more to stall than anything.

Voldemort glares. “You dare question me?”

“Someone needs to,” Harry mutters. Then he sighs, marking his place in the book and setting it aside. “You would like a story? Fine.”

“Once upon a time,” he says, completely ignoring the irritation he can feel buzzing in his forehead, “a baby was left on a doorstep. It was presumably cold, being November 1st, 1981, the morning after the child was orphaned. He was left in a blanket he would use for many years to come, with a letter.”

“His muggle aunt found him in the morning and read the letter. It told her that her sister and brother-in-law were dead, and she was responsible for taking care of their child. Presumably there would be dire consequences if she chose to discard him. The last thing she wanted was a freak in her household and she would have sooner dropped the baby in the gutter if not threatened.”

Voldemort’s gaze was intent and hot on Harry’s face, quick to process any emotions Harry revealed. Harry endeavored to push away his spite, his fear, his anger. He distanced himself from the tale, pretending that he was not speaking of himself.

“Her husband agreed that keeping the baby would be safer. They decided that they would beat the freakishness out of the child, mind you with no proof at that point that it was magical. They raised the boy, making it clear that he was unwanted. On what he would later learn to be his fourth birthday, he was set in front of the stove and taught to cook. This would become one of his many chores.”

“They didn’t hit him often,” Harry continued steadily, eyes looking somewhere far past Voldemort. His scar was burning. “Only when his magic acted up, or he prepared the food wrong, or when he was in their way. The boy learned very quickly that being in the Dursley’s way was a very stupid place to be.”

“When he was five, he learned his name. Harry Potter. He was surprised—he knew that Boy was not his name, but it, along with Freak, was all he had ever known. Now he had two names.” Harry smiled mirthlessly. “He treasured them. He was eager to escape the Dursley’s home, and school was a marvelous reprieve. The teachers were polite, even if he was odd. They did not hit him or yell at him at all. The children didn’t pay him very much attention. After all, Harry was good at fading into the background.”

Doubt brushed his senses, but Harry ignored it. 

“Reports were quarterly, and Harry’s marks were rather good. Better than his cousins. The Dursely’s did not like that, and Harry did not like his punishment. Rumors spread, then, about how he was truly a very dim boy. That he must have cheated to have answered correctly. About how he picked on his older cousin constantly, and would rather talk with his fists than anything.”

“And the teachers, who had observed him for three months at this point, believed every word out of the Dursley’s mouth. So Harry learned not to do well in school.” Here, Harry closed his eyes. He could still feel his fear… his desperation… it was a familiar companion, even now. “He didn’t want to be hurt anymore. That was the only thing he wished for, in the years to come.”

Voldemort made a noise, deep in the back of his throat, but Harry paid it no mind. It was not worth deciphering the sneer or laugh; Harry did not need to know how Voldemort reveled in his miserable childhood. 

“His bruises were seen, of course, but they were put down to childish roughhousing, especially as he gained a reputation as a bully. A rather funny thing to believe, considering that Harry was a great deal smaller than the rest of his classmates, and it was he who was chased. The game was creatively named ‘Harry Hunting’. He learned to run fast, though it made him dizzy and weak. He wasn’t allowed much to eat, you see.”

“His life continued that way for many years. He lived in the cupboard under the stairs with his spiders, sometimes smuggling food out of the rubbish bin when he thought he might starve. That cupboard was both his cage and his sanctuary, until a letter came. Realizing that they were being spied on, the Dursley’s moved him to their son's second bedroom of broken toys, but Harry was far more entranced to learn that he was accepted into Hogwarts. He was not a freak after all; or so he allowed himself to believe.”

Irritation and rage hissed along his and Voldemort’s link. Harry still carried on, paying his audience no mind. 

“He learned shortly that his hope was misplaced. Hagrid showed him into Diagon Alley for the first time, and he was swarmed with people very interested in the scar on his forehead, left by his parents murderer. Harry discovered that he would never be allowed normalcy; that the reason he had a scar was because he apparently murdered a man as a babe.”

“Harry wondered,” he said very softly, “if that meant he could murder another man. His uncle, perhaps. That too was a cause to be celebrated, he thought. But he did not know the rules or reasons of why he was being congratulated, did not know if murder was actually acceptable in the wizarding world. He asked Hagrid; the man did not think the question odd. He said that of course murder was not okay, but this was You-Know-Who. Different rules applied.” 

“The wizarding world was far more complex than the Dursley’s. There were many unspoken rules. Harry did not know half of the unspoken rules of the muggle world, and yet he was expected to know everything about a brand new culture. People had opinions on who he was and how he should act. And Harry’s talent of fading into the background was useless. Wasted.”

Harry’s magic fluctuated around him, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His thoughts settled in his mind. His words slowed to the tempo they had been at the start of his tale. 

“But of course, that has nothing to do with my relatives, and I believe you have received your answer. So I suppose I should say: The End.”

“So you have not stayed with them from the time you entered Hogwarts?”

Harry’s eyes snapped open. Voldemort’s gaze was dark, and Harry gritted his teeth at the painful pulsing of his scar. “I have, actually,” he said tightly. “I’ve already told you more than anybody else knows, and it’s quite enough. Yes, I’ve suffered outside of your hands—boo hoo, muggles can torture children too! This is the part where you storm off and leave me locked in this bloody room for the next week, proving yourself little better!”

Ah. His temper. He had been doing so well, but grief could only mute his rage for so long. Voldemort just didn’t know when to quit. 

Red eyes flared, and Voldemort stood, taking a step closer. “Have I laid a hand on you, Harry?” the Dark Lord demanded. “Have I raised my wand? You are in this room, a room in my Wing, because otherwise you would be in the dungeons where my followers could torture you at leisure. Would you prefer those accommodations? Would you say I, who feed you and give you books and never once pretend you are stupid, are worse than your muggles?”

Harry was taken aback. He had been here for over a month, and waiting to be tortured all the time—but he hadn’t been. The one time somebody cast in his direction, they writhed under the cruciatus while Harry watched on. 

He sighed, emotionally exhausted by both his story and the entire situation. Voldemort’s outrage pulsed in his temples. He raised his eyes to meet red, not bothering to stand. “Do I think you’re worse than the Dursley’s? No. But then again, I never have. And while I appreciate the lack of torture and being left alive well enough, a prison is still a prison. And this is mine.”

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

now that my notifs are back, take this word vomit. i’m not really sure what this is. also i’ve stopped being a bitch and have learned how to put things under a cut-

pairing: kuroo x reader

I.

Your first meeting with Kuroo isn’t exactly the ideal. Initially, you knew him as the tall guy in your first-year class with the terrible bedhead and the loud, cackle-like laugh. People called him the volleyball nerd, and you could understand it well. When he wasn’t fighting with his shorter friend, all you ever heard him talking about was volleyball this, volleyball that. It wasn’t that you were eavesdropping; he just happened to be your seat mate, and anybody that loud could be heard from the next room over.

By your first meeting, though, you knew him mostly as the pest. 

“Please, Yaku,” you hear the tall boy croon with a roll of his eyes. “Dogs are where it’s at. They actually react when you’re around.”

“The sheer silence and peace from cats are superior to whatever a dog can give you,” the shorter boy replies. So that’s Yaku, you think. 

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” Kuroo cackles, too focused on the conversation to realize that another student was walking toward him. 

Before he was able to even take a look at the area around him, the said student bumps into his arm, shaking the drink that he was holding with a loose hand. The next thing you know, you’re drenched in what smelled and seemed to be canned coffee. You hear both Kuroo and Yaku cuss, but you’re way too preoccupied with figuring out how to get the stain out. Leaving your desk immediately, you rush to the bathroom, taking off the wet jacket you were wearing and fruitlessly wringing it.

You spend nearly half an hour in the bathroom, and you’re definitely late to first period. Today sucked, and so did Kuroo. Walking out of the bathroom, fuming, you’re internally bracing yourself for the humiliation as to why you have a giant coffee stain on the shoulder of your white uniform shirt. It’s not subtle at all, and you didn’t even bring your gym clothes today, seeing that your gym periods were only on Thursdays and Fridays. 

Awkwardly opening the door to your classroom, you’re hunched over, walking quietly toward your desk; however, two things surprise you. The first is that your math teacher doesn’t chew you out like he usually does to late students. The second is the Nekoma jersey and note resting on your desk. Eyeing your seat mate, Kuroo gives you an apologetic smile and wave and points to the note on your desk.

“I’m really sorry about this morning. Take my jersey to cover up. It’s still clean. Also, don’t worry about the old man. I already explained it to him, and he really gave me an earful.”

Looking back and forth between him and the note, you feel a small smile creep up on your face. The jersey has sleeves long enough to cover your hands completely, so you have to do some folding, but it’s warm and smells uncharacteristically fruity for a guy like him. You almost want to write a note back and ask about the detergent his household uses.

When lunch break starts, both him and Yaku give you a formal apology and a juice box. You start to think that the spilt coffee was worth it; you’ve made two new friends and have come to the realization that you maybe don’t hate Kuroo. 

II. 

Second year is when things get wild for you once Kuroo introduces you to his “favorite best friend” Kenma Kozume. Within your friend group consisting of Yaku, Kuroo himself, and Kai (one of the newer editions), you thought that it’d be good to get closer to Kenma as well, seeing that he was already closer to the other three because of volleyball.

Talking about games was easy; you weren’t much of a gamer, but Kenma, although usually silent, talked most about strategy. Once you understood most of the mechanics, discussing grinding methods or ways to increase avoidance rates was no problem for you. You hadn’t thought it was strange when Kenma decided to talk to you more, though. Wasn’t it natural for someone to open up once they found a common ground?

Kuroo, on the other hand, was beyond shocked. Ecstatic even.

“You have to be our manager!” he pleads for almost a month straight before you actually agree on the account that he treated you to ice cream after every practice. Then it’d be a fair deal.

Being the Nekoma manager was tough work, especially considering the fact that there hadn’t been a manager before you. Sure, the third years tell you what to do from time to time, but you find them a little intimidating with their intensity and strictness. Nekomata and the second years helped you get started the most, and after a few weeks at the job, you have it down to a T. You’ve heard from some of the players that their time in the gym is a lot easier thanks to you and your attention to detail, but really, you’re only focused on you’re favorites.

Of course, that included you and your second year buddies, but you also have a soft spot for Kenma. He always seemed tired, and you’ve heard that he did consider quitting, but you think Kuroo would be devastated if that actually happened. It was such a shame to see him so miserable at practice, mostly at the cause of the third years; you figured that Kenma’s sharp game sense would give him praises, but it only brings him criticism for him to do even better.

It only motivates you to do better at your job; washing uniforms, keeping track of plays, and consistently refilling water bottles, you did your best so that you could support the others. Training camps were always hectic with the schedules you had to prepare. You even find yourself going to school earlier before practice started to help tutor those who needed it; exams were always important, and passing them was the only way to keep the team intact.

“You know, Y/N, I’m really glad you’re our manager,” Kuroo muses one day after practice. He walks over to the usual freezer where your preferred brand of ice cream sits and turns around in search of a Pocari sweat.

“You’re just saying that because you didn’t want to wash the sweaty jerseys anymore,” you quip dryly. “Oh, don’t forget an apple pie for Kenma.”

“How lucky of him to be spoiled by you,” Kuroo chuckles, glancing outside of the store window to look at Kenma sitting on a nearby bench while playing a game. “You should spoil me more. It’s not fair.”

“Why should I spoil you when you’re the one who got the both of us into this mess?” You roll your eyes and take your ice cream from him. He holds the store door open for you, following closely behind.

“Don’t say that when I know you’re having fun. Sometimes,” he laughs, sipping his drink. “But seriously, I’m glad you became our manager.”

“What’s with you getting sappy with me today?” you question, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “What did you do-“

“I’m just saying. It’s been fun with you around. Kai and Yaku think so, too. And.” He pauses, looking at his childhood friend. “I think Kenma would’ve quit a long time ago if you weren’t around.”

“I’m sure he would’ve stayed for you,” you respond, thwacking Kuroo gently on the back. “Snap out of it. You’re gonna make me puke.”

And yet, you run those words through your head late at night, unable to sleep. Yeah, you think. It has been pretty fun.

III.

The third years graduate, and Kuroo steps up to be the team captain with Kai by his side as vice. You think it’s fitting and even laugh at the idea of the new second years calling Yaku the mother of the team. You’re still the manager all by your lonesome, but with a solid year of experience under your belt, you think you’ll be able to handle the work just fine.

That is, until Lev Haiba in his 6’ 5” glory comes bolting in. He’s a good kid, you think, but he’s quite the handful. Loud and always freaking Kenma out, Kuroo already has a hard enough time dealing with this new wannabe ace. You think he’s fun, though, since it used to be rare when Kuroo would snap. You suppose it’s what happens when you’re given new responsibility, and even people like Kuroo can be serious.

“It’s funny,” you comment, sitting next to the captain as you’re rewatching plays of your next opponent. It’s late, and the only people still in the gym are Kai, who’s cleaning up dutifully, and Kenma, gaming a few feet away. “To think that you’d finally snap. Now you get to have a taste of your own medicine.”

“There’s no way I was that annoying,” Kuroo groans, running a hand through his hair. “And anyways, I’m starting to see a pattern of you preferring all the underclassmen over me.”

“It’s not that hard,” you joke, taking down notes. “You’re super annoying. Right, Kenma?”

Without looking up from his game, Kenma makes a noise of agreement, causing Kuroo to scoff. You two put your attention back to the video playing in front of you, but you don’t notice how close he is until your shoulders brush. You almost flinch, but try your hardest to keep your cool. There’s no way that you’re going to let Kuroo make fun of you for that, so you wait for him to move instead.

Except he doesn’t. Rather than shifting away, the captain continues leaning on you, and you find his head resting peacefully on your shoulder. You don’t dare move, but instead choose to keep taking notes. Focus on writing, focus on the clip, but don’t focus on Kuroo, you think. He smells fruity, just like his jacket from two years ago and even after all the sweat from practice. The scent is so calming and nostalgic, and you almost catching yourself relaxing, but you don’t. You can’t.

“Can we go now?” Kenma says suddenly, breaking you out of your internal panic. “It’s almost eight, and Kai already left.”

“Sure thing,” Kuroo replies, shutting off the clip and getting up. He holds out a hand toward you. “Let’s clean up and get you that ice cream I owe you.” 

“And an apple pie,” Kenma adds, walking away, but not before sparing you and Kuroo a glance. He shrugs it off. “I’ll wait outside.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking Kuroo’s hand. It’s calloused, yet warm and comforting, much like his scent. “I can’t believe we stayed so late. I still have a lab report to finish tonight-“

“That’s my bad, so FaceTime tonight again?” he offers, laughing. 

“Kuroo, we FaceTime every night.”

“Yeah, but this time, I’ll help you finish your paper, since it’s my fault for keeping you here,” he chuckles, finally letting go of your hand after what seemed to be an unusually long time. “And you can help me with literature-“

“I knew you needed something,” you tease, walking to get your belongings. Your skin feels all tingly, and you swear that the temperature has risen. “But, yeah, whatever. I don’t really care if you call or not, seeing that I won’t be sleeping early anyways.”

You hear him cackle before following you outside the two doors, and when you’re out in the open air, you finally feel as if you’re breathing easily again. Oh no, you think. It’s your third year and things have changed. Or rather, things have been changing.

IV.

None of you talk about university.

It’s the elephant in the room that no one dares to address, not until after you guys make it to Spring Nationals. Sure, the third years had group study sessions for college entrance exams every Saturday, and sure, you and Kuroo always studied late into the night through video call, but nobody wants to think about what happens after separation. Not yet, at least. It’s too distracting, and frankly, you think Yaku might cry if you bring it up.

During winter break, you, Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai all go to the shrine and pray for good luck. It’s meant for the upcoming tournament, but secretly, you know it’s about exams too. Sometimes, Yamamoto will ask about future plans, and all the answers are vague, “Oh, just going to university,” or, “Not sure, yet,” but the air becomes tense, and you hate it. There’s an unspoken pack between the four of you to leave details out, but you desperately want to know exactly how far your friends are going and for how long and what you’ll do without them. 

January rolls by, and the four of you head to your respective exams on your own. Even after they’re done, and results have been posted, nobody says anything about being accepted or rejected. There’s no celebration party, no consolations. Not when the spring is coming right around the corner. 

Even though every day seemed more stressful, more tiring, it also seemed shorter. Sometimes you’d find practice over in the blink of an eye. The match against Nohebi had you on the edge of your seat, practically making you pull out your hair, but even that one ends in a quick victory. Time was quickly running out. 

And then, Nekoma loses to Karasuno at nationals. You were so sure that you had the match, so sure that the determination and dedication your team had put in would pay off, but even in the end, you’re not sure how to feel about it. When Kuroo had first mentioned the Battle at the Garbage Dump to you during your first year, you had laughed and called it a dumb name. You weren’t a manager then, but even though you’re a manager now, you still think the name is dumb. Dumb, but a big deal for Kuroo and Nekoma, and therefore, a big deal to you.

There’s some crying on the bus ride home, but Kuroo sits next to you, uncharacteristically silent. When everyone gets off the bus, you see the captain struggle to show enthusiasm for one last motivational speech. It takes his entire will and more not to cry in front his teammates, the ones he had placed all his hopes in. He, like the rest of them, had wanted to go further.

You find him crying in the storage room once everyone’s gone, sitting in the ball against the wall in complete darkness. Not wanting to turn on the lights, you opt to leave the door open instead so that light flows in, illuminating the space around you. Shuffling over to his quivering position, you take a seat next to him, rubbing circles on his back.

“You look terrible,” you laugh bitterly. “So much for the tough guy act you put up ten minutes ago. Almost had me fooled.”

“I saw you tearing up on the bus,” he responds, voice raspy from the shouting. “I’ll keep your secret, and you’ll keep mine?”

“I think Yaku and Kai already knew that you were going to cry, but sure,” you respond. You take a minute to think. “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m thinking about all the blocks I missed,” he murmurs, quietly sobbing. “All the spikes I could’ve gotten, all the balls I could’ve saved-”

“Mhm,” you murmur, stroking the mess that was his hair. “That’s what I thought you would be thinking. But in the end, you got what you’ve been asking for since three years now, right? The trash can battle or something?”

“The Battle at the Garbage Dump,” he corrects, letting out a light chuckle. You hear some sniffling and offer him the tissues you brought, knowing well that he wasn’t going to take the loss in any other way. “It…It was everything I thought it’d be.”

“Satisfied?” you ask, lifting up his chin to dab away tears. 

“I should be,” he grumbles, looking at the floor. “After pushing everyone this much, I know I should be. But-“

“You wanted to go farther, right?” you answer knowingly. “I think we all feel the same.”

And like that, he grabs you straight into his arms, sobbing heavily into your shoulder. You almost wish it were like the other times that he has gotten close to you, the heart fluttering, skin tingling, heat inducing giddiness you felt whenever he leaned close to whisper in your ear or look at your answers for the homework. 

But it’s not. It’s heart-wrenching, it’s heavy, it’s something that can’t be done over. Neither of you have a next year to start all over from scratch, to welcome new underclassmen one more time, to try at nationals again one more time. There’s nothing left for you or Kuroo to do except to move on. It’s a little scary, you think. 

The next morning, he calls you, and you almost think about making fun of him for having to walk him home the night before, but he asks to meet you. He’s actually already outside your door with Yaku and Kai, and when you tell them that you’re not dressed to meet people, they don’t seem to care and keep ringing your doorbell. Your mother is more than happy to let them in, much to your dismay.

“Nationals are over,” Kuroo says slowly, solemnly, “so I think…we need to talk.”

The four of you talk about college, and like you had expected, Yaku’s the first to cry, followed by you. 

V.

Graduation comes at a quick and unrelenting pace. Before you know it, you’re on stage receiving your diploma. There are people crying, but you’ve already done your share weeks ago. You can’t afford to get your eyes puffy and wet, not when you were supposed to be taking pictures with all your friends and family. 

“Hey, Y/N!” a familiar, loud voice calls. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Yes, Tetsu?” you call, feigning annoyance. “Even though I’m not a manager anymore, I feel like you keep calling me over.”

“It’s picture time,” he grins, pulling Yaku and Kai toward you. “Let’s make this a good one!”

Going between Kuroo and Yaku, you smile for the camera and quickly thank Yaku’s parents. After taking pictures, Yaku and Kai head off with their families to celebrate; the four of you would meet in a few days for a quick senior trip. Rather than heading back home with your own parents, however, you see them off first. Kuroo had asked for you to take a walk with home, and you didn’t need your family teasing you about it.

“So,” he says, waiting for you at the steps of Nekoma. He puts his hands in his pockets and stares pointedly at the pavement. “Uh, hey.”

“Yeah, hey,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You’d miss doing that. “Did you have something important to say or did you just want me to walk home?”

“Both,” he laughs. He throws his head back in amusement, and you realize that you’d miss that too. “But preferably with me.”

You don’t know how to answer. In the past, he also said playful, flirtatious lines that made your heart go crazy, but you never took them seriously. They were just jokes, and you’d laugh along. You don’t laugh along this time, because it doesn’t sound like a joke. He looks at you nervously.

“I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he continues, scratching his head. 

“We usually walk home together, so-“

“Well, not like usually,” he quickly interrupts. Then, he groans. “I mean like…we could hold hands while we do it this time.”

Cue stunned silence. You almost can’t believe he’s doing this in such a roundabout way. Sure you’re relieved, but you’re just so exhausted with him beating around the bush.

“Tetsu, just say it to me directly,” you say, chuckling slightly. At the sound of your laughter, confidence practically surges through the boy, and his shoulders straighten a little bit.

“Oh? I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” he teases, looking smug suddenly. You laugh again at the change in mood.Two could play at that game.

“You hate me never want to see me again after high school,” you mock. He gasps in feigned surprise. The two of you laugh for a while, exchanging jokes. It’s been a while since the mood has been so relaxed, and it’s only another thing that you realize that you’d miss.

“In all seriousness, how does a long-distance relationship sound?” he asks and winces slightly at his words. “I mean, if you don’t want to-“

“No, I do,” you reassure, looking at Kuroo straight in the eye. Taking his hands in yours, you take a deep breath. “It’ll be hard, but I want to try.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles and is slightly amused at himself for having it come out as a question. “I mean, yeah. That’s cool. And in reality, you’re only two hours away.”

“Only?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d travel two hours back and forth to see you whenever you’re feeling lonely,” Kuroo chuckles. Oh, you hated how smooth he was and how lovely he looked when he was happy and blushing. “Just give me a call, and I’ll be there before you know it. Hey, hey, hey, are you crying?”

“I’m not,” you sniffle and wipe away your tears. Leaning toward your face, Kuroo stares at you for a moment, silently asking for consent. When you nod, he presses a kiss on your cheek and gently wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. 

“Right, you sure aren’t,” he murmurs closely to your ear.

“Remember to text and call me a lot,” you manage to add, struggling between sobs. He struggles to find a handkerchief for you and opts to use his sleeve instead.

“Of course,” is his answer. He’s glad you’re crying and covering your face, because honestly, he’d hate for you to see him tearing up too.

[xsugarysweetsx]

Could you do a Leopold x reader? Where Leo wants to ask the reader out but is like “how tf am I expose to do this” so he asks Fuegoleon, and he has no clue. And then Fuego asks Mereoleona and she’s like “BATTLE HER TO THE DEATH”. Ad Leo’s like no. But then Leo asked Mimosa, and she was like OMG THATS SO CUTE. And basically bombards the reader about if she likes anybody or anything (they’re best friends). And so one day Leo was freaking, but the reader was like, “Hey Leo, wanna go on a date?”.

Awwwhh this sound adorable! Thank you for requesting! And thank you for being patient!❤️ Almsot to the end!

How he would battle you to the death

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. P E R F E C T!

That was all that went through his mind when he looked at you. You were a new reicut to the Lions and you could say it was a crush at first sight. You were merely a commoner but he could see so much last that.

Not only were you strong but you were very skilled and always were a few steps ahead of your oponant. When he spared with you and managed to literally her sweeper off his feet, he knew he was screwed. He had a crush.

You were never cocky about how strong you were and never put yourself on a pedestal. You were also very kind and soft hearted towards other people. He couldn’t be the only one who wanted to call you his. He’s seen the way other boys and even older men looked at you. He hates it.

He wanted to ask you out. Take you on a nice date and treat you kindly. He would do it all, he really would! The problem was, he had no idea how....he felt a bit embarrassed in all honesty. He wanted to be able to seeep her off her feet without scaring her. It came so naturally to other boys his age so why not him?

He did spend a large amount of time training, so that could be one. But he had almost no idea! He needed help in this department.

Since he had no experience with any of this so he went to the next person. The most knowledgeable person he knew and trusted. His brother. He knocked on his door and when it opened he said

“how do I talk to women!” Fuegoleon was confused to say the least. He brought him inside and he let him ramble on about his troubles. He paced back and fourth through the room as he spoke

“And she’s just so amazing and you know that! But I don’t want to scare her away! You know more than anyone so I want to hear what you have to say!” He said sitting down in a chair

“Well Leo, I’m an honest man and I’ve always tried to lead you down the right path” he got excited to hear his brother’s speech “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What?! But you know everything!” Well there goes his chance. His world was crumbling around him, if Fuegoleon couldn’t help, then what will?

“Well why don’t you ask another woman about this? Get a better insight in the topic” he suggested. In an instant he went to the next person he would ask

His lovely sister Meroleona

—————-

“So, my youngest brother is finally becoming a man huh?” She smirked down at him as she ruffled his hair

“Um sort of, but I don’t know how to even ask her out” he pouted. She stepped back and gave him that look when she’s about to go into battle

“BATTLE HER TO THE DEATH! IF SHE COMES OUT ON TOP SHE IS WORTHY OF YOU AND IF SHE DOES NOT, YOU MUST MOVE ON!” She yelled out in the most confident tone there could be. Leo thought you himself

Maybe this is why she doesn’t have any suitors

“Yeah, No” he spat bluntly “I want to show her why I’m worthy of her” she sighed. There were very few times where she was soft but she saw how much he was thinking about this. She went over and ruffled his hair as she usually does when giving him advice

“Well she sounds special to you...why don’t you go ask Mimosa about this? She has a..uh..softer approach on this” and she simply walked away. Guess not even her family will see much of a soft side to her.

————

But the suggestion was a good idea! He got the her household the fastest he possible could and banged on her door. She answered with a confused look as to why he was banging like that

“Hi Leopold what can I-“ he cuts her off

“I like Y/N!” She smiles at him and chuckled

“Well, took you long enough to realize your feelings” she giggled. His crush wasn’t exactly descreet when he’s basically glaring holes into her head, but in a good way. She let him in and took him into the living area

He explained his situation to her and she knew exactly where to start.

“Alright first of all, what would you like to do with her?” She asked

A finger coming to scratch his head as he thought “Mmmm, I wanna go on adventures with her and spar with her!” He said as his eyes twinkled

“Okay um..what’s your favorite thing about her?”

“How tough she is! But I think she’s really beautiful as well” he said with a blush

As soon as the word left his mouth a cocky laugh filled the room

“Impossible. There is nothing nor, no one as beautiful as I” said her brother, and for some reason petals were floating around him as he spoke

“No, she’s way misread beautiful than you are” Leo responded casually. Her brother looked physically hurt when Leo said that.

“Can you please go back to making out with your mirror?” She said passive aggressively, and yet still held a smile. He hmph and walked away as his hands laid upon his face.

“Well Leopold why don’t you try something your way instead of other people?” She wondered

“Because I suck at this and I want to be perfect for her” she rested his head in his hands as his eyebrows knit together. She felt bad, she could tell he cared for you very much but was struggling. Then an idea popped into her head. She rushed over and whispered it in his ear.

His eyes lit up like fires, the plan was perfect. He ran out of the house to prepare for tomorrow. This took all night for him to practice what to do and what to say.

The next day he has picked some wildflowers and had them nicley wrapped. He made sure his clothes were neat and clean and walked with pride. He found you casually taking your morning walk, enjoying the breeze. Since no one was around this was a perfect time!

He hid the flowers under his cape and out of sight. He cleared his throat to get your attention

You turn and smile “Hey Leo! Well don’t you look all proper today” you joked he laughed and approached you.

“Is it a bad thing?” He said as starts to walk with you feeling his heart flutter, and face heat up.

“No, you look good, a lot like your brother actually” he hummed and took the bold step

“Hey I need to talk to you” this mase you stop walking and give him your attention. “So listen I-um wanted to tell you some things...that have been on my mind I uh...” he took a deep breath

“S-so do you like anyone..hehe?” Strange question and you answered anyway

“Mmmm you could say I do have my eyes on someone” he didn’t know what to say and choked up on his own words

“I-I um I do-um what’s the ummm..”

Great he was freezing up and he was feeling exptremly hot for some reason. Now was when he was conscious of the decision he was making

“Um..Leopold...you’re on fire...”

Wait...

He looked to the side and saw the roses he got you had been set aflame. He started panicking and running airing trying to find some type of water. He finally ran far enough and found a small pool of water and jumped in. The fire going out and he was unharmed.

You went over to him

“Are you okay? How did that even...” you eyes trail down to his hand and see the flowers. He stood up and sighed, feeling defeated and apologized for everything.

“It’s funny isn’t it? A royal who’s magic is fire and I caught fire..hehe” he laughed weekly. You started to giggle and couldn’t contain your laugher. He felt a bit embarrassed

“Hey Leo?” You ask getting a little closer

“Yes?”

He felt a light touch in his cheek. You had given him a peck and said

“Wanna go on a date?”

“YES!”

You all thought Meroleona was loud this kid yelled yes so loud Solid dropped his wine over himself. He came the next day to complain to Fuegoleon.

Well this was cute and fun to write I hope you enjoyed and thank you for your patience!❤️

[hecohansen31]

What We Used To Be As Children

Harald Finehair x Reader (Vikings Era).

(A/N): Hello there, @gearhead66​!

A little bird told me that you were having quite the rough patch this July, and that today was your birthday, so I thought about doing a small thing for you to enoy and to brighten your mood, I hope at least!

Hope you’ll enjoy this!

SUMMARY: You had always been in love with your veloved childhood friend, but to him you weren’t anything more than a fellow memory, but when time come for you both to marry, he might just change his mind.

WORDS: 2,1 K

WARNINGS: Slight Mention of Abusive Household, Reader’s Struggles and Insecurities, Not Exactly Following The Series (but when do I ever?)

Rumors had been going through the entire Vesterfold that the king would choose a bride soon.

And it replenished your heart with so much sorrow and sadness.

You couldn’t deny that you had avoided your beloved friend Harald for quite some time, although it was difficult since you had been attached to the hip since you were children.

The man had many times moved away from kingly duties to ‘annoy’ you in your work of keeping the household clean.

And your siblings, rigorously all boys, fed.

Who liked teasing you and liked Harald much more than you, teaming up with him against you, each time.

And being worst gossipers than you, yourself.

One time, they had almost made your heart rush out of your chest, because the eldest of them had commented that you were ‘old’ and still ‘unmarried’ as if it was your fault, when your father could barely keep his trousers on his work, your only income.

Harald’s generous offers that you had started accepting after a winter you had been all your brothers almost die of starvation.

You had never meant to take advantage of your friendship with the king, although your father insisted that you did, always commenting on you as if you were some kind of prized cow to be sold out to the best offer.

You and Harald had grown up as smart children, always left to fend for each other and eventually you had developed a protectiveness between each other that made him worry for your family and you for his poor battered heart.

Harald had a taste in women that was dangerous, to say the least.

But you didn’t want to appear as some kind of jealous freak, preferring to simply smile, meanwhile your heart broke from the inside, because you both grow up, him with the idea of a kingdom for Eilisif, you had grown up with the idea of a small life with him.

And everybody in your house seemed to know.

You had been talking with Harald, having invited him inside as he had brought you some meat leftovers from the latest feast, and he had witnessed your brother unhappy comment and you had caught the onto it, glaring at your brother in a way that had made him stand up in his place.

But your younger brother couldn’t be convinced so easily, with his big mouth.

“… here comes the reason why our sister is unmarried!” he had shouted, meanwhile the toddler of the family had waved at Harald with his tiny hands, evidently having also understood what your brother had meant.

Your face had then been coated with crimson and even the ever-feared Harald Finehair beside you had blushed lightly, order your younger brothers ‘to leave you alone’, although it was a comment that held no strength in it.

Soon after the news of him having to marry came arriving to all Vesterfold and you had started avoiding him attentively, leaving only accidental meetings at the market or when you came to the feasts mostly for the food and the ale.

You wondered whether the knowledge of your interest in him had speeded up the process of him wanting to marry or he had been harboring the idea for quite some time.

Both ideas made you uneasy.

And your heart had already shattered itself to the ground the night that you had discovered he had invited a stranger in his own bed, bringing her from Kattegat and calling her aòready ‘his queen’.

You had never wanted that title for yourself.

Your childish-self had once jokingly married Harald in the middle of a clearing with only a dress of cotton and flowers threaded in your and his hair, and you would have done it again.

But he had obviously shown that he didn’t care for such a thing with you.

You had then wondered whether it had been you who had not been enough or if he had been too interested in following flames to sit properly at the hearth and enjoy its warmth.

Either way, it was none of your business.

It would never be, from the moment he swore his loyalty to her.

What good was a childhood friend to him now that he had a lifelong company?

And your father must have thought the same, thinking that if you lost Harald’s favor, he would have soon lost all his income and he wouldn’t have been able to simply sleep off the all day.

He had to do something about it.

He had to sell you out.

He had already sold all the pieces your mother had left from her morgengifu, so you were the only thing he could still sell without being looked like the madman he was and you welcomed gladly his choice, because you would have at least something to take care of your head meanwhile Harald enjoyed his wife.

And your soon-to-be-husband turned out to be a merchant, who had paid your father an hefty sum for your fertile hips and pretty smile, although you could feel his arrogant soul, you knew that you’d have travelled far away.

You’d be worried for your brothers, but some fresh air would have helped you.

And soon words of your engagement got out of your small town, mostly because of your father, who in a drunken fit confessed to you:

‘I had to fucking marry off my sole daughter to a foreigner… because that cunt of a king would hound her like a dog, scaring off all her suitors’.

You had calmed down your father, suggesting that Harald hadn’t cared about you all that much.

Had he cared for you at all, he wouldn’t have hounded your suitors, but he would have followed you, to chase your hand marriage.

But it’d never happen.

Or so you thought.

That afternoon you had been working thread and stitch, preparing your bridal dress and bridal towels, embedded with runes of fertility and strength, and although you weren’t looking forward to  wear the former and use the latter, you found the gesture strangely reassuring.

It certainly helped you to keep your mind focused.

And then all your friends were gasping, meanwhile you were teaching a smaller girl an elegant pattern and you thought your father must have again forgot his pants at home, but as you raised your head to scold him, you found it wasn’t your naked father.

It was much worse.

It was Harald.

“Ladies, will you do the favor of leaving me and (Y/N), alone?” his tone might have been an order and soon, in a fury of cotton and stitches all your friends had left the room, as you shifted uncomfortable on the chair.

It had gone all so well.

You had been able to avoid him perfectly and soon you’d be shipped off with your husband, enough not to have to meet him again.

You hoped and dreaded that thought.

“You aren’t seriously even going to face me?” his tone was arrogant and aggressive, pushing your head to look further up on the worn out boots you had chosen for that day.

Although you didn’t have much choice, since they were the only ones you owned.

You didn’t have the algid beauty of Astrid or the elegance of Eilisif, certainly not being able to compare yourself to them.

But you wouldn’t have hurt Harald.

Not intentionally at least.

“… we used to be best friends and now you can’t even face me” commented Harald with disdain in his tone “… what might have I done to make you act like this?”.

‘You are marrying, after you promised to do the same with me, under a crown of oranges and lilies’.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“I’ll be a married woman soon” you simply chanted, the words sounding so foreign on your tongue “… and I don’t think it is proper for me to see other men that don’t belong to my family”.

Harald took a sharp hiss and then his fist hit the back of the chair next to him, startling you at the horrid sound that gesture made, not afraid of Harald, never afraid of him.

But the gesture wanted to make you fight him.

“… don’t ruin my house” also your voice was a hiss, a snake hiss, as your eyes finally met Harald’s amber ones “… you’ll be a polite guest or I’ll have my fun throwing ‘an old friend’ outside, believe me…”.

And Harald’s face shone of hidden amusement.

Because that had been the façade his friend had always given him.

And that was why he had chosen you, through so many children.

You didn’t give a shit and you wouldn’t have coddled him.

“… then don’t bullshit me” he shot back “… your soon-to-be-husband isn’t the one thing stopping you from visiting me… and if he is… he isn’t the right one for you”.

“As if you knew who is right for me” you spoke back, as you crossed your arms over your chest, leaving your weight completely on the back of the chair.

And he had pushed himself forward, grabbing under your chin with a swiftness that had caught you completely off guard.

“… I do” and his eyes spoke of inner truth “… you deserve somebody who’ll treat you with kindness and won’t be afraid of that savage side you hide to everyone but me”.

“My future husband might be just like that”.

But even your tone wasn’t convincing.

In the slightest.

“You were always a terrible liar”.

“And father wants to sell me. He has to since you won’t be providing for us anymore”.

Harald’s eyes became tight at that mention and you knew you had hit a sore spot.

He had always wondered what people loved him truly for, aching for a pure love, one that would have withstood rain and fire, whether he was a king or not.

And he hadn’t ever had anybody for that.

Except you.

But you knew he harbored some doubts due to your father’s inquiries towards him.

And you knew the quickest way to push him away.

“… who told him I won’t take care of you” one of his hands lowered itself onto your arm to stop you from the cross position you were in “… I’d take care of you and your family for as long as I live”.

“Will you swear it?” you were teasing darkly, and you saw the beast appearing in the man’s eyes.

And it made liquid arousal fall down between your legs, making you shift your legs closer, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed to Harald.

But you brought back his attention.

“… you’ll have a wife” his eyes were glued on your body, as they lowered themselves slowly “… and she won’t be happy of your help towards me, Wives are jealous and wicked things, wanting their husbands solely for themselves”.

“I thought husbands were like that” he commented, and soon his hand was again under your chin, indulging on your throat in a way that was a sensual caress and suddenly the air in the room had tensed itself up and it wasn’t rageful anymore.

It was arousal.

“… wives hold the heart of the beasts in their hands, believe me” you chastised him, holding yourself closer till you were inches apart from doing what you had ached obtaining for a whole lifetime.

Not a child anymore, and neither a clumsy teen.

A full-grown woman.

And a threat in itself.

Harald pushed you back still so easily that it made you feel like a ragdoll.

And soon you were in his arm, unable to run away.

But could you seriously run away from the place you had always wanted to stay in.

“Did you just say that I am a beast”.

“I am not your wife, so you aren’t my beast” and then realized that one minute spent in his arms would have been a minute more of torment in your mind “… leave me, Harald, my father could walk over us and…”.

“… he has already… so many times” he spoke loudly “… and you don’t want me to leave”.

“Think about your wife!” you tried to make him reason.

“… I don’t have a wife” he breathed on your lips.

“Not yet!”.

“Not anymore”.

And that surprised you as your eyes pleaded him for more.

“I sent her away…” he confessed, as he brought you closer and right on your lips he whispered “My heart is not mine to give because it is already yours”.

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg oh yeah we're back baby

Heads Up- Part 19 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Shall we pack these up too?" Mark asked, as the maintenance man began unloading the artworks into the van. The winning masterpieces would be auctioned off to other museums, with the blessing of their creators, to find fame and bring fortune elsewhere.

"Take them all," said Professor Straizo nonchalantly, indifferent as he usually was.

It was late evening as Mark and Professor Straizo began dismantling the exhibit. The exhibition was over, and soon one by one the entries began to disappear.

Save for one.

One familiar-looking bust that was in secret unlike all the others.

"And this one too?" Mark asked, gently but uneasily picking up the sculpture and straining under its weight.

Professor Straizo glanced at the bust. Its brilliant green eyes gazed at him, seemingly piercing into his very soul, and it made him very uncomfortable looking at it for long.

"Put...put it away with the rest," he said, waving his hand away. "That Joestar boy can probably just make a new one with his skill if he wants it, just get it out of my sight."

"Huh, I guess he won't miss it all too much," Mark shrugged, as he lowered the bust into the van. "I'll just tell him where we took it in case he does want to see it again."

-------

All the while Caesar stood unmoving, on his pedestal, frozen in place like the lifeless art piece he was intended to be. He was waiting for Joseph to come back.

He was waiting for Joseph to take him home.

But now he felt himself being carried, handled, and transported by the maintenance man from the previous night. The strange, gloved hands felt uncomfortable and unwelcome upon his base.

This was not part of the plan.

He wanted to scream and cry and struggle, call out for Joseph's name. But he knew he couldn't. He knew he couldn't risk exposing his true nature to others, as Joseph had warned him about. The consequences would be dire. And he didn't even know what they would be. Besides, even if he did try to fight back, what else could he do? He was a bust.

He was helpless.

Joseph..., he thought silently, as strange hands lowered him into a crate in the backseat.

And if his handler had been looking more closely, he would have seen a look of sorrow on the inert figure's painted face.

------

It wasn't long before Joseph strode into the hall, eager as ever.

"Caesar! We've come to take you home! We've--"

And then his joy melted into horror as his greeting ground to a halt.

Caesar was nowhere to be seen.

"Caesar! Where are you?" he cried, searching all around the gallery. Everything else had gone too. The paintings, models and statues, all had been moved away to make room for the next exhibit.

"Jojo! What's the matter?" Suzi huffed as she caught up with him.

"It's Caesar..." Joseph said, his voice cracking slightly in despair. "He's gone."

"Looking for something, Mr. Joestar?" asked a deep voice, from behind. Both Joseph and Suzi turned around, to see the raven-haired professor of earlier, leaning against a wall.

"Oh, Professor Straizo," Joseph said, managing to maintain his composure as well as he could, "I was looking for my sculpture. You know, the bust? The one you graded earlier this day? I'm sure you remember him--it," Joseph pleaded.

Straizo turned away indifferently. "I'm afraid Mark has already taken the artworks to another gallery, perhaps to be auctioned or put up on display."

Joseph's heart sank. This was what he'd feared the most.

Losing Caesar.

"But...but I said Professor Lisa that I could take it home! That project was mine alone and belongs with me!" He fought back a tear and his swelling rage. He felt betrayed.

Straizo snapped. "Listen here, Mr. Joestar! What in the world is with your inordinate attachment to that disturbing figure? You could create another one if you want! It's just a piece of clay!"

"Not to me, it isn't," Joseph growled through clenched teeth. "That sculpture is not just clay for me. He means everything. I loved him more than anything else in the world. If only you knew..."

Straizo raised an eyebrow in utter bewilerment. What did he mean 'he'? And by 'loved'?

"This boy is delusional," he said to himself.

"Well, if you want it so badly then go plead to Mark, he's got your...whatever it is, at the auction gallery," he groaned in address to the increasingly distraught Joseph. "Do whatever you want with it as long as I never have to see that thing again."

Without another word Joseph stormed off, Suzi following behind.

He couldn't let them take Caesar.

Not on his watch.

--------

Caesar had no clue where they were taking him. The back of the van was dark, and he wasn't tall enough to peek out the window to assess his location.

But he felt uneasy. He knew Joseph was worried.

He knew Joseph would be wondering where he was. And he couldn't even call for help.

He hoped, with all his being, that Joseph would come for him.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted, however, when the van suddenly jostled, shaking violently and screeching to a stop. He was shaken in his box by the sudden movement, and before he knew it the vehicle had stopped in his tracks, and he could hear Mark's loud complaints from the front seat.

"Dammit! I think I busted a tyre..." he grumbled, stepping out the vehicle. Caesar heard a click, and saw a faint light shine into the back, freezing in place as the flashlight passed over him.

"Well, good thing nothing's broken," Mark mumbled as he inspected the contents of the van, relieved that none of the art was damaged in the little fiasco. He headed over to the front wheel, to check the damage, and his haste, left the back of the van open.

It was a big mistake.

Peeking through a slit in the box, Caesar could see a small figure approaching from the distance, and without warning, peeking into the box that contained him and grabbing it tightly. For a moment Caesar hoped it was Joseph come to take him back-- but he realized too late it wasn't his beloved Jojo at all, but someone much smaller.

And had Mark paid more attention, he would have noticed the small figure of a child dashing away from the van and into an alley-- clutching in both arms a crate that harbored the most unusual artwork of all.

---------

Twelve-year old Smokey Brown was a bit of a victim of circumstance.

He'd lived in the streets for years, surviving off his wits, after having fled from a neglectful household. It was a tough life for a young boy, but he had little choice in the matter.

It was the only life he had known for a long time.

He'd made a living off petty theft and pickpocketing, a livelihood he wasn't all too proud of, but one that filled his aching stomach when there was nothing else within reach. He'd lived off the kindness of strangers for so long, but over the years, they had become less generous-- and he had to play rough to make it out in the harsh and cruel world.

And today he'd hit a jackpot.

He recognized the van of the art department. Perhaps they had something of value? He'd seen an opportunity when the hapless vehicle had struck a flat tire, and the driver had carelessly left the back open.

Perfect.

He saw his chance, and seized it. Grabbing a small crate that was well within reach, he hurried off with his prize. It was heavy and made him use both hands, and inwardly he grinned, as he felt this was something of worth.

He retreated to a small, abandoned warehouse several streets away, where he'd been sheltering for the last few days. Exhausted from the strain of his thievery, he sat down against a wall and dropped the box heavily onto the ground.

And to his surprise, he heard a groan from inside.

------

At once Caesar regretted reacting to the rough handling.

He hoped his captor wouldn't notice, but as the box opened, he knew right away that he'd been exposed. He tried freezing in place, but it was too late.

The boy screamed in shock, prompting a startled cry from Caesar, who in his panic tipped the box over. He at long last got a good look at his unwitting kidnapper-- a small, dark-skinned boy with short, curly hair and a small braid at the back of his head.

He definitely wasn't Joseph.

And he most certainly didn't react the way Joseph would.

-------

Smokey stumbled back in shock at the sight of the contents of the box.

It was a head.

A sculpted head, but one that looked so real that for a moment he feared it was a real severed human head, until he touched it and was relieved to feel it was clay.

But his moment of relief was short-lived: for the head, despite being clay, had moved.

It was alive.

Somehow.

"Y-you're alive!" Smokey stammered as he tried to collect himself. "You're...real?"

Caesar sighed. He knew there was no point in pretending.

"You're like, the fourth person to ever see me and they've all reacted the same."

"You're talking..." Smokey gasped in shock, still not over the surprise. "You're a talking clay head." For a moment Smokey felt he was going mad. Was this some divine punishment tugging on his conscience for his crime?

Caesar laughed dryly as he struggled himself upright. "I get that a lot," he muttered, as he began to hop closer to the startled boy, who stumbled backwards and fell to the floor with a crash.

"Stay away from me!" Smokey pleaded, shuffling backwards at the sight of a talking, bouncing head. "What are you? Where did you come from?"

"Quit freaking out, kid," Caesar complained. "I can't hurt you even if I wanted to, and I don't", he scolded.

"What are you?" Smokey repeated.

"I am a clay bust courtesy of a certain Joseph Joestar," he answered. "I'm his grand masterpiece."

As surprised as he was, Smokey could see a hint of sadness in the strange being's face. And now he couldn't help but feel pity for the figure he had stolen.

He was a thief, not a kidnapper. There was a difference.

"Joseph Joestar?" Smokey asked. He'd heard of the name before. "Like...the artist?"

"Huh, so you have heard of him," Caesar mused. "Never knew Jojo was so famous." Smokey heard how fondly the bust spoke of his creator, and felt remorseful.

He scratched his head. "Listen there, clay head...man?" he mumbled. "Whatever you are, I'm real sorry I stole you. I didn't mean to, alright? I was after some stuff but...you're not stuff, I guess. You can talk, for one."

Even at the indignity of being stolen, Caesar couldn't help but feel warmly touched at being seen as a person, by someone else.

"Well then, kid, you can make it up for me by helping me find Joseph. I'm sure he wants me back."

-------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[mwolf0epsilon]

Maybe a story about Norman being a good parent?

Summary: Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was a Polk, and the Polks did not hurt their young, or whatever they perceived as such.

You all knew it was coming inevitably...

---

[[MORE]]

     Norman's and Margarite's marriage had come as a surprise to the entire Polk family. A simple signature on a piece of paper, and a pair of battered rings that had belonged to Nanna and Poppop Polk (gifted to him by the former who always knew he'd be a better fit for them). No fanciful ceremony with pretty dresses or suits, expensive cakes and extensive guest list.

A disappointing waste, his mama had proclaimed over the letter she'd sent as a reply to his own that detailed his status as a married man in a far off city. She'd wanted to witness the event, shed her motherly tears as one of her little ducklings became a real man ready to start a family.

But, to Norman and Maggie, the marriage wasn't a motive of celebration like his mama thought. It was insurance against further discrimination towards them. They were, after all, the black couple that lived in a quaint apartment in New York city.

Already that was a challenge of its own, as said apartment was populated primarily by white hot-blooded tenants, with only one more laying vacant for a (hopefully) friendlier family.

Their downstairs neighbor clearly hated them from sight alone, and the others were unsure how the new additions fit into their "perfect" lives in the Big Apple. If any of them were to discover that they both enjoyed the full spectrum of the gender binary, well... Accidents happened in the big city. Accidents that targeted specific minorities for some "unfathomable" reason.

So yes, as shameful as it may be, their wedding was strictly business. Rings for show, public displays of affection to dispell the gossip, and overall just the usual married life arguments in the grocery store to sell the deal (neither of them could care less about which type of sugar made the best apple pie crust, or what brand of soap was better, but it sure made the couples they passed by smile knowingly at the common domestic disputes). There was just one thing left to do to really make a statement on their relationship status.

  "Three of my coworkers are getting maternity leave. It's been a few months, I think it's time."

Children were a sensitive topic. Both Norman and Maggie wanted kids, had a vague idea of how many they planned to raise, and were quite certain they'd make beautiful and healthy younglings with one another. The question was: Was it fair to bring in chidren into a farce of a matrimony? What if one day they found their actual ideal partner?

  "Yous better be sure it's the right time darlin'..." He'd urged her to think more on the subject. "Don't want to rush things like that now, do we?"

  "I'm ready." She'd stared him in the eye with a certainty and confidence he couldn't begin to imagine. He knew she was, but was he? Was he truly ready to bare such a responsibility?

That night he relented to her wishes and they had finally consummated their marriage. Nine months later, little Nancy was born a small but relatively healthy baby. Upon seeing his firstborn for the first time ever, and then holding her gently in hands that dwarfed her little head greatly, Norman immediately understood he was ready to be a parent. And a loving one at that.

-

     In total, Norman and Maggie had five children. Three boys and two girls. Nancy was their eldest child and the more levelheaded of the bunch. The apple of her mother's eye, and her father's baby girl, she was the perfect balance of their greatest qualities and teachings. A clever and determined young girl with big aspirations for her future. She wanted to be a doctor.

Aaron was the second eldest child and the one most like his father. Clever and with an eye for detail, enough so that he had taken up an interest that fits his perceptive nature: Photography. The walls of the Polk household were filled with his works, at first done with Norman's own old and battered camera, until he'd bought the young lad his very own fancy new model.

Louise was the middle child, and the troublemaker of the bunch. She was a bit of a tomboy, and liked to scrap with the boys in her class, to the point where it wasn't uncommon to see her with several bruises and band-aids, and haphazardly taped wireframed glasses. She kept both Norman and Maggie on their toes.

Albert was the second youngest and the quietest. A little bookworm that appreciated the art of literature over anything else. He wanted to be a novelist, even at a very young age, and often shared ideas for stories at the dinner table. There was no doubt in Norman's heart that his little boy would write a best-seller one day. Maggie fretted for his social life, however, as he was the least sociable of their children. Far too shy.

Finally the youngest child was Willard. An outspoken young toddler that was definitely as confident as his mama. A little tot with a very big personality indeed, that Norman couldn't wait to see grow up into yet another fine young boy. If any of their children was to ever get what he wanted in life, it'd definitely be Will.

Truly there was nothing in this world that Norman loved more than his offsprings, and indulging in their interests was always an adventure. One to be shared with three other members of the family.

The vacant apartment had been occupied by Norman's younger brother, Alfred, and his own two children. By then almost all their neighbors (minus the one that hated them from day one) had warmed up to them. So another set of friendly faces was a good addition to their home life.

Norman absolutely loved watching over his nephew and niece, especially because his children were delighted to have other kids around their age to play with.

It reminded him of being back home in Louisiana, his own brothers and sisters sparring with him and playing whatever games they could come up with on the spot. Watching Louise and Nelson tumbling about fighting as equally dirty as the other, really stirred up some good memories he had of his older sisters.

"Bite her Nelson! Bite her!" Lydia cheered as her older brother pinned their cousin to the ground.

"Louise tug on his ears! Pummel him!" Aaron called out to his little sister, encouraging her to fend off her opponent.

"Lydia and Aaron! What I tell y'all 'bout encouragin' yous's siblings t'fight all nasty?!"

"Not to...?"

"Exactly."

Granted some play-fighting needed to be monitored when most of the audience were enablers, and neither his middle child nor his nephew had any qualms sending each other to the hospital. They were still learning about consequences after all.

Still, there wasn't anything else in the world that built better character than teaching the children that they were equals to one another in all their shared activities. Respect was an important lesson to be learned. One Norman wished every parent taught their child.

The world would be a better place otherwise...

-

Sometimes the Projectionist would inevitably be unable to fend off sleep. The exhaustion would wear it down and give way to the nightmares of a life it could barely remember. Then it would wake up and scream, trying to rid itself of heinous visions of itself ripping its offsprings apart.

Norman Polk would reawaken inside its brutish body and lash out, hoping to either physically fight away his own broken psyche or perhaps cripple the Projectionist so that it could never fulfil these dreamt up acts of violence.

A Polk was all about family, and the thought of becoming the sort to bring harm upon his own children... Well, Norman had heard the stories. Knew why Poppop was such a taboo topic. He did not want to be the man besides his Nanna in the portrait above the fireplace... One he'd resembled if his eye wasn't wrong and he'd grown out his beard...

The Projectionist didn't have the mental faculties to understand this distress however, but it seemed to recognize that what it saw in dreams was bad. That what it did to the vermin, it should never do to those innocent little youngsters that looked at it with love instead of fear and hatred. So... Why did it do it in dreams? Why did it kill when it wanted to be docile? The children were not a threat, so why...?

It made no sense... But it didn't much care for elaborate existential crisis like that. Norman's consciousness would freak it out, but ultimately loosened its grip and go back to being dormant. The lumbering beast resuming its tiring trek through the endless maze. A cycle that would repeat itself the next time it fell asleep.

It was in the aftermath of yet another nightmare that the Projectionist came across something completely new to it. Something small and living, and very much intruding on its space. Something that very vaguely looked like it...

A living being with a body similar to the ones the horrible botched critters that ran around in packs had, yet with no visible imperfections to it. Its head though... It was kind of like a projector, but not. Square in shape, with a lens, a tube, dial and something very round that kind of looked like a big ear. A camera, like the one Aaron had gotten for his birthday.

It seemed to have gloves, shoes and a belt that sort of looked like the speaker lodged in the Projectionist's torso, but it was hard to tell since the strange being was on the ground flailing about like a dying fish.

The towering amalgam stared at the tiny new thing in dumbfounded silence, unsure how to react to such a strange discovery, until it realized why the thing was flailing about to begin with.

One of its legs was pinned under a crate that appeared to have fallen from a nearby stack, and the Projectionist could tell the limb was broken. Nearby lay a series of Ink Hearts that had been resting on the fallen crate.

On any other occasion it would have simply walked over, raised one heavy foot, and crushed the intruder's skull for daring to try to steal from it. This time however, was completely different... Something primal was urging the Projectionist to do something completely alien to its usually aggressive nature. Something instinctive.

The poor creature grew agitated upon finally noticing the Projectionist's presence as it approached, but its broken limb ensured it stayed put even after the crate was picked up and tossed aside. It shook fearfully once the Projectionist knelt down to pick it up by the torso. It stopped shaking once it was brought to rest against the much larger beast's chest, cradled gently like an infant. The Projectionist rumbling softly so as to reassure it that no harm would befall it.

The little creature, with a head that was not a projector but a distant relative of a sort, stared up with its own dark lens before reaching out to gently pat the Projectionist's "face". It seemed to understand its intention to help it, rather than exterminate it.

The lumbering beast carried on in its path, now carrying a most precious cargo. It would find something to help treat the injury and then it would begin teaching this newly adopted offspring to survive in the studio.

Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was still a Polk, and the Polks cared for their younglings. This tiny sentient camera was its child now, and the beast would protect it from the horrors of this horrid studio.

[shmowlwrites]

Business Man From Origins But He’s He’s Chat Noir

@the-navistar-carol @eve-valution So Eve was watching origins and saw that business man that just walks right on past Fu and was like “what if he helped Fu? He would’ve been Chat Noir!” So here we are. Nothing motivates someone like procrastination and finally, I am out of my writer’s block so maybe I’ll get my prompts done soon. No salt, except Gabriel Agreste hatred, as usual I had no idea what I was really doing until half-way through, there will be a second part to complete Origins, which I also have no idea what I’m gonna be doing with Also, I promise that ending is v much innocent, why are adult-teen friendships hard to write?

Gabriel had places to be. Things to do. Cases to win. Oh, you thought this was Gabriel Agreste? No. This was Gabriel Durand, a powerful lawyer who ruled the court with an iron fist. He knew more details about you than you did. If you faced him in court, you might as well tell the judge that you forfeit, you’re going to lose anyway. 

Now, Gabriel thought of himself as a humble man outside of his ruthless court tactics. He tried to help people on his way to and from work and his research projects for work. So when, even when a little behind schedule than normal, he came across an old man on the sidewalk trembling as he reached for his cane, he stooped down to help pick the man up and set him back to his feet. 

However, before he could ask if he was alright, the screeching of a car drifting right in the middle of the street to pull up on the sidewalk as a young blond began running up the stairs. Two adults got out, one scarily huge and the other Gabriel was familiar with due to her standing in for the recluse that shared his name. So that must be Adrien Agreste… 

Gabriel’s face set. Gabriel- the fashion empire- had always been something that set him off. He switched his phone on to record- they were close enough that recording the altercation from his pocket would do fine. The couple of seconds long interaction found Gabriel with new information. What exactly was going on in the Agreste household?

He turned to the old man who now had a pensive look on his face. “I’m sorry about that- Are you alright, sir? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” the old man gave him a sating smile. Gabriel had been around enough snakes to spot a smile meant to placate hiding behind the facade of being genuine.

“Is something troubling you?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t mean to pry, if there is something.”

“Oh no- I just noticed that you tried recording what happened with that young man there. Why?” The old man’s brow furrowed.

“That was Adrien Agreste and two of Gabriel Agreste’s employees. I’ve always thought something was off with that family, but I’ve never had proof of my thoughts. Funny how you employ your son as a model for everything you make and keep him hidden in the house.” Gabriel looked to the school’s stairs, remembering Adrien’s plea. What was the wrath of Gabriel Agreste like? 

“Ah, I understand,” the old man hummed, leaning forward on his cane. “You worry about that young man?”

“Indeed,” Gabriel nodded, turning back to the elder. He checked his watch and nearly choked. “I’m so sorry, sir, but I’m running late for work, I must go!” Gabriel wheeled around and ran for it. 

And then there were the tremors in the earth, the walls nearly caving from the measured shakes. Fearing an earthquake, the court ran. It didn’t matter about the case- they had just finished up. As Gabriel slid under a bench, he noticed something off about his briefcase. It was soft, meaning he could see if there was a lump in the leather. And indeed- there was a lump. Pulling it out, the lump turned out to be a hexagonal black box with an intricate red design on the cover. Now wasn’t really the time to check out strange items in your briefcase, so he stuck it back in. Just at that moment, a police officer barged into the courtroom, allowing for its occupants to hear the screaming outside. Declaring there was a monster outside, the officer required everyone to run for an inner hiding place. 

Gabriel ran for his office. The earthquake wasn’t an earthquake, rather the steps of the stone monster, so while he waited for whatever to happen, he decided to finally check out the contents of the box. He froze when a green light appeared and floated around him. He only blinked when a cat-like bug-thing materialized out of it. 

“Oh, fils de pute.”

“Oh, do you kiss your maman with that mouth?”

Gabriel didn’t like this. Why did he let Plagg convince him to do this? Here he was, standing on a rooftop of all places, dressed in something he would never normally were. A lawyer, Plagg had mused and decided this would be fun. Here he was, in a black suit, black button-up, black bowtie, black loafers he wouldn’t normally wear that had grippy cat paw pads on the bottom. Now if the gothic suit wasn’t enough, he was wearing a masquarde-esque black mask that reminded him too much of the Batman masks, with their pointy “bat ears” sticking up from them. He tried tugging it off. Turns out it was like the mask was superglued to his freaking face.

Now, if Gabriel thought he looked ridiculous, it had nothing on the stupid belt tail and, upon looking in a mirror, his cat eyes. His eyes were normally brown, but now they were a glowing amber. 

Unbelievable. 

No, what was even more unbelievable was that whoever gave him this miraculous, didn’t find another adult. No. They gave it to some young teenage girl. Who stuttered and had confidence issues. He wasn’t a dad! He was bad with kids! How was he supposed to help her?!

“Uh, don’t worry too much,” he tried a smile. She still looked at him with wide, scared eyes. “I mean, I’m also new at this. I don’t even know the first thing of what I’m doing right now. Plagg, my kwami, told me a few things, but he didn’t really give me a confidence booster besides telling me-” he mimicked Plagg’s voice “-it’ll be fun! Loosen up, law-boy!”

It seemed to work, the girl giggled at his impression of Plagg. “A-ah, thank you.”

“So, what does your miraculous do? Perhaps we can plan before shoving ourselves into that situation,” Gabriel asked, grabbing the black-matted chrome bo-staff he had been trying to figure out when the girl ran into him. One of the golden paw-pads slid a screen up, and he finally found out that he could read his powers on there. 

“Uh, Tikki told me it was…” the girl frowned. “If I say it, even in a sentence, will it activate it?”

“Probably,” Gabriel grunted. “It looks like I’m your support though. I can destroy things at a touch, I can also send a ball of destructive energy out, but I’m not too sure about trying that right now.”

“My power is something lucky. I have to tear the item the Akuma is hiding… and…” the girl’s face started to show panic again. “What else was I supposed to do?!”

“Don’t worry right now,” Gabriel crouched so that he was looking up at her. “Let’s prioritize. There is an- what did you call it?” He had heard her, but he wanted to keep her grounded.

“An Akuma,” the girl answered, her fists still clenched tightly. 

“Okay, so we need to find that. We need to break it. In words, it sounds easy. I’m sure with your power, it’ll either give us great luck or give us something helpful to increase our chances. So now, the words sound a little more plausible. If anything goes wrong, we’ll fall back and regroup and plan. Does that round alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah…” the girl nodded. “Um… What do I call you?”

“Hm…” Gabriel hummed. “Well, my miraculous is the black cat, yeah? Call me Chat Noir.” He didn’t ask the girl, and perhaps he should’ve, but he felt she would’ve panicked on finding a name.

They found Stoneheart at the DuPont stadium, chasing a young teen. Gabriel vaulted off the wall, extended his bo-staff to slam down between Stoneheart and the teen. 

“Don’t you know assault and property damage is illegal?” he found himself asking, buying the teen time to run while Stoneheart was focused on him.

Having no clever words, Stoneheart instead decided to try to squish him underhand. Swinging his bo-staff at Stoneheart, he tried to trip him. Instead, the staff bounced off and Stoneheart grew in size.

“Merde, merde, merde,” Gabriel muttered, finding himself flipping away. Where did his sudden athleticism come from? He was a lawyer, for God’s sake! And where was his partner? Please don’t say she bailed on him, he would more than likely kill Stoneheart than “free the Akuma” if he used his power on Stoneheart.

Speaking of which, the monster picked up a soccer goal post and tossed it at him. Unaware of his surroundings, he batted it away, only to then realize there was a person in the way. He tossed his staff, sending it flying after pressing the extend button. Right before the goal post hit her, the staff reached and the civilian was unharmed. However, that left him without a weapon, and Stoneheart grabbed him.

“What are you waiting for, super red bug? The world is watching you!” The civilian called, and Gabriel found solace in that. The girl was still there, but she was perhaps still on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t think that would help her; in fact, he thought that would only send her further down the rabbit hole. 

However, suddenly the teen slid under Stoneheart’s legs and had a brave smile on her face. “Animal cruelty? How shameful!” And with a mighty tug, Stoneheart was sent onto his back and Gabriel went flying into the goal post on the other end of the field.

“Sorry I took so long, Chat Noir,” the girl fretted.

“It’s alright,” Gabriel grunted as he rolled to his feet. “You were nervous and that is fully understandable. But we’re together now, aren’t we?”

The girl gave him a beaming smile before looking back at Stoneheart with a frown. “Any plans? He gets bigger with every attack… We’ll need to do something other than attack, right?”

“I think it’s time to use your luck,” Gabriel nodded to her.

The girl made a sound of confirmation and tossed her yo-yo into the air. “Lucky Charm!”

A wet suit fell into her hands. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She shrieked. “How am I supposed to break anything with this?”

“He’s made of stone…” Gabriel began to analyze their opponent. “His right hand is clenched, he only uses his right. You think he’s holding his Akuma?” Gabriel suggested.

The girl perked, her eyes taking in other things while Gabriel kept his attention on Stoneheart. “Here’s my plan!”

Gabriel spared her a glance. “Anything you need me to do?”

She poked the hose at their feet into the wetsuit and then wrapped her yo-yo around his legs. “I’m sorry- do you mind being bait?”

Absolutely he minded! But, he only gave her a nervous grin before he was tossed towards Stoneheart. Now caught, he turned his attention towards the girl, confused as she called towards the monster. “Catch me if you can!”

And she was also caught, but he noticed the purple wadded ball of something fall to the ground. She turned towards the girl that he had saved earlier. “Alya, the tap!”

Did she know the girl?

But either way, the girl- Alya - turned on the hose and his partner popped out of the giant’s hand. She stomped on the paper ball, and a purple-black butterfly fluttered away. Gabriel fell to the ground with the disappearance of Stoneheart and the appearance of a rather large teen.

“Are you alright, boy?” Gabriel found himself asking, sitting on the ground and folding over his knees.

“I- What happened?” The boy asked.

“You were… I guess the word would be Akumatized,” Gabriel offered. He felt bad for thinking of him as a monster- he was only influenced by the Akuma! Would all so-called monsters just be victims of Akumas? “But it’s alright. My partner and I helped you.”

The sound of his partner’s voice brought the two out of their conversation- she was reading the paper that had held the Akuma.

“Kim wrote it,” the boy sighed. “He’s always making fun of me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t get so bent out of shape about that. There’s no shame in telling someone you love them, Ivan.”

Was this girl a classmate? She knows the name of two teenagers- of which there were probably a million in Paris- and knew a lot more about the situation than he was.

“How do you know my name, miss?”

That sent the girl into a nervous giggle fit. Thankfully, she was saved from answering that. Alya was recording them at an uncomfortably close distance. 

“Uncanny! A-mazing! Spectacular! Are you gonna be protecting Paris from now on? How did you get your powers? Oh, I’ve got a ton of questions to ask you… uh?”

Gabriel looked to his partner. He wasn’t about to promise anything she was too nervous about. The girl met his eyes and nodded. Gabriel stood, helping Ivan to his feet as well.

“Ladybug. Call me Ladybug,” the girl held her head up.

“Chat Noir,” Gabriel dipped his head. “We’ll protect you and find the source of this phenomenon.”

Gabriel found he kind of liked the whole experience, once the threat of death was gone. Ladybug was a nice girl, he hoped she stuck around despite her anxiety.

[ri-translates]

Translation: Itaru Chigasaki SSR [MANKAI Encore] - Encore: Lancelot Part 3

The Spring Troupe have come a long way since their first performance of the Knights of the Round IV THE STAGE. The winner of Chikage and Itaru’s contest is...

Part 1 || Part 2

Lancelot = Itaru Gawain = Chikage Gareth = Masumi Mordred = Sakuya Merlin = Tsuzuru King Arthur = Citron

Izumi: (The stage is set in medieval Brittania. The story begins with a conversion between Lancelot and the fairy Gwen.)

Lancelot: “Are you interested, Gwen?”

Izumi: (Itaru-san is alone on stage. Although Gwen doesn’t exist in reality, she’s expressed only by the lighting and Itaru-san’s acting…)

Lancelot: “I know. I won’t talk to you when we’re in front of people. I’ll just be treated as a weirdo.”

Audience A: Wow….

Izumi: (By facing Gwen with a soft expression, the guests become captivated as well. With that, it puts everyone in the world of KniRoun without feeling out of place.)

~~~

Izumi: (During his journey, Lancelot, who’s aiming for King Arthur’s castle, sees Gawain being attacked by a demon.)

Lancelot: “I’ll assist you!”

Gawain: “I don’t know where you’ve come from, but I’m in your debt….!”

Izumi: (Chikage-san’s athletic skill is high, and his sword fighting is better than before--)

Gawain: “Haaa!”

*fire slash*

Izumi: (There’s charm suited for the stage in his movements, more than ever before. The quality of the slashes stand out, and has a nice feeling looking at it.)

~~

Izumi: (The two of them go on a journey together. Lancelot opens up his heart to Gawain, who is able to accept Gwen’s existence without any worriesーー)

Gawain: “Can you see something?”

Lancelot: “.......” “I can see something… If I said that, it’d feel unpleasant, right?”

Gawain: “Haha, you’re the same as my pet cat. Now that I think about it, you kind of resemble it a little.”

Lancelot: “A cat?”

Izumi: (The process of the two of them reaching out to each other little by little has to be shown in a short amount of time on stage, butーー)

Gawain: “Well, there’s many things I’m unable to see. I don’t really mind.”

Lancelot: “You’re strange.”

Izumi: (With their movements and the atmosphere, the changes in the sense of distance between the two of them is steadily conveyed.)

~~~

Izumi: (In order to cure the king’s illness, Lancelot and Gawain go on a journey to look for the “Holy Chalice.) (During their journey, they meet a young man, Gareth, and learn he is Gawain’s long-lost brother.)

Gawain: “That crest on your sword, are youーー”

Gareth: “T-This is… Apparently the household crest of my father, who left when I was a child. My mother entrusted this sword to me when I left….”

Gawain: “That’s my household’s crest.”

Gareth: “Huh!?”

Lancelot: “What do you mean by that?”

Gareth: “Then, my father is…”

Gawain: “To think I’d encounter my half-sibling in a place like this.” “You have my thanks, Lancelot. I’m constantly being helped by you.”

~~~

Arthur: “It’s said that with Merlin’s magic, Gwen can become a human. If that’s true, then there’s the possibility that she’ll also become my wife.”

Lancelot: “Gwen becoming the king’s wife….!?”

“If you go against Gwen’s wishes, you’ll anger her mother, the Lady of the Lake.”

Arthur: “It has already been decided.”

Lancelot: “Your Majesty….!”

Izumi: (His dignity as the king is incredible. Thanks to that, Lancelot’s anguish deepens when he turns his back on the king whom he swore an oath to, increasing the depth of the story.)

~~~

Izumi: (When Gwen proposes running away to Lancelot, Gawain, loyal to the king, is confronted by the other knights.) When Gwen is half-transformed into a human, a fight breaks out at the ritual site, and amidst the confusion, Gareth loses his life at Lancelot’s side.)

Gareth: “I-I’m fine! P-Please, hurry and take Gwen… I’m fine!”

Lancelot: “.....gh, I’m sorry. You’re a true knight.”

*Itaruns off screen*

Gareth: “T-Thank you…”

Gawain: “Gareth! Gareth, hang on!”

Gareth: “Brother… I’m glad I was able to become a knight….”

Audience B: *sobbing*

Izumi: (Gareth dies without holding a grudge against Lancelot and Gwen. He smiles in his last moments, gripping the hearts of the audience.) (This Gareth has an ephemeral expression, a different vibe from Masumi’s usual Gareth, as if he were Gareth himself.)

Arthur: “What is the meaning of this, Mordred?”

Mordred: “Uncle, I’ve been aiming to dispose of you for a long time.”

Gawain: “How did you accomplish a rebellion so quickly….?”

Merlin: “With my magic, this much isn’t difficult at all.”

Arthur: “Merlin!” [1]

Gawain: “No way, even you’ve become a traitorー”

Merlin: “I thought I could use this one better than Arthur.”

Izumi: (Both Sakuya-kun and Tsuzuru-kun had difficulty performing villainous roles well in the previous performance, but this time, it looks like they’re enjoying themselves with ease. It’s quite solid.) (Peace returns to the castle and Gawain slashes at Lancelot. In their last scene together….)

Gawain: “ーーHaa!”

*slashes*

Lancelot: “ーーgh.”

Arthur: “What are you doing, Gawain.”

Gawain: “I told you I still haven’t forgiven you, didn’t I?”

Lancelot: “.....”

Gawain: “But, that doesn’t change the fact that you are my friend.”

Lancelot: “Gawain….”

Gawain: “I’ll take you to see Gareth. I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

Lancelot: “.....”

Izumi: (Up until here, the exchanges, sword fighting, everything was in sync. Because of their every day relationship, it’s gotten even better than before!)

~~~

Tonooka: Nice work. Because Hoshii was very busy, he went home early, but he was in a very pleasant mood. “Thank you for making me interested in theatre, as well as making me feel like I was on a journey together with you,” is what he said.

Sakuya: You did it, Itaru-san!

Itaru: ーーHell yeah, I feel like something good might come out if I pull the gacha right now.

Tsuzuru: Eh, you’re gonna pull the gacha looking like Lancelot?

Masumi: He’s a hopeless game freak.

Citron: Speaking of which, you still haven’t pulled, Itaru?

Itaru: Not excessively. ーーNow then. Enter the stage, SSR.....! [2]

Itaru: Hell yeah! Got it! SSR Lancelot!

Sakuya: That’s great, Itaru-san!

Itaru: And with that, the winner of the gacha contest is me, Senpai.

Chikage: Oh, I didn’t tell you, huh. ーーLook.

Itaru: Eh, Gawainーーand Lancelot!?

Chikage: When I tried doing one 10 pull, I got both of them. [3] It’s my victory.

Citron: Ohh Itaru, a bright yet short-lived joy!

Tsuzuru: So it’s Itaru-san’s loss after all.

Itaru: Even though I accumulated good karma….I don’t understand.

Tl notes and comments:

[1]  easiest line in the play thus far HAHAHA

[2] Itaru says SSR演出入った……！which I translated as a kind of play on 演出 is like “stage production” and 入る is to enter. Therefore, “enter the stage!”  

[3] DISGUSTING

Thanks for reading my translation up to this point! I hope it was easy to follow along! If you spot any mistakes in grammar or the translation, please don’t hesitate to let me know! I know Eng A3! will eventually catch up, but until then, if anyone has any other stories (preferably Spring Troupe) they’d like translated, feel free to message me! I may be translating something from Yume100 soon, but we’ll see...

Part 1 || Part 2

[dolphin-enthusiast]

Yo Yo my dude, could we get Joseph, Ceasar, Lisa Lisa, and bonus—Kars for what would happen if a army of fire ants crawled into their beds at night?

Joseph:

- He just knew there was something fishy going on since he kept feeling as if something was constantly tickling his legs. And just as his eyes snapped open his worst fears were brutally confirmed.

- He straight up screams like a little girl as he quite literally SHOOTS out of his bed and lands all stiff on his legs akin to a cat. The man frantically checks himself of any bites then dashes out of his room only to barge into Lisa Lisa and Caesar’s rooms in order to wake them the fuck up and tell them that he’s in a very life threatening situation.

- And just like that he wakes up the entire fucking household and doesn’t stop screaming in sheer terror until Lisa Lisa finally gets rid of the ants (somehow), finally allowing the man to rest in peace. Only that it doesn’t happen. Joseph is completely traumatized.

Caesar:

- Now if Caesar were to be confronted with something like this, he would undoubtedly handle it MUCH better than Joseph. Sure the man freaks out at first like any other person would, but he regains his composure pretty fast and starts thinking of a logical solution.

- Shoots out of his bed, gracefully lands onto the table then tries getting the ants out using his air bubbles. He’s a very patient person but he would be stuck trying to get rid of the ants for h o u r s in the dead of the night which would eventually frustrate Caesar to no extent.

- Somehow Joseph stumbles over Caesar then asks him what the fuck is he doing only to see that his bed is infested by fucking fire ants. The man immediately screeches and Caesar is just about to beat him up for waking up everyone in the house when Lisa Lisa comes in and (once again) gets rid of the ants. Not before scolding these 2 plenty obviously.

Lisa Lisa:

- The woman, the l e g e n d. She’s undoubtedly the best at handling this. You can’t tell me that this woman wasn’t trapped into WAY more extreme events in the past, so this would be like a piece of cake for her.

- She doesn’t even flinch once she feels the ants crawl up on her body, she just swiftly flips on the other side, the ants immediately flying off of her body. With another quick kick of her leg, the rest of the ants are knocked off her bed and so the woman can return back to her slumber.

- The next morning she acts as if it was nothing, casually telling Joseph and Caesar that she just “got rid of some fire ants that were crawling on her” all nonchalantly once the men ask her about the strange bumping noises that were coming from her room last night. The look on Caesar and Joseph’s faces was priceless to say the least.

Kars:

- He actually lets out the tiniest of squeaks upon spotting the ants crawling towards his bed, something very uncharacteristic of him. The ultimate lifeform forgets that he’s the ultimate lifeform for a split second and quite literally makes a break for the door.

- He puts on his most intimidating voice (as if he isn’t having a mental breakdown in that exact moment) and calls out for the other pillarmen to “come help him with some very important business”.

- The others rush into Kars’ room in no time only to lay eyes upon the horrifying sight that was his bed which was currently full of fire ants. Wamuu and Santana have to hold their breaths in order not to laugh whilst Esidisi is cowering in fear. The men eventually get rid of the cursed ants (all whilst trying not to laugh their asses off since they know that Kars would whoop their asses) and hurriedly get out of the ultimate lifeform’s room in order to absolutely c r e a s e. They will be laughing about Kars’ terrified face for weeks.

[prolestariwrites]

Interlude

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: T Characters: Nero, Kyrie, Nico   Tags: Canon-related, Hurt/Comfort, Angst Words: 1918 

Summary: Nero wakes up in the hospital to find his arm is gone and his future thrown into chaos. But there are two people there to help in completely opposite ways.

Just a oneshot about what I think happened after Nero is hurt pre-DMC5. Thanks to @solynacea​ for feedback on this. Please enjoy.

Also posted on AO3

Freak. 

“No…”

You’re evil. You’re a demon.

“Please… Kyrie…”

Do you even know what you are?

“Kyrie!”

“I’m here, I’m here. Shhh, it’s okay.” Hands press to his forehead, soothing and soft. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”

“Kyrie?” Nero opens his eyes, the too harsh light making him wince, and he peeks through his lashes as Kyrie’s face swims into view. “What happened?”

She doesn’t answer, instead wrapping her arms around him, leaning over to press her face to his neck. He can feel her quietly crying, the sound making his stomach turn the way it always does. He frowns in confusion, trying to lift his own arms so he can hug her close. But his entire body hurts all of a sudden, his limbs too heavy, so he turns his head to rub his cheek against her hair with what little strength he has. “Hey, it’s okay,” he sighs. His voice cracks, his throat dry. “What happened? Can you tell me?”

Kyrie lifts her head, tears rolling down her face as she smiles. Nero realizes he is laying in a bed as she strokes his cheek, but it’s not his own. Hospital, he immediately thinks. The smell of disinfectant fills his nose and he groans internally at how much this will cost. 

“You were attacked,” she whispers.

“A demon?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It was gone. You were screaming…”

Her voice fades, and Nero swallows uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Bits and pieces come back in images: he was in the garage, working on the van. A silhouette in the door. Kyrie cooking something inside.

Then the rest comes, and he jerks out of Kyrie’s touch to look, his eyes widening and a strangled kind of sound escaping him when he sees bandages where his cursed arm should be. “You’re okay,” Kyrie says in a rush, her hands still trying to soothe him. Nero can feel the blood rushing from his face as he stares. “You’re alive. We thought you were dead, there was so much blood. But you’re alive.”

“What the fuck?” he breathes. He remembers the strange man who had stumbled in, looking for change and maybe a meal, and his arm glowing as warning bells went off in his head. Kyrie called his name and he reached out to tell her to stay out—then it grabbed him.

Nero’s back spasms in pain as he remembers flying through the air and hitting the shelves. “It’s okay,” Kyrie murmurs. Gently she pulls his face towards her, and Nero blinks up at her. “Hey. Stay with me,” she says, firmly this time.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he says, his heart beating too fast.

“The doctors stopped the bleeding. You’re healing fine. They gave you stuff to keep you asleep so you wouldn’t be in pain, so we were just waiting for you to wake up.” Kyrie’s smile seems genuine this time, and he tries to settle back and keep it together in front of her. “Please rest,” she says quietly. “I’m going to let the nurse know you’re awake, and see if I can get Dante.”

“Dante?” Nero frowns in confusion.

“Yeah. I called him when you got here, but I haven’t been able to reach him.” 

“Why would you call him?”

Kyrie sighs, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure he’d want to know.”

She stands and leaves the room, keeping the door open. Nero glances around, taking in the stark white walls and the ugly yellow tile. She probably took him to the new hospital in Fortuna, built after the Order had left their main one damaged beyond repair. His mind starts to spin a million miles a minute, overwhelmed with questions. How long has he been here, asleep? Did Kyrie drive, or did she call an ambulance? She must have been so scared… Nero makes a fist, anger pulsing in his veins at the idea. He swore to protect her, and after they had been used by the Order, he had promised himself that she’d never be that afraid again. Now he is injured, in the hospital, and she has to take care of him and everything else on her own.

He closes his eyes, trying to fight off panic. What the hell is he going to do now, with only one arm? He can’t fight demons this way, and without that he’s out of a job. Once Dante finds out, he’s not gonna let him run the mobile branch, and he can forget his contracts in Fortuna. Why the hell would something just take just his arm?

Freak… Demon… 

No, that was a dream, the same one that he has always had ever since he was a kid. Nero groans as he tries to think, tries to remember, and the nightmare that he was having before he woke up swirls through his thoughts, making it a jumble, scattered in pieces from whatever the doctors had given him. He remembers a blue light, cutting through the air itself. What even was that? It looked like some kind of portal, made using his arm. Only his arm had… changed somehow?

What demon would know the truth about him? Hell, he didn’t even fully understand it.

“Hey, you really are awake!”

He jerks out of his thoughts to see Nico standing at the door, her hands behind her back. She grins and steps forward, pulling a bouquet of flowers out to show him. “Brought you these. They’re nice, aren’t they?”

She presses her face to the flowers and takes a deep breath as she smells them, and Nero asks, “What are you doing here?”

Nico huffs. “Some gratitude. You scared us half to death, you know that?” She puts the flowers on the bed tray and wheels it away so she can drag a chair over. “Never saw a guy lose an arm before. Does that happen a lot?”

She plops in the chair and stretches her legs out. “Yeah, all the time,” Nero hisses. “I just grow a new one each time.”

Her eyes pop wide. “Get the hell out of here!”

“Nico, what do you want?” He feels exhausted, but she usually leaves him tired and agitated on a good day.

“I told you, I wanted to see how you were.” She actually seems serious, tilting her head to examine him. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Nero confesses. “I’m not in pain, just like I got hit by a train. Then the train ripped off my arm.”

Nico snorts. “So dramatic. Doctor says you’re healing fine. Really fast too. You uh…” She nudges his bed with her foot. “You always heal like that? Faster than a human does? Normal one anyway.”

Nero shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, I’ve always been—”

“We never talked about that arm of yours,” she interrupts. He shoots her a warning look, but Nico ignores him, her hands moving as she talks. “You know, how it was all weird and blue and glowy.”

“It’s gone now,” he growls. “No need to talk about it.”

“Right.” She pulls out a cigarette and slides it between her lips, but she only leaves it hanging there, thankfully not lighting it. They fall into an uncomfortable silence, and Nero scowls at the ceiling, wondering how he can tell her to get lost without being too rude. He really is tired now, and can feel sleep pressing on his head, fighting a bit to keep his eyes open. Before he can think of something to say, she asks, “So what’s the plan now?”

Nero rolls his eyes. “I have no idea. Why, you got one?”

“Sure do.” She leans forward, and he eyes her suspiciously as she uses two fingers to pluck the cigarette out before propping her elbows on her knees. “You know that research you gave me? Mentioned you in it.” Nero frowns as she nods towards his bandaged arm. “That too. Got some ideas. Doctors probably will want to give you a prosthetic, but I think I can do better. Make you better. Plus, you’ll need help. Kyrie can’t run that wild household of yours on her own while you recover. And I need a place to stay.” She grins at him. “Interested?”

Nico waits as he considers. They had just met a couple of weeks before, and honestly he found her pretty annoying. Knowing she was Agnus’ daughter didn’t help things, either. Yet Kyrie had embraced her like she was some long-lost cousin or something despite what Agnus had done to them, and to Credo. As is often the case, Nero makes his decision based on what he thinks Kyrie would do, so he nods slowly. “Maybe, yeah. What do you want?”

“We go half,” she says. “You got this Devil May Cry thing going on, right? I’ll make your weapons, help you out. I’m an excellent driver, and I got a real sweet van.”

Nero grits his teeth. He already gives Dante a cut, and if Nico takes a part too, that means less money. But he could use the help, especially now. “Not half. I’ll give you ten percent. I’m the one busting my ass and risking my life.”

Nico laughs. “Twenty-five percent. And you pay for the special gadgets separately.”

“Okay. But you gotta do something for me.”

She shrugs. “Sure, what?”

“Kyrie is trying to get in touch with Dante. He’s the one who is in charge of the Devil May Cry.” Nico’s brows go up in surprise. “I don’t want him to know what happened. Not yet, anyway. It’s uh… bad for business. Can you keep her from calling him?”

Nico stares at him for a minute before blinking out of a daze. “Dante, huh? Dante who?”

“Does it matter?” he snaps.

They gaze at each other for a long moment, and Nero can feel the secrets growing. But he’s not ready to tell her everything: his past, his arm, what really happened in Fortuna. And he for damn sure isn’t ready to explain who Dante is, especially since Nero doesn’t understand it himself. It’s been three years since Fortuna was wasted by the Order, and in that time getting to know Dante and working with him has only made things more confusing, made more questions that needed answers. But deep down he cares what Dante thinks of him, and has kept from asking those questions in case they were met with derision, or worse, led to Dante ditching him. Plus, he figured if there was something worth knowing, Dante would have told him.

More secrets, he thinks, and his head aches as he studies Nico. Does she recognize his annoyance for the fear it actually is? Her eyes are laced with suspicion, and he can see the wheels turning in her head, like she wants to ask something.

“Guess not,” Nico finally says, but there is something weird in her voice he can’t pinpoint. “Yeah, I’ll make sure he stays away.”

“Good.” With that decided, he sighs and closes his eyes. “You really think you can make me a better fighter?”

“Hell yeah!” she cries excitedly, and Nero chuckles. “My old man was an asshat, but he left some good notes. And I know how to make a damn weapon. Combine the two and you got some real work of art shit going on. You ever heard of a Devil Arm?”

“No,” he sighs, sleep pulling him under as he listens to her drone on about demons and guns.