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audreyscribes · 8 months

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CARRY ON MY WAYWARD CHILD [PART 4: EPILOGUE]

Ω PJO IMAGINE Ω

PROMPT: When a dream makes the reader unable to settle, they decide to take a walk, converting their dream to reality.

Reader encounters Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth on the run when they have a dream that makes them go out and see a sick Annabeth with a tired, injured Luke and Thalia. They take them in, saving them, and encounters them years later when they remembered a kind stranger.

a/n: Reader is neutral; no specific pronouns or descriptions used. Referred to as Y/N. Roughly college/university age. [AO3 LINK] | [1] [2] [3]

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“... and yeah, that’s what basically happened” you recounted, nodding to yourself while licking at your now dry lips. Your fingers nervously wrapped and drummed against the cup.

You glanced from your empty cup, struggling to decipher the tea leaves at the bottom but also trying not to because you didn’t want any more mystic, mythological, magical, whatever nonsense right now.

On the other hand, your nerves were shot with your aunt sitting across from her. So it was either trying to divert your attention to reading the damn tea leaves or staring at your aunt.

You took a quick peek up at your aunt, who was sitting across from you, sipping her own tea with a seemingly neutral face. Which either was good or very bad for you.

Pretending to sip your tea from very empty cup, you thought back to the situation.

You had watched the dawn rise and the sun peering over the horizon, light filtering through the open, broken doorway. The sky changing from its dark hues to lighter hues, the clouds appearing with tints of colour. You weren’t sure exactly how much time passed or if you somehow slept in your daze.

The only reason you snapped out of your stupor was it was time to make breakfast. When you had pushed yourself up and begun to make breakfast, it was only then you realized that the kids weren’t here anymore and you didn’t have to make breakfast on time.

It was strange how these kids appeared in your life and gotten you into a rhythm that you didn’t know you found yourself playing. When popped in the first bite of food, you chewed numbly, you noted why breakfast didn’t taste as it used to be.

With a full stomach, you turned your attention to cleaning up the house now it was daytime. The house was in such disarray with everything strewn all over during the scuffle, with broken furniture and pieces filling the gaps.

Time passed by you as you cleaned and straightened the house, taking moments to pause to eat the leftover breakfast for too many for one or to reminisce about the kids’ impact on your life when it came to you.

Then something strange happened. As you took the blankets and duvet outside and begun to hang them on the line, you saw something in the corner of your eye.

Your heart leaped, thinking the kids came back, but as you turned, your heart leaped for another reason as you saw a person. You let out a curse in surprise, hands and legs flying as you jumped, sending a duvet flying before you scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground. You heard chuckling and your face burned at the display.

“Sorry for scaring you” said the person, giving a grin that was more playful then apologetic. You stared skeptically at him, not believing his apology. He was a man with salt and pepper hair, with blue eyes that seemed to crinkle with mirth. There was something about him that made your brain itch, but you had no idea why.

Your brain could only handle so much itchiness.

You tossed the blanket back on the line before making your way to the stranger warily; your experiences with the monsters making you think twice. “Is there something I can help you with?” you asked carefully, looking for anything inhuman about him. He seemed like an other middle-aged man, but then again, monsters came in plain sight-

“Actually, I’m here on business if you will. You are (y/n) (l/n) correct?”

You felt a bit unnerved when he knew your name. You kept your toe to the fence, hoping the protections were still active.

“...Yes...how do you know that...?” you asked slowly.

“Well, before I can answer that, I come here on behalf of some individuals to extend their thanks to you.”

“Huh?”

The man gave a (too) charming smile and reached into his pocket. He took out a business card to you and handed it to you. You carefully took the card and it’s inscriptions read:

HERMES AGREIPHONTES

OLYMPYUS

Travel Agent, Head of Communications, Head of Commerce

you could feel something connecting in your brain, as you looked up at the man named Hermes. You squinted as you felt a connection forming before you gasped, connecting the dots. Of course, how could you be so blind?

“Wait, I know you-”

“Yes, (y/n), it may be a bit surprising for a mortal, but I am Hermes, the god of-” he started to say,

“You’re Luke’s dad?!” you said before he could even finish.

Hermes stared at you for a moment, eyes wide with surprise and totally off guard, before bursting into laughter while you had a red face.

You invited the man into the house, apologizing profusely for the strangeness of a lack of a door, but the man waved it off goodnaturedly and grinned, “I’ll just deliver a door for you as a replacement” he said before pulling out a blackberry and begun typing.

You opened your mouth to protest but you decided to just get your guest some drinks and snacks, hopefully not minding that you couldn’t host properly due to damaged house.

“So, uh, how may I help you? Like are you here for Luke? Because something happened and he’s not here, but uh-” you begun to stammer and Hermes gave you a soft, sad smile.

He gave a bitter chuckle, taking a sip of his drink, before giving you his full attention.

“Don’t worry about it. I know Luke was here recently, but it’s because of that I’m here.”

“What?”

Hermes eyes became dimmer and had a weak but amused smile.

“It’s a bit complicated and there’s only so much we can reveal given your limited knowledge. It’s against the law for us to reveal too much to mortals who are not prepared for it.” He said it a way that felt very personal.

You felt your mouth go increasingly dry. You remembered the dream that led you to meeting the children. Their weapons. The monsters. The man, the being, in front of you. You could feel yourself grasping onto something but you knew once you accepted that reality, it was the point of no return.

“...So why are you here? If not for your son? Or the other children?” you started to say otherwise. Hermes flashed you an appreciative smile as he continued.

“I, among a few others that I’m representing in their case, want to thank you for taking care of our children. There are...circumstances that prevent us from directly interacting with them, so the fact you have helped them as a host, not only under the Laws of Xenia, but also a protector, we are grateful for your actions and you will be rewarded with a boon.”

“A boon? Like blessings from a god?”

Hermes smirked, “Exactly”.

Your spine shivered at his words and you felt something looming. “And what are these...boons?”

“Well, that’ll ruin the surprise wouldn’t it?” said Hermes as he got up from his seat, and pulled out his blackberry phone, and for a moment you thought you saw something slithering around it. “But really, you’ll be getting your boon after we get approval from your patron and aunt, but for now, will suffice for now. Goodbye (y/n) and thank you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion but the doorbell rang, making your head turned. From where you were in the living room, you had a view of the foyer and there you saw two men with tool kits and a giant door. “Hello, we’re here to deliver and install your new door!” one of them said.

You opened your mouth then turned back to Hermes, or would’ve, but he was no longer there. You stared at where he stood and promptly turned back to the people at the door, pushing Hermes aside because you didn’t want to deal with it now.

And now here you were, with a new door that Hermes ordered for you on express service, and your aunt still sipping her tea.

“You’ve done well” said your aunt, as you looked up at her in surprise. She was giving you an amused smile.

“Uh...I did?”

“You did” she nodded. You waited for her to say more but she just gave you a smirk. You sighed at the how your aunt went back to being vague and you ran a hand through your hair, before leaning back into your seat.

“I still don’t know if all those things really happened but everywhere I look, I know it did” you started to say, “but if it was real, and I really did help those kids, I wonder if they’re okay.”

You felt your aunt pat your shoulder as she spoke. “It is how it is; but know this little one, they ever come back, they know this is a safe space for them.”

You nodded as you closed your eyes when your aunt patted your head. You closed your eyes as you listened to your aunt disappearing into the kitchen and begun making dinner. You listened to her bustling around the kitchen, the warmth of the house, and the lack of it as well before drifting off into a nap.

From that point, you almost forgot about those kids; being swamped back into college. It was almost the end of the semester and the full force of college work, with back to back projects, papers, and presentations. You were so busy and tired from it all, that you begun to dismiss some minor coincidences; things that were a little bit too good to be true but in the rush of work, you weren’t going to look a gifted horse in the mouth. Small mercies.

It was only after you finished your last hurdle as you merrily went made your way back home, finished with the semester. You had plans to go home, gorge on your aunt’s food and that dessert you’ve been saving for a job well done, and take a long year nap.

But when you bent down to slip off your shoes, you felt a subtle shift in the like something rippled in it. You looked up and found a girl dressed with brown hair and eyes, in a brown dress, giving you a warm smile. You looked at her with wide confused eyes as she sat at the table, laid out with a feast. By her side, was your aunt as she looked at you with a unfazed look.

“Ah, (y/n), right on time” she said, gesturing for you to sit. You hesitated but did as you were told, eyes on the guest.

“Uh, hi, how do you do” you introduced yourself to the guest, glancing at your aunt for any hints.

The guest smiled as you felt warm like a homey sense kind of way. “Hello, (y/n), we finally meet.”

You glanced at your aunt as she huffed. “Be on your best manners, our guest decided to stop by and prepare you this feast to celebrate your hard work.”

You looked down at said-food, and now you realized what was odd. It could be information passed by your aunt, but even then, the food was laid out with all your favourite foods; even if your aunt knew some of them, she didn’t know all of them.

There was a knowing smile to the guest as she gestured for you to eat. You did, slowly, but as soon you took the first bite, it was an explosion of flavour that made your body buzz in a way that was like eating the perfect bite. Your aunt and your guest ate and talked with each other like they were old friends and you couldn’t pay much attention, as the food seemed to draw you in.

With stomach full, fatigue was creeping onto you with the lack of stress. You were about to drone out with the dessert, when your aunt cleared her throat.

“(y/n),” she said, “Now you’ve eaten, it’s time for me to introduce you to our guest and patron.”

You looked at her and the guest as your aunt spoke next. “(y/n), this is one of our patron deity; Hestia, the goddess of the Heart, Fire, Home, and Family.”

You stared at Hestia with wide eyes as she smiled. Something seemed to click as you remembered about Hermes, then the children-

“Oh my gods, this is really happening. Hermes wasn’t just a guy named Hermes, that was the actual Hermes-”

Hestia giggled good-naturedly. “Yes, it really is (y/n).”

“Uh, why now? I mean, not I’m not glad for your presence Lady Hestia, but what brings a god to our mortal life?” you squeaked out.

“Fear not, no harm will come to you” she reassured and you believed her. “As for why you became involved...the gods are restrained in interacting with their children directly, but when they saw their children were in dire need of help, they were guided to one of my sanctuaries.”

“One of?”

Your aunt huffed. “The children you saved were not the only ones to sought safety here.”

You gaped at your aunt as more puzzles begun to fit into place; but acknowledge the bigger picture was even more daunting.

“You...were the only who sent me the dream,” you slowly said, not believing it yourself.

“In a way yes and you responded.”

“But-” you wanted to counteract, somehow logical it out-

“Child, have you ever realized something?” your aunt asked. You looked at her confused. “What are the children’s names that you cared for?”

“Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth, why-”

“But do you ever recall them telling their names?”

You went to open your mouth to say “of course they did, how else would I know their names?” but as you were about to voice it out, your brain caught it. You went through your memories yet you couldn’t recall them every actually giving their names. You stared at your aunt and Hestia in confused horror.

“How?”

“Our family are not strangers to offer sanctuary to those who need them, from all walks of life, nor do we have one singular patron goddess. In turn that allows us to have our own skills” explained your aunt, “There’s no true stranger in our homes, allowing us to offer them what they best need. Of course, this also applies knowing when to deal with unwanted guests.”

You tried hard to lean away from your aunt.

“(y/n),” said Hestia as you turned to her. “You’ve taken on your aunt’s duty when she was not here, and you’ve done is wonderfully. For your efforts, you are rewarded with boons by the gods.”

You stared at her as you heard a but. “But?”

“From this point on, you may return back to your life before you’ve met the demigods without any harm and with the rewards you’ve earned,” told Hestia, “But we also offer you to tell you about the world of the gods, and take on the same duty as your aunt has, and many of your fore-bearers. However, once you’ve crossed the line, you can never go back. What is your decision?”

You stared at her and flashed a look at your aunt, who remained neutral. You could tell she was giving you a choice and she would support you whichever you chose.

You looked back at the goddess, licking your lips nervously. Immediately, you were going to choose the former, knowing you weren’t equipped to handle all of this, fully aware it was safer in general.

Yet, you couldn’t help think back to Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth. You remembered meeting them for the first time and how relieved they looked as they realized they were truly safe. They didn’t tell you explicitly but you put it together that as demigods, their fate was going to be tough and rough. This was their norm yet...should it be?

You remembered those three, and knew they had already changed the course of your future. Even though you may never see them again, you wanted to offer some warmth to those who needed it, and maybe, one day you’ll see those three again.

You looked at Hestia and your aunt and you knew by the proud look in their eyes that they knew your answer.

“What do I have to do?” you asked as you decided to cross that line.

Years passed.

Since that fateful day, you finished your college studies. You got a job surprisingly quick (which you really thanked the gods cause it was nothing short of a miracle which you suspected was a boon used. Maybe), and you were satisfied, and you were setting up a good life all things considered.

It was almost a normal, mundane life.

Except for a few things.

The house was managed not just by your aunt, but also you; making you a co-owner. Your aunt showed you the ropes and provided you with experiences and knowledge. And magic, let’s not forget magic.

It also turned out the door that Hermes gave you, free of charge, had a hidden motive. It was also a magical door; that let anyone who prayed for sanctuaries to enter from anywhere; just they had to enter through the door. It was a bit of a shock when a different demigod and their satyr (which was a whole entire another experience), appeared through the door, looking very confused as well who were just in another completely different area.

It was something to get used to but at least the door allowed you to also go wherever you wanted to which you used regularly. Your aunt also used it more and more often to go to different places; especially now she didn’t have to make annual trips to get supplies (Athen’s Olives did not disappoint). The only drawback was to the door was it didn’t allow any demigods or those seeking sanctuary to wherever they needed to go; and would only go back to where they originally entered from; with a leeway of a 100 mile radius.

In retrospect it made sense. It allowed them to find sanctuary but they still had to go through the journey to wherever they needed to go. It was a process that you couldn’t help with.

But that only made you put more effort into the ones you could help with. With every demigod you helped, you learned more and more about each individual.

Imagine your surprise when you gotten a thank-you package of very fresh strawberries from a place called “Delphi Strawberry Service” and a quaint letter from a man named Chiron. You immediately clocked in on it.

It was nice helping those who seeked refuge. They weren’t limited to just Greek demigods, you also encountered others; Roman, Egyptian, Norse, all sorts of other cultures, and even some mortals.

But some part of you kept hoping you would see Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth. You told about them every so often to those who came over, hoping for some hint of information but you didn’t get much (you weren’t sure if they just didn’t know or they can’t tell you).

More time passed and now you had fully grown into your role. You were working from home and you heard the familiar special doorbell ring throughout the house that acted a forewarning to those incoming.

“(y/n), get ready for the next guests; I’m in the middle of this brew-” said your aunt through the pipe system. You heard a series of hisses and garble in the background following that, and you weren’t going to think what ingredients she was using

“Alright!” you said through the pipe before you pushed yourself from your desk. You did a big stretch, popping all the stiff joints in your body before getting up to greet the desks.

You went through the familiar twists and turns of the house before reaching the foyer. You expected the next occupants to be hurried or hesitant but what was strange this time were a single doorbell.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you answered the doorbell and your breath hitched. You looked at the person in front of you and then what was in their hands; it was the ID, your old, beaten up and slightly scratched, college ID card...the one the kids still had all those years ago.

You gaped at the person in front of you as they gave you a tentative smile. The people behind them looking a bit confused.

“Hi (y/n), it’s...been a while...” they said, before looking sheepish. “If it’s not too much trouble, can we stay over for a night, please?”

You looked at them and then at their companions and back at them. You let out a scoff and grinned, “Of course, in fact, there’s a lot you need to catch me up on.”

[F I N]

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a/n: that's a wrap folks! thanks for reading "Carry on My Wayward Child"! You can decide if it's either Luke, Thalia, or Annabeth at the end, there are no wrong answers ♥️ Like and reblog if you feel so inclined, and see you all later~ thanks for all the support! Much appreciate!

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

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Best and worst of both worlds (part 44)

Tw: mention of previous assault, yves being manipulative as always

Vote down below pls i will only consider first 21 votes

Part 45

To your surprise, Yves wheeled you into a room that you have never been in. Neither did you realize it existed on the ground floor.

You called it the music room. There is a grand piano in the center, with various other orchestra instruments in the corner and on the shelves. It was lit by none other than a chandelier. Yves loves his chandeliers.

You asked him if he played all the instruments present here. He nodded and you found that impressive, since the number of items in this room is mind boggling. You don't even know the names to some of these.

"Would you like me to play something for you?" He asked, locking your wheelchair in place.

You said you would like to see it.

He walked towards the harp, positioning the seat properly before sitting on it. His elegant fingers strummed against the strings masterfully as he played a melancholic tune that you weren't familiar with. However, it was beautiful and moving, the rises and dips in volume invoked some powerful feelings in your chest.

Yves seemed to be completely immersed in his performance, his eyes were closed and his lips were pressed into a neutral line. His movements were fluid and hypnotizing, making you watch without ever blinking.

He ends his piece with an elegant fade. Yves opened his emerald eyes to see you gaping your mouth at him. He stifled a laugh as he rose from his seat.

"Did you like it?" He asked, gently pushing your jaw up to close your mouth.

You said it was amazing, you asked what was he playing. Yves tilted his head to the side and pouted playfully.

"I thought you would have recognized it. I was playing a song that is very popular among your age groups."

You were adamant that you have never heard it before. It sounded like something that was written by an angel, it was unbelievably ethereal and sublime. You don't think modern-day music was of this calibre.

An amused smile made its way to his face.

"Well, I am happy that you loved my rendition of it."

But you were curious, what did he intend to play?

He tapped the side of his face and looked to the side as he tried to remember the name of it.

"It is something that your peers danced to. I have only heard fifteen seconds of it, but it was repeated ad nauseam."

You asked him if he heard the full song.

"No. I improvised the rest."

You were wracking your brain, trying to figure out what modern "popular song" did he just let you experience in a completely different light.

Then you asked how were the dances like.

"There was a vast array of variations. However, they shook their rears in front of the camera for all of them."

And the lyrics?

"The artist managed to refer to her supposedly... fat buttocks four times in that short segment. They were standard lyrics about emotional infidelity." Yves was describing it almost clinically, only when it comes to the cheating part did he look disgusted.

You think you know which song he was talking about now. You're dumbfounded at Yves talent to recreate it in such a way it's unrecognizably beautiful. Not to say that the original wasn't good, it was. It's just that you're impressed at how Yves's musical abilities allowed him to create such a masterpiece.

For the rest of the afternoon, you tried out most of his instruments. Yves taught you the basics without boring you to death, he was patient and understanding when you either couldn't grasp the control or you gave up for being too hard. You noted that the quality of his items are always exemplary, he takes good care of all his belongings.

Occasionally, he would nag about being mindful of your property. He wanted you to share the same mindset of prolonging the health and life of an object.

But you were having fun, even if you were bowing the strings of his Viola horrendously so, that it could make a musician's ear bleed. Yves is elated to spend so much time with you while sharing his own interests.

And most importantly, your head is not filled with redundant thoughts about your dependence on Yves. Both of you are free to relax and be happy in peace.

You scrolled through your social media feed mindlessly as you laid on the loveseat of his music room, your casted leg hanging off the armrest. Yves had to leave you alone so he could speak with the professionals regarding his air conditioning system.

Yves told you to use a special fob to control the speed of the fan. You left it off because it's not sweltering right now and you believed that you should not waste too much electricity.

There was the occasional tinkering and stomping as they worked hard to remedy the issue. Other than that, the environment is pretty quiet.

You received a notification that your assignment has been graded. You reviewed it and found that you achieved the highest score possible, it wasn't surprising because you have Yves to guide you throughout the entire--

Where are your crutches?!

The thought shot through your head and everything that you were procrastinating talking to Yves about came rushing in.

You have got to talk to Yves about moving out and going back to school. And also, the whereabouts of your stupid crutches.

Just when you're about to send Yves a text about it, so you won't forget, you heard a knock on the door.

Yves entered holding a cold glass of freshly pressed fruit juice. It was beading with condensation as he took large strides towards you.

You took large gulps of the refreshing beverage, not realizing how thirsty and overheated you were.

"My apologies, dear." Said Yves as he dabbed a wet cloth on your forehead and cheek to further cool you down. "There was an accident causing the breaker to trip. They also had to cut the power supplying the ducts in order to repair the faults, why didn't you use the fan?"

You said that it wasn't that warm and you didn't want to rack up his electricity bills. He has nothing to apologize about, it didn't even affect you.

You couldn't understand why Yves looked defeated, as if he's expecting something bad was about to happen. It isn't like you're going to die from a little heat, you're simply going to sweat and whine. That's all.

"That is very considerate of you, my love. However your comfort comes first. I do not want you to worry about anything. Please. I will always take care of you no matter what." He pressed the cool cloth against your neck, soaking up droplets of sweat. It almost seems... desperate.

You told him that you're grateful. Then changing the topic about your crutches and the idea of going back to university, so that you could catch up on your studies.

His shoulders sagged in devastation. Yves sighed, burying his face in a hand for a bit before instantly regaining his composure. Oh, how he wished that he could just... control everything.

You wonder what that reaction was about. But you deem it unimportant in the end.

He switched the fan on to circulate the air in the room. You feel relief when the wind hits your face.

"(name)..." He called you quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. Yves squatted down to your level and looked you deep in the eyes. "Are you sure?" Yves spoke in a voice that sent uncertainty through your bones. You could feel an undertone of warning too.

You gulped and stammered under his scrutinizing gaze. You suddenly felt small and helpless, just like how when you first met him. Except, now it's much worse. Because you value his views on you a lot more.

Yet, you stood your ground. You noticed that you've been lacking a sense of agency ever since you got here. Yves wasn't treating you badly by any means, but subconsciously, you felt that there was something wrong. You felt like you were getting stuck in a trap that is slowly but surely killing you, and this is your attempt at clawing out of it.

No matter how much you tried to change the tone of the conversation to become lighter, Yves stayed there, unmoving, unsmiling and unblinking. He may not explicitly confirm it, but it is clear he is disapproving towards your desire to regain freedom.

You explained that you can get around with crutches, you need to go back to your old life- you can't stay like this forever, burdening Yves with your problems!

"You are not a burden to me, (name)." The seriousness of his intonation left no room for doubt that he was telling the truth. Deep down, you already knew it too, but you didn't like how he enjoyed taking care of you to this degree. It's as if he is intentionally incapacitating you so he could continue coddling you.

That wasn't a nice thought about someone who paid for your bills, housed and fed you. But it was a gut feeling that existed nonetheless.

You explained that you just wanted normalcy. Like how it was before your assault, where you would run from your own place to catch the bus. This sudden change in lifestyle is jarring and unnatural to you, it's stressing you out.

"It takes a minimum of eight weeks for your fracture to heal. You only rested for three, it is too early for you to start walking again." He explained, in a soft voice that sounded patronizing. You squirm under his unyielding and unsettling stare, he never stopped despite you showing painfully clear signs of discomfort.

You tried weakly arguing that you saw students move around the campus with a broken foot, they're using crutches and always arrived to class on time.

The room fell silent, save for the quiet whirring of the fan's propeller and the murmuring of the contractors.

Yves knew he was fighting a losing battle. But he tries, he tries to scare you into staying with him. Because he wasn't ready to let you go yet, not when he was spoiled with three weeks of uninterrupted bonding time with you. It is going to feel particularly excruciating when the luxury of being in close proximity to you is slashed tremendously.

So he waited. You were someone who associates silence and a stare as something terrible, hence he uses that against you. He calculated the chances of you backtracking or doubling down, and it was of equal probability.

You cower, feeling afraid and severely pressured even though Yves did nothing except appear menacing.

It is tempting to just dismiss everything and pretend like nothing happened, you could enjoy his pampering without a problem and let Yves take care of you like a delicate doll.

But... it's uncanny. You have never felt this strange towards a supposedly "good" thing. You will definitely have to participate in uncomfortable conversations with Yves, however, maybe the reward would outweigh the damages?

Using all your strength to temporarily push down the nauseating feeling of fear, you decided to choose a path.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere concept #oc yves #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader

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presleyannn · 8 months

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advice from Taz - 9.25.23

One thing about me is that I am a big fan of anime. Not only that, but my brain loves to hyperfixate on things. Therefore, I am often hyperfixated on anime.

My latest hyperfixation is One Piece. It really is crippling in law school when your every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of One Piece lol.

So as you might imagine, as a One Piece fan, I was extremely excited for the live action. I really admired all the time, effort, and love that was put into the show from Oda and the cast and crew, so I could feel it in my bones that it would be good. It was btw. If you haven't seen it, you definitely should. Even if you're not a One Piece or anime fan. I got my best friend to watch it and she loves it. It has been a true joy to see so many new people get into One Piece.

But anyway, being a fan of the live action, I feel that it's only natural that I fell in love with the cast too. The time and energy they put in and the dedication to the accurate portrayal of their characters is extremely admirable. If nothing else, watch the show just for them.

Although I love all the cast members, Taz Skylar really captured my heart. There is so much to love about him. I could go on about him all day, but that's not what this diary is about, so I won't.

ANYWAY, my point in mentioning this is that I booked a Cameo from him awhile ago, and he gave me the sweetest message and advice that really stuck with me, so I wanted to share it here.

I am in law school at only 20 years old, so I am one of the youngest in my class. I know that there are a few other 20 year olds in my class, but I have yet to meet any of them. As a result, I have been suffering from some pretty severe imposter syndrome. I often feel like a baby sitting in class, and I generally just feel out of place.

So, I shared this with Taz, and he reminded me of the quote, "Be less impressed and more involved," which I believe was coined by Matthew McConaughey. He said that he deals with imposter syndrome every day (as many of us do), but he repeats that quote to remind himself to be less concerned with everything that is going on around him, and more involved in what he needs to do to accomplish his goals and truly enjoy the experience.

Specifically, he told me to be less impressed with how smart everyone is around me, and more involved in what I need to do on a daily basis to achieve what I want to achieve. This really struck a chord in me and put things into perspective.

I find myself comparing myself to my classmates all too often. Seeing them seemingly prepared and on top of work knowing that I am behind has only put me more behind. I convince myself that they're already leagues ahead of me and I have no chance of catching up, so why even try?

But this quote really stuck with me and has helped me to detach myself from everything that's going on around me in order to focus on what I need to do in order to do my best on all my exams.

Of course the imposter syndrome has not gone away completely, I still have my moments where I feel like I'm not cut out for law school. But I also have moments where I remember what I'm here for in the first place, and I am able to remind myself that all the other standards I've been setting for myself don't really matter at the end of the day.

All I want is to be is a good lawyer that can help people who need it. However, law school loves to push the competition of it all, and it's hard to not get caught up in it. There's so much pressure to finish at the top of your class, and while that would be wonderful, as long as I can finish school with the ability to successfully represent my clients and achieve their deserved justice, nothing else matters to me. This is what I have to remind myself of each day when I find myself applying too much pressure to be “better” than my peers.

I need to be less impressed with how well everyone is doing around me–because I only end up thinking that I could never measure up to them and should just give up–and the fact that I even ended up in law school in the first place, and instead be more involved in my dreams and what I have to do to achieve them.

If you have a dream, a goal, something that you really want more than anything in the world, you CAN, and you WILL achieve it. Just remember to be less impressed with what is going on all around you (whether it be what other people are doing or even the awe of being in the situation you find yourself in), and be more involved in the work that must be done in order to achieve your goal. If you remain concerned with what people are doing around you or feeling like you are undeserving of the opportunities you are given, and fail to take advantage of those opportunities and put in the required work, then you will remain right where you are while everything else outgrows you, including your dreams.

But I believe in you, and I am manifesting it for you. You WILL achieve your dreams. You got this!

And here’s Taz for you :)

#law school #law student #advice #imposter syndrome #taz skylar #the man that he is #one piece #opla #opla cast

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lanabotomy · 1 month

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The Female Rage Consumes Me

“Female rage,” sounded like an oxymoron for the majority of my life. The characterization of the words alone create this kind of juxtaposition that seems unrealistic. Female; womanly, kind, soft, gentle, all these words just to portray this image of innocence and purity. Rage; ugly, consuming, violent, the word itself feels inherently masculine. And yet, I watch and listen as the rage fully envelope and consume me.

I don’t know when the idea of Female Rage enraptured my brain, but I could say it started when I read a silly little book by Margaret Atwood called The Robber Bride.

“Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”

The idea that I can never fully be myself without the ever lurking man watching me, sexualizing me, consuming me like a piece of media only to be spat out once I fulfilled his satisfaction, it disgusts me. To worsen the matter, I know deep in my soul, that if I wasn’t desired, I wouldn’t know who to be. I don’t even know which parts of me are real or which parts of me have been created in pursuit of this ideal “male fantasy” I have created in my head subconsciously, and that enrages me even further.

Is the rage I feel even valid? Maybe my rage is actually just a deep rooted fear, a fear of what has or what could happen to me. I remember those lurking eyes on me since the age of 9, taking out the trash around 9PM in my galaxy leggings, those men yelling at me, asking me where I am from and where I live, what plans I had. All I could do was run in fear. I remember being 6, my mother’s boyfriend holding my hand and telling me that he’d marry my mother one day, what felt like a threat, those peering eyes undressing me, that hand burning a hole through me, as if the ghost of his perverted touch was still there. Or maybe it was those days in school when I would get groped, almost daily by the boys, the teachers said I was more developed and to expect those things, to wear less revealing clothes. I wore star wars shirts, lord of the rings shirts, and DC clothes. What was so sexually appealing about that? The worst memory of all…. I was forced out of my dorm room while 5 drunk guys stayed with us, none of them my guests. I remember just wanting to sleep. I remember one of those guys being weird, and avoiding him all night. I was so tired that night, and yet I didn’t want to sleep. He snuck into my bed, put his hand over my mouth, and did what he needed to do to satisfy himself. The unwanted touching, the unwanted stares, the unwanted attention. I feel like a walking piece of meat in the land of hungry wolves; A temptation to be consumed.

The rage that consumes me comes from a place of fear, and a place of knowing that I cannot be helped. One in three women experience sexual assault within their life, one in five experience rape, and yet only one in one thousand rapists face persecution, and that is only from reported cases. More than 2 out of 3 cases go unreported. Those are just the basic statistics. Imagine them in other situations; homeless women, women in 3rd world countries, women of color, women in the military, queer women, women in prisions, women in situations where they are helpless. I cant even begin to fathom the stories that would pile up beside me if I was able to speak to every woman, every feminine person, everyone who has a story.

To be so helpless in a world that doesn’t support me, it’s simply sickening. And I live the “Land of the Free, Land of endless Opportunities.” I feel the rage of my sisters, or the women around the world who know and understand me.

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whatgaviiformes · 1 year

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For the September prompts, could I request Lemon Tree and Kayo please? Somehow the idea of these two together is singing to me...🍋🖤

Hiiiii. I really wanted to be able to do this for you; please forgive me for this not being my strongest of pieces. I did have to add Gordon to get Kayo to speak to me, and the lemons are there even if the tree is not. <3. They are siblings, and peers, and they respect each other. Hopefully it shows. Thanks so much for the ask and the support.

I like the headcanon of Gordon calling Kayo "Tin" so I borrowed that from Nutty with her permission. :D

Characters: Kayo, Gordon

Words: 870

Genre: General

Universe Notes - Military!Gordon, TAG.

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol Consumption (responsible)

***

“Hey, Tin?” Gordon quickly plopped into his mouth a sardine from the charcuterie display he’d ordered as his antipasto and, as Kayo grimaced at his manners, he at least had the good graces to swallow before he continued. “I’m going to need you to relax.”

“I really don’t understand how you can eat that.”

“They are a bit salty,” he mused, swirling on the flavor still in his mouth. “But I can’t just leave the little fishies there uneaten. It’s inhumane.”

“Yeah, ok.” She turned back away from his feast of fish, gazing out to the expanse of ultramarine beside them.

It was to be his home the next few days – the Gulf of Naples that is, beautiful waters in Mediterranean blue, watched over by what was left of the towering Mt. Vesuvio visible in the distance. For Gordon’s experience in the depths of the sea, the bay was a relatively shallow estuary. But it wasn’t about how deep the body of water went. He was more concerned with what creatures called the place home, in this instance which fin whales – and one razorback in particular he’d been tracking as part of his research dissertation. (D.Sc. meet Gordon Tracy!)

Gordon called it a “surface trip” which didn’t mean surface at all really, just that he’d be arriving by boat instead of submarine and diving within the capabilities of standard research tech instead of the Brains’ tested and certified deep-sea gadgets of International Rescue. It would be enough for him to listen to the whale song, and if he was lucky, maybe he’d get to see his boyo.

Since the excursion was to depart tomorrow out of a little town in the outskirts of Sorrento, arriving a day early gave Gordon the time to reorient himself to the normal sleep schedule of the time-zone and decompress from being constantly on call as they were. He’d been in Italy for only a few hours, but the warm wind and the friendly lapping of blue on the shore calmed him, so his spirits were high despite the nerves around the importance of this trip.

His companion was less thrilled by the break. Virgil had been unavailable, Scott was busy with Tracy Industries reports, and Alan could hardly fly him over in a space rocket, so Kayo had offered to drop him off. It had taken some heavy pleading, a bit of chore reallocation, and eventually Kayo agreed to stay and leave the next morning.

A worthy exchange. His siblings deserved a holiday. And once he saw an opportunity unfolding to spend some time with his sister, he couldn’t let go of the idea. They didn’t call him a master of pranks for nothing – though this was less of a prank and more of a gentle coercion.

Their first of their entrées arrived, for the traditional trattoria included two within the standard four-course meal, and Kayo nodded kindly in thanks. Gordon beamed, a “Grazie!” while he moved his plate of fish to the side to make room for his pasta.

“I’m relaxed,” she told him after a while only once they’d dug into their meals. “Really.”

Gordon eyed her deliberately, mindlessly twirling his pasta with his fork and watching peridot scanning the room even as she said it. “I think you think that. I can tell you are still on look out.” He saw her start to panic and added, “I can only tell because I know you.”

She frowned, shrugging. “Maybe I am. Someone has to do it.”

“It doesn’t have to be you all the time. We are safe; promise.”

“Yeah?”

The skepticism was evident. He was almost offended. Almost. “Yeah.” It had been a long time since his brief service in WASP, but the training gave him lessons for a lifetime. “Closest exit is that one” – he gestured his fork towards the wall to their left – “there’s a gentleman behind me that obviously knows who we are but won’t dare approach because you keep giving him the stink eye, our server is oblivious which is kinda’ nice actually, and the owner has come by twice. Dice is out on that one, but he’s harmless. Now, agree to get some limoncello with me.”

“Gordon- “

“We’re in Italy; it’s required.”

“It’s a digestivo. That means after the meal.”

“It’s alcohol,” he challenged, grinning. “That means when the mood strikes. I won’t push if you don’t want any, but lemons, Kayo. Lemons.”

“Yeah, yeah. You make lemonade.”

“Nuh-uh. You make limoncello!” He was pleased to see her laughing, even if it was at his expense. Kayo was good at her job, too good, and she took after workaholic Scott in ways Gordon didn’t necessarily believe were the healthiest of habits. He knew what it was like to be “on” all the time. It would cause burn out. Always did.

They placed their additional drink order and the bottle was brought out with the timing of their second entrée as they requested, with minimal questioning. The locals were kind about the whims of their tourists.

“So where did you stash Shadow again?”

Kayo swirled the narrow glass to twirl the liquid neon, and she narrowed her eyes at him with a gleam. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

#Gavii Scribit #Kayo Kyrano #Gordon Tracy #ficlets and bits #ask box prompts #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction

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thought-42 · 1 year

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Critical Role, 1045 words, Laerryn/Loquatius

Local wizard is tragically abandoned by her best friend to starve, engages in navel-gazing

Evandrin buys a house --subsidized by the city, because that’s just how it is when you’re the First Knight and hold inexplicable anti-tower scentaments-- the week before the summer solstice. Laerryn doesn’t so much offer to help him move as she does get strong-armed into it via peer pressure from the cluster of former classmates who actually showed up to Evandrin’s engagement party. Most of those people she hadn’t seen in forty years, which is telling, given she hasn’t seen a single fucking one of them today, either.

“You have people for this,” she’d told Evandrin, when she’d shown up that morning with coffee and spite and not enough rest.

“That feels like taking advantage,” he had said, then went to sit on the windowsill and watch his fiance lift entire pieces of furniture with nothing more than his actual physical muscles.

Now, six hours later, the apartment is hollow and bare, walls clean and unmarred, all hints of personality banished, memories boxed up or scrubbed away or painted over is a dizzy slog through the last thirty years. There’s something there, about how easily you can erase entire chunks of time, of experience, how there are so many ephemeral things that live only in the fragile, unpredictable wet electricity of the brain, how reality can be constructed and deconstructed like children’s blocks--

She doesn’t know how long she’s been lying on the cool tile floor, watching the slow drag of sunbeams across the walls. The heat feels like failure, like a hangover, like shame or sand or other things that drag you down and down until you’re too tired to get back up. Evandrin and Zerxus had left to get... food? Some length of time ago, and she suspects they’ve gotten caught up in each other, stupid and effervescent and in love in ways that she would have thought fanciful, performative fabrications six months ago. Things she would have mocked them for before Loquatius.

But now-- even with the press of physical exhaustion and the insidious creep of intellectual malaise that has haunted her ever since her official departure from the university, she starfishes her limbs against the cool tiles, damp skin sticking slightly with her movement, and wants him. Not in any particular sense of the word, but a more nebulous desire to simply be near him.

She wants to hold his hand. She wants to hold him down. She wants to climb into his chest. She wants to know how hard his hands can squeeze. She wants to know if his teeth will leave bruises. She wants to know what his magic can do to her will.

She wants to go to her knees for him. She wants to slip into trance with his head on her chest. She wants to bring him flowers at work and watch the startled smile break across his unsettlingly perfect face. She wants to sit beside him in silence while they both work on their own projects.

She has never felt such a simple wanting before, and the totality of the wanting scares her almost as much as the intensity.

If she listens hard enough she can hear the waterfall through the open window, noise drifting in on the unforgiving heat of humidity and radiation. He says he wants to broadcast his face on the waterfall one day-- a hundred feet high, golden and bright and of course he’s heard the stories about mortals fleeing across running water to escape faeries.

She has never needed to be seen in the almost desperate way that Loquatius Seelie needs it. He is potential made tangible, gossamer and the morning dew of reality compressed into something she can put her hands on and hold down. He’s ruined her. She never used to think this way.

She remembers that first time they met, how he’d offered his hand and reality expanded before her, state vectors rushing over her until only the theoretical remained, the moment nothing more than a potentiality, all sense of physicality and consciousness washed away. Somehow she had known, even then, that this connection was important. She’d taken his hand and entangled their fingers and they were entangled, they are entangled --they are entangled-- leaving each other in a new state.

She cannot imagine herself in the world without him.

The sun continues to move and Evandrin and Zerxus continue not to come back and Laerryn lies on a tile floor and thinks about the veins under Loquatius’s skin.

Eventually, when the sun has moved past the windows and the noise from the streets is getting louder, she gets up, dizzy from dehydration and stillness and heat. She walks out and leaves her coffeecup on the windowsill like some kind of defiance, leaves the door unlocked. Evandrin had chosen the name ‘Elias’ right outside this door, key in hand, wards already down, struck by sudden inspiration. This is the last time she will walk down these stairs. She listens to the soft pad of her shoes on the carpet, breathes in a smell that is unremarkably unique, presses a hand to the smooth stone of the wall.

When she emerges into the merciless light of late afternoon, Loquatius is waiting for her.

She sincerely thinks she’s hallucinating, some kind of wild metaphorical mirage she’s created, pathetically, for herself. But when he kisses her cheek in hello his lips are cool and he smells like flowers and other people’s expensive cigarette smoke. He looks fresh in the way that someone who hasn’t spent the day in the heat might.

“Hi,” he says. “I saw Archmage Porco, and she said you were here. I thought I might come and help.”

“You thought--” she frowns at him. “You can’t lift things.”

“All right, rude, but also I could have offered moral support.”

She reaches out and traces the veins under his eyes with a finger. He smiles at her and the sheer sincerity of it leaves her dizzy all over again.

“When you write,” she says, letting her gaze drop to the heat haze still coming off the cobbles, “is it as preservation?”

He takes her hand off his face and wraps it in his own. His hands are so pretty. “Yes,” he says, starting to walk. “But it’s also as an act of creation. You preserve the past and then you imagine the future.”

#critical role #Laerryn Coramar Seelie #Loquatius Seelie #tumblrfic tag #cr exu tag

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agentark88 · 1 year

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Think: Chapter Ninety-Four: Decaying Knowledge

My Hero Academia Fan Fiction by Agent ARK 88

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction using characters and settings from My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia created by Kohei Horikoshi. I do not claim any ownership of characters present in this piece that are owned and created by Kohei Horikoshi. I do not own My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Warnings: This work contains mild language, blood, and violence.

Please be aware this piece is in second person perspective, following my original character, Think, Anna Kokoro, who is a transfer student from America.

Chapter Ninety-Four: Decaying Knowledge

You couldn’t keep up. Deku and Bakugo had far more experience and speed than you did. Over your ragged breaths, you could barely hear Deku explaining the situation to Endeavor on an assumed private channel. From the few words you could pick up on, Deku was going to see if he could lead Shigaraki in a different direction just by moving himself.

Your mind blasts were getting weaker. You felt your consciousness slip for just a second, before catching yourself off of some more debris. Your head was swimming. Thankfully, the thoughts weren’t crowding you anymore, but you’d taken some strain from getting forced out of Shigaraki’s mind.

Suddenly, you were grabbed. You yelped. Bakugo clicked his tongue in your ear, annoyed.

“Dammit, Big Brain! What were you thinking following us?” he snapped at you. He hooked you onto his chest. “Hold on.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, worried he might decide to drop you and leave you behind.

“Ah, Think?” Deku asked in surprise. “You followed us?”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?” Bakugo scolded you.

You pressed your face into his chest in order to avoid his angry glare.

“Don’t hide now! Where the hell are you going to go? I’m holding you.” Bakugo clicked his tongue again.

“W-why would you follow us? I t-told you I’d be right back,” Deku said.

“One for All. Shigaraki is after One for All, isn’t he?” you muttered into the fabric of Bakugo’s hero costume.

Bakugo’s muscles tensed. Deku let out a small gasp, seemingly left speechless by your words.

“W-What’s One for All?” Deku asked, but you could hear the shaking in his voice and the lie as blatant as the sun in the sky.

“Dammit, Deku! She figured it out. Don’t be an idiot and try to lie to her now.” Bakugo gritted his teeth. “I should have pushed you out of that room when I had the chance. All Might said too much that day.” One of his arms came around your waist, and he gave you a squeeze. “This is too dangerous. You shouldn’t have come.”

“I can hold my own,” you said. You peered up at him, and he glanced away, blushing.

“I’m not questioning your abilities, Big Brain. I’m just…” he trailed off sighing. “You better not get yourself hurt!”

“Shigaraki changed direction!” Deku called back. “It’s just like we thought. He’s after me. We can buy the Pro Heroes more time to evacuate the civilians”

Bakugo grinned viciously. “I can’t wait to kick that villain’s crusty ass. I owe him a beat down, and I intend to deliver, especially for what happened to All Might because of me being kidnapped. I’ll prove that I’m a hero.”

Bakugo sped up, and you had to clutch him tighter to hold on. Bakugo’s hand came down to check that you weren’t slipping every once in a while; however, he had no issues keeping up with Deku even with you hanging on to him. You took the chance to glance at him. His jaw was set. He still held on to what happened to All Might after he’d been kidnapped. He still continued to blame himself for it. He hadn’t been the only one there that night. It wasn’t his fault, nor was it yours.

You winced as a blast of energy shot over your skin. Your earpiece tingled and a sharp buzz sounded, before it went dead entirely.

“The comms! They’re out again!” Deku warned, fidgeting with his headpiece.

Bakugo tested his own without any luck either. You readjusted your arms again around Katsuki’s neck, and he tensed, reaching for you to ensure you were still holding firm. A flash of the moment he wasn’t able to catch you escaped his mind and floated into your own. Your eyes widened when you saw it. Did that memory still haunt him?

“Do you feel that?” Bakugo asked.

Your whole body quaked, and danger set a migraine in your temple. It felt painful to breathe. Death. It felt like death was swirling around you.

Bakugo abruptly pulled back in the air. His hands came out ready to blast what had inevitably stopped them. You dared a peek behind you. Red eyes. You saw red, horrid, bloodshot eyes. Shigaraki stared at the three of you, smirking. His fingers lifted. Your throat closed. Death. Impending death loomed at the edge of that hand. He’d be able to decay the three of you into dust. You had to do something. You couldn’t just sit there and watch it unfold like this. Fear had an icelike grip on your body.

“Give me One for All, Izuku Midoriya,” Shigaraki’s voice rasped out.

Suddenly, Bakugo, you, and Midoriya were snatched from the air, changing your direction rapidly. The area you’d left decayed into nothing. Gran Torino had somehow managed to grab the three of you, using his quirk to air blast you into another direction, just before Shigaraki unleashed his quirk on you. His small form could barely hold on to all of you.

You heard your heartbeat in your ears, clutching Bakugo even tighter out of fear. Gran Torino was explaining something to Midoriya, something in regard to One for All and the Pro Heroes. You had never intended on fighting Shigaraki. You had only followed to help Midoriya. Your eyes widened when you realized Deku and Bakugo’s endgame was to battle him. You breathed, feeling as if you could finally catch your breath while away from that monstrosity of a villain.

“You have to let the Pro Heroes handle him,” Gran Torino said. “If any of that debris touches you, you would be turned to dust. You’ll need to trust the Pros.”

Gran Torino suddenly stopped, dropping you all into a hidden area of upturned wreckage. You fell to your knees, taking hold of your shoulders. You’d been so close to death, so close to that hand shredding every fiber of your being to nothing, to ash.

“Wait here,” Gran Torino stated flatly. “You should be safe.”

“Eraserhead just took his power, didn’t he? Why is he still so strong?” Deku asked.

“He’s only weakened,” Gran Torino explained.

“Why would we stop here? Why are we still so close to him?” Bakugo asked.

“If he’s only weakened, and he’s still that powerful, how will you be able to stop him from taking One for All from Midoriya?” you gasped.

Bakugo looked at you in surprise. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Toshinori told me that Bakugo knew your secret, but I wasn’t told about your other classmate,” Gran Torino said, eyeing you. “We can’t go farther. Communications are down. Shigaraki is moving far faster than expected. I stopped here because few will be able to follow him, and if you’re chased too far out, none of the Pro Heroes would be able to catch up. By getting him in Eraserhead’s field of vision and hiding out of sight, you three are in the best tactical position you could be.” Gran Torino’s expression hardened.

“How do you expect us to just sit here and hide?” Midoriya asked.

“Present Mic told me that All for One’s powers were transferred into Shigaraki,” Gran Torino explained. “That’s why.”

You blinked in confusion. All for One, that horrifying villain you encountered before you’d been rescued. That same man that forced All Might into retirement. His powers had transferred into Shigaraki?

“So, that means he could…” Deku trailed off.

“He could what?” you asked in exasperation.

“It means he’d be able to steal anyone’s quirk for himself, including One for All,” Bakugo cut in.

“I couldn’t imagine a worse scenario than him getting his hands on One for All. If the Pro Heroes can’t stop one person, what’s the point in having so many heroes at all?” Gran Torino set his stance, getting ready to move. “I’m going in to help. We’ll need every Pro Hero we can get. If Shigaraki gets his hands on One for All, nothing will be able to stop him,” Gran Torino said solemnly.

Bile rose in your throat as your stomach turned at the thought. You shivered, thinking of the consequences of Shigaraki getting a hold of Midoriya’s power, All Might’s power. A loud screech had you on alert again. Your breath caught. You looked up and saw a multitude of Nomus headed in the direction of battle.

“They should have been destroyed under the hospital! How are there still Nomus alive after Shigaraki’s decay wave?” Gran Torino shouted in surprise.

Horrible, grotesque monsters clawed their way through the city, making a beeline for the Pro Heroes attempting to put Shigaraki’s horrid destruction to an end. You stood up on your unsteady legs, quaking in fear at the sight of them.

“Those aren’t regular Nomus,” you murmured. “They look more powerful than even the one we fought.”

Gran Torino flew up into the air. “Stay hidden! They’re heading for Eraserhead. I need to stop them!”

Your hair rose with your quirk buzzing in the back of your skull. As afraid as you were, you couldn’t just wait around for Shigaraki to use his decay again. If they were heading for your teacher, Mr. Aizawa, you wouldn’t let them get the chance to hurt him.

Deku moved without a word. You followed, already prepped with your own mind blast. When the battle came into view, you saw him, Shigaraki, grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Mr. Aizawa. Shigaraki stood like a fallen king before him, a red torn cape flowing behind him, and his bare chest to the world as if nothing could hurt him. You choked down the fear that had paralyzed you. No matter the cost, you would not let him touch your teacher.

Your quirk enveloped Mr. Aizawa, putting an invisible wall of protection between him and Shigaraki. Whether or not Shigaraki touching a strand of your mind would decay it, didn’t matter. Mr. Aizawa needed you, as much as you needed him to stay alive. Eraserhead’s quirk should be able to nullify the decay regardless. As long as you could keep Shigaraki away from hurting your teacher. Mr. Aizawa was there for you when you needed him most. You would be there for him.

“Why?! Don’t!” Gran Torino shouted toward you, as you moved toward your teacher.

Shigaraki’s fingertips pressed into your forcefield, and you shivered, feeling your quirk slip at the strength puncturing through your mind. Swiftly, Shigaraki’s red eyes were on you, his fingers digging into the mind field with harsh contempt, nearly making you crumble from the searing pain that sliced through you from it. Midoriya collided with Shigaraki, holding him back with sheer brute force.

“Let us help! If Shigaraki can’t use his quirk, then let us fight!” Deku yelled, straining against Shigaraki’s power.

“We won’t let him hurt our teacher! I’m sorry, but we won’t stand by when we can help!” you shouted along with him. You stood out in front of Mr. Aizawa being supported by two other Pro Heroes. Tears formed in your eyes. “You’ve done everything you could to protect us, protect me! It’s our turn to protect you!”

“We wouldn’t have made it this far without you. Let us save you this time!” Midoriya chimed in.

“Midoriya…” Aizawa trailed off.

“Think of how lousy a hero I would be if I couldn’t protect my own damn teacher,” Bakugo called out, flying over Midoriya with his own blast toward Shigaraki.

You turned your head ever so slightly, looking back at your teacher. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, Mr. Aizawa. I wouldn’t be a hero. Let me thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” you said. “Let us help.”

Mr. Aizawa’s eyes widened. “Kokoro…”

“I’m sorry for always causing you trouble.” You smiled, tears streaming down your face. “Thank you.”

“Kokoro!” Mr. Aizawa shouted after you as you blasted into the fight.

Thanks to the training you’ve done together, Bakugo, Midoriya, and you could switch off while keeping Shigaraki at bay, but his strength soon became realized. Bakugo used his AP Shot hero move, and Shigaraki barely flinched, he smirked even. Midoriya grabbed Shigaraki with Blackwhip but was thrown off. You didn’t know what chance you had. Midoriya’s strength was incomparable. However, Shigaraki was now advancing toward Katsuki Bakugo, prepared to kill him like in your nightmares.

Strands of your mind flew from your head. You seized Shigaraki like Midoriya had, only you used other strands of your mind to tether you to the ground below, digging in to anchor you.

“Anna Kokoro,” Shigaraki hissed out, straining against the invisible rope. “I should have killed you at our first meeting. Now, you’re as annoying as a buzzing fly to me.” He reached back, hooking his arm around the strands of your mind.

To your surprise, instead of trying to tug, he whipped his whole arm down. You weren’t protected from that, weren’t stabilized to stand upright just for a pull. You hit the ground hard, the crack echoed. Disoriented and bleeding, you could barely hear Bakugo shouting for you. A heat wave sailed overhead. You managed to lift yourself far enough from the ground to see Endeavor standing where Shigaraki once was.

You clenched your fist, lifting yourself from the ground in embarrassment. Deku helped you up. Endeavor turned to look at you only momentarily.

“We can’t change the fact that the three of you are here, but we need to support Eraserhead. The two of you, cover Deku!” Endeavor ordered, before he rushed in.

“One for All. You’re mine. Come to your brother and give me what is rightfully mine,” Shigaraki said, but it wasn’t him. It didn’t sound like him.

Gran Torino sailed in next. You wiped the blood from your face with the back of your hand, scared and uncertain of what to do. But, Bakugo didn’t hesitate, he changed his location, finding a strategic position of attack while Shigaraki’s attention was still on Deku. Your knees buckled. Were you truly ready for this? What were you thinking? You weren’t Deku or Bakugo. You didn’t stand a chance.

You turned around, but froze as soon as you caught sight of Mr. Aizawa. You had to do this for him. He couldn’t fight. He had his own role. He needed to keep Shigaraki from disintegrating everything in his path. He always believed in you, always believed that you could be a hero. You clenched your fists at your sides, and you turned back to face the battle. The least you could do was cover your teacher.

The battle raged on between Shigaraki and the Pro Heroes. Even without his powers, Shigaraki stood his ground, perhaps even surpassed the heroes in his strength, a monster in a man’s body. Fear rumbled through you. They were losing. You could see that they were losing just by the determination in Shigaraki’s eyes, the bitter rage to keep going without fail. Endeavor was the number one hero, and he was barely making a dent. Still, you could tell Shigaraki was becoming slower, being worn down by the multitude of attacks.

Deku slid back into the fight, using Blackwhip in an attempt to restrain Shigaraki, who only had gotten more and more impatient as he was losing ground. You forced your own quirk back to your senses, feeling it strain from the damage it had taken. Ryuku, in her dragon form more greatly engaged the enraged villain. You only planned to give the heroes an edge, help them subdue the deranged power-hungry psychopath that Shigaraki had become. You didn’t know what using your quirk on him again could have had such terrible consequences to your head.

You can’t have control of my body. It’s mine, Shigaraki hissed.

Allow me to help you, Tomura. Stop fighting. This voice. You barely recognized this voice. A shiver, a memory had you quaking. All for One. All for One was inside of Shigaraki. He was not only giving him this power, but he was a part of him now.

You felt the internal struggle, the back-and-forth. Shigaraki was fighting on the outside, but he was also fighting with his Master from the inside. Flashes of memories appeared, horrible memories to you. Decay, itching and destruction and pure decay. You just wanted it to stop itching. You wanted to destroy everything. Then, you did. Your fingers pressed into flesh and away came gray ash. Joy filled your veins. Sadness, but then relief.

Vomit roiled in the back of your throat, as you couldn’t pull back out of Shigaraki’s mind. You watched as his family members turned to dust one by one. The dog, his mother, accidents. Some were accidents. Some happy and some sad. It itched. It always itched, and it still haunted you. He was thinking of them, even now, he was thinking of them as he struggled to be enough, struggled to be strong enough to end the torment.

You focused, wrestling your control back from the mind of a madman. At this point, you weren’t sure if you were in his head or if he was in yours.

Stop! You don’t have to do this! You don’t have to destroy everything because of your past! you shouted toward a deaf mind.

Shigaraki’s thoughts didn’t even flinch. The chaos continued with him tuning out All for One and thinking of how joyous the final destruction of his family had been. The hands, the blue hands of the dead, trophies of his triumph. Then, you saw it. His mind twisted. Anger ripped at his tangled thoughts as he considered a new alternative to this endless fight. His quirk was being nullified, and he had had enough. You saw the red bullet, saw the gun flash between thoughts. You took hold of the strands of your mind, but they remained entangled.

There you are. Too bad. I thought you would have been a promising candidate, especially since you made it this deep into my successor’s mind, All for One stated.

Your blood went cold. You turned around to see a disfigured face. All for One stood as he had stood in front of you to offer you a chance to be villain. His dark suit blended in with the dismal vacuum of space that was this side of Shigaraki’s mind. You were so close you could touch him. He had a hold of what you could only assume to be the strands of your mind. He dug his fingers into the invisible waves, and you cried out in pain. You fell to your knees, holding your head.

Interesting, he purred. Perhaps this quirk would be of use to us. Stolen of course. Too bad I am not the one in control of Tomura at the moment, but soon… I will consider your quirk as well.

All for One clenched harder about your mind strands. It felt as if he was squeezing your windpipe closed. You gasped for air as your head felt like it was being compressed as easily as a soda can. Breathe. You had to breathe. Had to get away from this man who had enough residual power within Shigaraki to affect you in this way.

The quirk deleter gun flashed in Shigaraki’s mind again, and All for One suddenly released you. You flew from Shigaraki’s mind, collapsing to the ground in your physical body. You reached for your neck, gasping for air. You didn’t know how long you were just standing there, but you didn’t have time to flounder. You had to stop Shigaraki from—

The gun went off. Your attention flashed forward. The gun had been forced through Ryuku’s skin, her dragon scales. Shigaraki had a hold of Deku between his teeth. No one had been able to stop him from firing. You whipped your head back and watched in horror as Mr. Aizawa took a knife clean through his leg, severing the lower half of his leg with the quirk deleting bullet in it from his body. You heard Deku screaming, or was it you screaming?

You hadn’t had time to stop it. Your weakened body could barely move. A migraine rattled all of your senses. You hissed under your breath as just a mere turn of your head had your mind spinning.

The knife fell from Mr. Aizawa’s hands, yet somehow, he kept his eyes open. Shigaraki launched a desperate attack on your wounded teacher, grinning in triumph. His fingers dug into Mr. Aizawa’s forehead, scraping through the skin, all the way down to his eyes. You reached out your hand to grapple him with your quirk, but your quirk lashed back at you with searing pain in its wake.

Deku lassoed Shigaraki with Blackwhip, pulling him away from Mr. Aizawa, but the damage had been done. Aizawa collapsed, and the pain in your head wasn’t nearly as palpable as the pain in your heart at witnessing the condition that your teacher endured now.

You got on your hands and knees, forcing your beaten body and mind to move. But no matter how loud you were yelling at yourself to do so, you felt utterly powerless. Your quirk hid from your control, in fear that you might put it in serious danger again.

“Anna. My Sweet Anna. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Your eyes widened. It couldn’t have been him. He was in jail. He shouldn’t be here. “Doku?” you asked.

Doku Kobura’s hands were on you as he shushed you. You blinked up at him in a daze as he helped you to your feet. His piercings were gone. He was wearing rather pedestrian clothes compared to the designer garb you were used to seeing him in, but it was definitely him.

“How are you…? You shouldn’t be here—” You fell into him, clutching your head as another wave of pain hit you.

Doku supported your body with his, leading you away from the ensuing battle. You shook your head, pushing at him gently.

“We can’t leave. Mr. Aizawa needs me,” you said.

“He’s out. The Pro Heroes have got him,” Doku explained. “You’re in no condition to keep fighting either. Shigaraki is about to disintegrate everything in his way, and I will not let you be collateral damage.”

“My friends…” your voice was hoarse. As you argued, Doku continued to help you back.

You barely caught sight of Shoto flying toward Endeavor. He threw up a mountain of ice that melted away in a cloud of condensed air as the Pro Hero cooled off. This was bad. This was going to be bad.

Doku followed your line of sight as it shifted back toward Shigaraki. His hand lifted, and you clenched your teeth, bracing for what was about to come. Doku tightened his grip on you protectively, almost as if he were going to shield you from the decay that would most certainly ripple out of the overpowered villain. But, the destruction never came.

The front of Shigaraki’s torso split. Blood spilled from his chest as if someone had walked up and sliced him with a sword. Shigaraki visibly staggered, confusion filling his expression.

“He’s not regenerating. He should be regenerating,” Doku said under his breath. He blinked. “H-How long has it been? How long have I been in Tartarus?” Kobura suddenly asked you.

“I… I don’t know…” you managed, faltering in his grip. Your vision was growing blurry.

“Hey. Stay with me, Anna. I’ve got you. Don’t pass out.” Kobura’s attention shifted back to you only momentarily. He hesitated to move. His gaze flickered back up to Shigaraki. “He must not have been completed. There wasn’t enough time for the quirks to fully develop within him. The quirk transplant must not have finished, which means there’s a chance to get you out of here safely.”

“You knew? You knew he was going to become this, and you didn’t warn us?” you asked through ragged breaths. You looked up to see that Midoriya had grabbed everyone nearby him with Blackwhip, lifting Shigaraki along with it so he wasn’t able to touch anything or anyone to decay it. He then put them all back down safely.

Your questions didn’t even make Kobura flinch. Doku shook his head. “I knew everything about The League of Villains, Anna. Everything. All for One’s plans were laid out on the crazy doctor’s computers. Of course, I knew. There was time before this. Time and it should have never affected you. I would have always kept you safe. I always keep you safe. If it wasn’t an immediate threat to you, then it didn’t matter.” Kobura sighed. “What would you have done if I told you, Anna? I’m a villain, remember? I’m not a trustworthy source. If anything, the information would have gotten you in trouble, simply because you would have been caught associating with me.”

The fight raged on behind you. Blow after blow thundered and cracked, echoing for miles on past your eardrums. Deku was fighting Shigaraki by himself. You worried how long he would be able to maintain so many attacks. You hoped that he wouldn’t damage himself too badly. There was a chance that he’d break his arms beyond repair.

“We need to get out of here while there’s still time,” Doku said. Kobura made a move to lift you, but you used your remaining strength to push him away.

“I’m not leaving them,” you said. You lurched forward, sucking in a gasping breath as another wave of agonizing pain struck your temples.

“Your ‘friends’ have got it under control,” Kobura stated dryly.

You knocked him in his ribs with your elbow, no matter how weak it was, for putting such sarcastic interest on the word “friends.”

Kobura continued guiding you away. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while I still draw breath. Not when I can do something about it.”

You reached your hand up weakly to his shirt, stretching the fabric as you tugged. He looked down at you, and you could finally see his face up close, examine it. Your eyes widened. Bruises and stretch marks lined his jaw. His eyes looked bigger, while his face appeared gaunt. His tanned skin was paler than normal, but his normally translucent golden scales appeared more opaque, noticeable, in patches around his face. Your gaze trailed down to see much harsher purple bruises and lacerations on his arms.

“You’re hurt,” you said in concern. You reached up to his face. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Kobura flinched away from your touch. His jaw tightened, and he winced. “Not now. There isn’t time to explain now.” He turned his face away from you, hiding it. “All that matters is that I’m here. I can protect you.”

“You—”

Kobura hissed. One of his hands left you as he struggled to keep hold of you. Shinso had hooked his capture weapon around his wrist, trying to rip him off of you. Hitoshi gave a sharp tug on Doku’s arm, and you yelped.

“Let her go!” Shinso shouted.

“Let me go, idiot! You’ll hurt her! She can barely stand!”

Shinso scoffed. “If you think for one second I’m going to trust a villain like you—”

“Hitoshi, he’s not hurting me. Please stop!” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold yourself together.

“Frisk me if you want to. I don’t have any weapons on me,” Kobura said. “I’m just trying to get her out of here safely.” There was a beat or two of silence. “I don’t have time for this. Release me.”

You opened your eyes and watched Hitoshi’s conflicted expression soften as he met your gaze. He slowly released the capture weapon from Kobura.

“Prominence Burn!” Endeavor bellowed. A sweltering blast of heat had the three of you looking back and shielding your eyes. The Pro Hero had tackled Shigaraki in the air, engulfing him with fire.

Shigaraki’s skin was little more than burnt leather at this point, sizzling with grotesque ferocity. Hot air rippled out. Endeavor fell away from the living corpse. How could he still have been alive? You all stared on in terror, as Shigaraki’s lip spoke someone else’s words.

“Little brother!”

Kobura’s grip loosened on you from the shock. Dark tendrils of sharp red and black energy darted out in the air toward Deku. A gorgeous display of sparkling explosions moved toward him. Katsuki shoved Midoriya out of the way from the attack. The quirk had pierced him through the chest.

You screamed. “No!” you shrieked. “Katsuki!”

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strandbuckley · 1 year

Text

Hot Chocolate Weather

For TWP 12 Days of Tarlos @tarlosweeklyprompts

Dec. 12: Enjoying Hot Chocolate Together

TK and Carlos ride out a storm together and test out a Reyes family recipe.

Read on ao3 here

“I’m not liking the way this looks,” Carlos grumbled, stepping away from the window where he’d been peeking out at the storm. The plastic blinds crackled when he released them and TK pushed down the urge to fuss about him bending the pieces. It was a pet peeve he'd never been able to get over after years of being scolded for peering through the blinds of rented apartments in the same fashion. As if sensing his frustration, Carlos gently adjusted the bent piece before drawing the curtains over the window. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Do you think it’s gonna get bad? Judd was saying something about tornado weather.”

TK really hated storms. They weren’t an anomaly in New York but something about the humidity of the South and the potential for tornadoes made it worse. Plus past experiences with storms, rain, ice, dust, or otherwise, he was understandably wary of weather that wasn’t sunny and blue skies.

“The news is saying just some bad thunderstorms here, babe. But I’m gonna pull out some candles just in case the power goes out.”

Severe thunderstorms had been brewing in Austin over the last several days with the potential of tornadoes in other parts of the state and it was finally coming to a head. Luckily, TK had just finished his last twenty-four-hour shift for the week and Carlos was finishing up a highly annoying stint on the night shift, so they had a long weekend together to ride out the storm.

Carlos moved across the loft, digging up their abundance of candles that had been thrown into a random drawer during the moving process. Living in Texas his whole life, Carlos had amassed a collection of mismatched tea lights and taper candles only to be used in the event of a power outage.

“It looked pretty nasty when we were out on calls today. When do you think the bottom is gonna fall out?”

His answer didn’t come from Carlos but from the loud crack of thunder and the subsequent torrential downpour that began beating the windows of the loft.

“Never mind, I have my answer. Thank you Mother Nature.”

Carlos chuckled and joined him in his sprawled-out position on the couch. “You wanna watch Grand Designs? We have a couple of episodes to catch up on and nothing else to do for the next few days.”

“Sounds perfect,” TK tucked his feet under him and curled into Carlos’ warmth. “Let’s just pray the power doesn’t go out.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

“Doesn’t this building have backup generators?”

“Only for the lights in the hallway, so we don’t fall and kill ourselves if we have to evacuate.”

“If all else fails we can try and play Catan with two people.”

“I’m not sure how well that would work babe,” Carlos stifled his laugh where his face was buried in TK’s hair. “We do have Scrabble though.”

“Wasn’t it you that said, and I quote ‘In this house we Catan’?”

“You’ve got me there.”

Carlos navigated the TV menu, pulling up Grand Designs and pressing play on an episode they hadn’t seen yet. He relaxed into the couch, glad to have some time just the two of them. The previously scheduled 126 hang had been canceled due to weather, and while Carlos loved their friends, he was bone tired and not feeling in a very host-like mood. He wanted nothing more than to spend the next four days in their current position, and maybe a few others once he caught up on sleep.

TK leaned heavily on this shoulder, occasionally making comments about the choices the builders and owners were making, but otherwise content to just enjoy the show and his company.

Carlos had barely dozed off when TK tugged on his shirt, “Baby, we should make hot chocolate. It’s the perfect weather for it.”

It took him a minute to process the request, his sleep-addled brain still coming back online.

“That sounds good babe,” he agreed, once his body had gotten with the program. “Let me just make sure we have the ingredients.”

“Ingredients? Don’t we just need milk and the little packets?”

“Have I taught you nothing Tyler? Homemade is much better. Come on, I’m gonna teach you a family recipe.”

Carlos moved into the kitchen muttering to himself as he began pulling things out of the pantry. TK padded in behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist as he watched him pull out more ingredients than TK had ever seen used for hot chocolate.

“Can you grab me a saucepan and turn the heat on to medium?”

“Yep.”

TK rummaged through the lower cabinet as Carlos moved over to a small wooden box and flipped through a handful of index cards until he found what he was looking for. TK emerged victorious with the saucepan and sat it on the stove, then flipped the knob over until the flame lit and adjusted the heat according to Carlos’ directions.

“Grab the milk from the fridge too please?”

TK once again obeyed his instructions, bringing over the oat milk Carlos always laughed at him for putting in the cart, but had become a staple in their fridge.

“My Mami would slap me upside the head for using oat milk in this,” he teased, measuring it out and pouring it into the pan anyway.

“Just don’t let her know I converted you,” TK leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Measure out these spices,” he handed over a faded index card, ripped around the edges, with various spices and measurements scrawled on it. It wasn’t Carlos’ handwriting and he wasn’t sure that it was Andrea’s either. “Cut the cayenne in half though, since you’re a lightweight.”

“Very funny.”

They worked in amicable silence, moving around each other in a way that had only been perfected by months of running into each other until they learned their partner’s natural orbit. Carlos hummed along to the quiet music he had turned on, never being able to cook in the quiet, stirring the mixture as TK very carefully measured out the spices according to the directions bestowed upon him and handed them over.

“You said this was a family recipe,” TK said, hopping up on the counter next to the stove, careful to avoid the heat. “How long have you been making this?”

“My whole life,” Carlos reached around him for the chocolate and poured some in without consulting the directions then resumed his stirring. “There’s been a few iterations in my family. My dad’s grandmother made the first one, but it’s had some tweaks and changes over the years. This is a combination of her recipe and my Tia Lucy’s.”

“It looks amazing, I’ve never seen so much go into just hot chocolate.”

“My family does nothing by halves.”

Carlos finally deemed the concoction ready, reaching above TK’s head to pull out mugs. TK couldn’t help but giggle at the choices, Carlos subconsciously grabbing each of their favorite mugs. TK’s was a gag gift from Judd for his birthday, covered in pictures of Buttercup’s big, goofy face. Carlos’ was one that TK had found and bought for him just because, hand painted with the Northern Lights.

Carlos ladled a healthy amount into both mugs, topping them with marshmallows and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Tell me what you think.”

TK took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue. It wasn’t as sweet as what he was used to, and he could taste the heat of the spices but it wasn’t unpleasant. It made him feel warm in the best possible way and he eagerly took another sip.

“This is literally the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Carlos said, finally taking a sip from his own mug and humming contentedly. “My Mami will be glad to know it got your seal of approval.”

“If you make this again, I might just have to marry you,” TK teased, leaning up to kiss him, chasing the taste of bittersweet chocolate on his lips.

“I guess I’ll just have to make it for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re gonna ruin norma; hot chocolate for our kids,” TK said casually. “They’re gonna think it’s crazy the first time they try Swiss Miss.”

Carlos hid his blush at the mention of their future children behind the rim of his mug, but TK caught the barest hints of a smile in his eyes.

They were startled from their moment by the flickering of lights just before the apartment was plunged into darkness.

“You had to tempt fate didn’t you.”

Carlos used his phone flashlight to navigate to the living area, lighting enough candles to make things visible, but not enough to be concerned about a five-alarm. Luckily he lived with a firefighter and based on previous experience, had a fire extinguisher in every room.

TK joined him, looking perfectly cozy in the candlelight, his mug cradled in his hands. They finished their drinks, now warmed from the inside out, and placed their mugs on the coffee table to be taken care of later.

Carlos laid back on the couch, pulling TK on top of him like a finance-shaped weighted blanket.

“You know,” TK mumbled from where his face was buried in Carlos’ neck. “If I get to spend all of them like this, I might actually learn to like storms.”

“There you go tempting fate again,” Carlos groaned, no real annoyance in his voice. “If we get you liking storms the rain may never stop.”

“Yeah whatever,” TK laughed, snuggling impossibly closer. “Blow out those candles so I can take a nap.

The power came back on a few hours later, startling them both out of their slumber when various devices started beeping as they came back online. They threw a frozen pizza in the oven, too lazy to make a real meal, and picked up where they left off on their show. The rain continued on through the night, a soundtrack to their evening as they washed dishes and showered together before turning into bed early.

Carlos took his position as big spoon, nuzzling his nose into TK’s damp hair. He was once again almost asleep when the other man spoke, “I thought up something you can put in your vows.”

“What is it?”

“I promise to make you hot chocolate every time it rains.”

“I think we can work something out,” he chuckled. “Now go to bed Tyler.”

“Goodnight Carlos.”

“Goodnight babe.”

(If a few months later the line was worked into his vows, that was no one’s business but theirs. And if TK had the recipe memorized by the end of the year, then that was no one’s business either)

#TWP12DaysofTarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star fic #my works

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drades-lair · 2 years

Text

Mates

The club was just what Blitz wanted right now, loud music, smell of smoke and good drinks. Work had been literal hell this week, so Blitz needed just a few hours of distraction before going back to reality. Wearing his leather jacket, black wash jeans and crimson button-down Blitz was strutting his stuff right to the bar. The bar tender slid a bottle of beer to Blitz that he caught single handed, taking a swig. "Well, well, if it isn't Blitzo!" Came an all too familiar voice that caused Blitz to spew his beer. "Fizz? What the fuck are you doing here?" Blitz exclaimed, spinning around to face the other imp. "I should be asking you that. Looking for someone else’s life to ruin?" Fizz taunted Blitz took note of how Fizz wasn't wearing his usual jester get up instead dressed in a long-sleeved yellow sweater and blue jeans leaving his partial horns exposed without the hat. Blitz felt the white patch on his face ache a little at seeing Fizz's damaged horns. "Of course, not and as I recall it wasn't me who ruined your life!" Blitz shot back bitterly "Oh really! Says the fuck up who couldn't even tell the simplest jokes!" Fizz spat back "Whatever can you just fuck off all ready! I’m trying to enjoy myself," Blitz growled irritably "Oh no! You don't get to just walk away this time! You fucking screw up! You can't do anything right ever! You fucked up my life and everyone that followed! Begs the question when are you going to fuck up the lives of your 'employees'? Hmm?" Fizz berated Blitz making him grimace as Fizz's words burrowed their way into his brain. "N-no! I'm...I wouldn't..." Blitz tried to defend himself but those words were the exact things he'd said to himself on more then a few occasions. "Sure, you will Blitzo! You ruin everyone and thing you come in contact with!" Fizz's words carried so much venom Blitz felt it penetrating his very soul. "Sounds like Yer speakin' from experience," Blitz damn near gave himself whiplash with the speed he spun his neck around towards the second familiar voice of the evening. Leaning against the bar with a leg crooked, cowboy hat tipped over his face and a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand was Striker. A single yellow eye peered from under that hat straight at Fizz and there was a very distinct rattle sounding from his direction. "Who the fuck are you?" Fizz asked indignantly "Me? I'm the fucking mate of the one you're belittling," Striker growled low as he pushed off the bar to come stand next to Blitz. "Mate!? There's no fucking way you've got a mate!" Fizz exclaimed in true shocked surprise "Aw, what's the matter bitch? Jealous Blitz was able to get a hot piece of ass like me?" Striker taunted flashing his fangs "Striker, you don't need to do this! I had this handled!" Blitz interjected irritability "I know you did Darlin' but as a source of pride I can't let this bitch get away with sayin' those things to Ya," Striker retorted with a wink Blitz could appreciate what Striker was trying to do but at the same time he couldn't shake what Fizz had just said. Striker's tail snaked around Blitz's calve as he reached up to not so subtly adjust his bandanna revealing the mating mark on his nape. "You're a fucking cocky bastard! Its absolutely disgusting!" Fizz sloppily insulted as he flushed red. "Sure am, also a better lay then you ever were," Striker shot back with a hiss Blitz by this point felt like he should say something but found himself tongue tied, it was a very unusual feeling to have someone stand up for him. Everyone hated him or at least that’s what Blitz thought most of his life proven when not even Moxxie or Millie would stand up for him when he got into shit however watching Striker right now tell Fizz to go get fucked…it was nice to have someone in his corner for once.

“You fucker! How dare you!” Fizz growled, raising a hand to slap Striker only to have his hand snatched mid air.

“Now, now, no need for that,” Striker hissed again, his tail rattling furiously now from where it still sat coiled around Blitz’s calve. Suddenly a low growl erupted from Blitz drawing both Fizz and Striker’s attention to him.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Blitz snarled, pushing himself between Striker and Fizz now much to the surprise of both parties. Striker released Fizz’s hand as Blitz firmly planted himself between them, teeth bared and eyes flashing red with anger. Fizz took a step backwards at the sudden display of dominance from Blitz, a side he’d not seen before. Blitz’s spines were flared on his back as his tail coiled tightly around Striker’s waist in a possessive manner, but Striker didn’t mind in fact he gave a smug smirk in Fizz’s direction.

“What the fuck? What’s wrong with you?” Fizz asked hesitantly

“You can say or do whatever you want to me but if you touch him, I will tare your fucking throat out!” Blitz snarled

Fizz was so taken aback by this display he lost all the gumption he once had instantly backing up before huffing a scoff as he headed for the nearest exit door. Blitz waited till Fizz was out of sight then he turned to face Striker who still had that smug smile plastered on his features. Striker was just about to say something when Blitz roughly used his tail to yank the pale imp into a heated kiss, a claiming kiss which Striker happily returned.

“Fuck Blitz! Never knew how possessive you could get,” Striker chuckled upon pulling from the kiss.

“No one but me is aloud to touch you!” Blitz growled against Striker’s nape where the mating mark he placed there was.

“Hmm, love when Ya talk dirty sugar. How’s about we blow this place before Ya start fuckin’ me right on the bar top?” Striker suggested with a hum of approval

“Yes,” Blitz simply breathed out

The two of them quickly paid their way then took off out of the club, Blitz hopping on bombproof behind Striker, tail still coiled tightly around the other imp’s waist. On the ride back to Blitz’s apartment Striker could feel Blitz caressing along his sides and hips.

“You know, standing up for me was pretty hot cowboy,” Blitz purred seductively into Striker’s ear.

“That’s my job Darlin’, You might be my dominant but, in the end, we’re mates which means we protect one another,” Striker responded so nonchalantly and perhaps for him it was just how things were but for Blitz this was a new concept, something he’d never experienced.

“I…I’ve never…had someone do that for me…” Blitz hesitantly stammered out, pressing his face to the back of Striker’s neck to breath in his scent.

“I know…but that’s no longer the case, I will always defend Ya Blitz,” Striker promised glancing over his shoulder.

“And that just makes you hotter,” Blitz smirked gripping Striker’s hips a little harder

Striker released a deep chuckled at that, clicked his heels to get bombproof to go a little faster so they could get back to the apartment as soon as possible in order to show his mate exactly how much he loved him.

#Helluva boss #Helluva boss fanfiction #Helluva boss fanfic #fanfictions #fanfics #Striker #Blitzo #fizzaroiii #Blitzo X Striker #slight romance #angst #slight humor #drama #possessive Blitzo #Protective Striker #mating marks

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anonofseasons · 1 year

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When the boys are adults, will having been children so long affect their personalities? You've said Bee can be absent-minded and somewhat selfish as an adult, which says somewhat childish' to me. Do El and Howie have similar problems?

Oooh, this is such a fun question! Thank you for this ask! I think each boy will be impacted at least a little bit in his own way. For El, he's already an introvert, but he's been isolated for so long that his idea of friendship is all pieced together from books. He's stuffed his head so deep in fiction, he's a bit like Bee but doesn't use dolls to play out his stories. (In fact, he's quite embarrassed by the self-insert fanfics he writes in his head. Poor baby needs an AO3 in his world! And, er, internet for that matter.) Also this whole thing is the reason it was easier for Vivian to gaslight him with "Sophie's your imaginary friend"--not that Vivian knew this at the time. El's sacrificial "big brother" nature also comes from being so lonely for those years that--without the experience around peers--he'll probably be too oblivious at first to people taking advantage of that. He'll think he's aware because he read fiction with those themes, only to discover that it's harder to detect in reality. But the decades of him being an only child and young at that... it definitely is responsible for that. Howie is the one least affected. That might sound surprising, since he started as the main voice of this story. His personality--that insatiable curiosity--will benefit him in the long run. He's the only one who really stood up to the system at first (El followed because of a combination of the Sophie ordeal and finding out Vivian used his magic against Howie). He's been self-aware of what aspects of him might be seen as childish, and he was even consciously trying to seem more mature at times. Buuuut... Alright, so I had to snip out some superfluous bits of the story a while back, and there are some parts that showed he was more willing to be childish. But I honestly wouldn't see it as childish, just something society does, to have that curious wonderment. I love Howie for having it, honestly. Now Bee... He's complicated, but since I posted ch 40, I think I can now admit that yes, he doesn't want to grow up at all. He likes being five. He's had years to learn more than the average child his age, but his brain is still the same as a five-year-old's. And it has stagnated there for approximately 183 years. He knew he wasn't aging after a while, but did he have a problem? Did he question it? No. He loves toys and has normalized a lot of unhealthy shit. He's somewhat selfish and fickle and probably will reject vegetables his entire life. Not even telling him he can eat whatever he wants when he grows up is enough to sway him. And the shaving part? That does distress him! Bee doesn't handle growing up well at all. Not after all those years of being so little and being babied for so long. If I go further into it, I will spoil the epilogue, but this one has a journey to go through, and... yeah, I can't even vaguely mention what'll happen or I'll spoil it. But I hope that can sate your curiosity for a bit? :) And apologies I cannot tell you how far you have to wait for the epilogue to find out more about Bee... I'm still writing this monster. I hope sometime soon I'll know how many chapters are left. :') Thank you again for this question, it's something I have a lot of fun thinking about when I'm supposed to be sleeping (oops) and it's nice to share these bits with others!

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write-4-sore-eyes · 7 days

Text

Want to hear a scary story?

My skeletons are not in my closet,

she’s staring back at me in the mirror;

Dark, hollow eyes and sharp protruding bones,

as I waste away, loneliness lurks nearer.

I have only ever seen one zombie,

and she’s living rent free in my bed;

With a foggy brain, nowhere left to go,

every morning she’s feasting on my dread.

I thought vampires were only fiction,

until I started to avoid daylight;

Sucking the life out of my own body,

no longer able to put up a fight.

There’s nothing scary underneath my bed,

for it is me that is the monster now;

Fickle love tried to piece me back together,

now I’m more broken than before somehow.

Preffering cats, the moon had other plans,

turning me into a werewolf every night;

Peering up into the night’s sleepless sky,

pleading with God to free me from this plight.

All my life I never believed in ghosts,

now eternal anguish leaves me haunted;

Ceaseless whispers of painful rejection,

you could never possibly be wanted.

I hear their murmurs in the hall all night,

He doesn’t love you, and why would he care?

Saying, you’re miserably inadequate, you sad, pathetic thing,

You deserve to rot in your own despair.

Body poisened by my mind’s evil scientist,

experiments won’t let me keep down any meals;

Plagued by panic attacks and hopelessness,

don’t worry, the boy I loved said it’s no big deal.

Scary stories can’t compare to this living nightmare,

no more haunted houses or spooky tales;

You’re all waiting to see how and when this ends,

no one cares to hear about the details.

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soapver4 · 18 days

Text

Franklix

Platform idea: A transparent content library that lets you choose the brain you want for yourself based on the averaged neurological changes of the consumers of the book, course, film, drama, etc. curated or, if the changes are too small, based on the genre, discipline, institution, lecturer, author, director or other creators. That is the definitively life-revolutionizing choice we need on top of the choices of exhilaratingly but ultimately helplessly watching larvae taking over human brains in Parasyte: The Grey or [doomsday scifi spoiler] the dispatch of a human brain to forlorn outer space in 3 Body Problem, shows which recently topped a FlixPatrol global TV streaming chart in close succession.

Content and life are fast evolving, so we need to ensure whatever forms of societal compass we have with respect to them keep pace. Sharper differentiation between beneficial content and detrimental content enables the precise and efficient choice optimization that is ever more important against a backdrop of enrichment/entertainment option overload and harrowing time scarcity. The necessity is real whether you are pro-screen or anti-screen.

To identify with an "anti-screen" league might sound hypocritical in this smartphone age. Even this discourse is of necessity mediated through a screen. The temptation and justification for screen usage are made powerful by the current realities of modern living — the network effect (i.e. how the value of a good or service depends on the number of users, which in turn carries implications for any digital abstinence or digital hermitism on the part of users like business owners, commentators, creators or even simply run-of-the-mill career builders), phone-addicted spouses and buddies whose attention you switch on more readily through WhatsApp, the need to join social conversations around trending shows to avoid becoming an outcast, online-only opinion pieces, and essential services increasingly requiring web connectivity. Prominent reflections of authentic neurological changes that confirm purported negative consequences of viewing excessive onscreen violence and short-form content, for example, would be reminders that may abate the temptation and turn the tide of peer pressure to some extent. Physical written materials, in contrast, can cultivate patience, concentration and an appetite for deep contemplation, provided they are not part of any multitasking setup.

That said, the books-good-TV-bad mantra needs a nuance check given the transforming content landscape. Give fair chances to new works otherwise tarnished by past scientific findings on the harm of television watching and stop shallow publications from stealing precious minutes of our lives. Television can be a rich and cognitively stimulating form of storytelling, if screen creators care to make the best of their medium, whereas a financially threatened publishing industry surviving on conservative business ethos may keep selecting works that repeat the same ideas for up to hundreds of pages at a time to meet traditional length expectations and across tens of thousands of titles. Unlike text, screen details may await careful discovery, instead of always being spelled out one way or another. What an opportunity for bookish nerds to stretch our multiple faculties. Layered audiovisual worlds take this millions of steps further as they compact ideas, emotions and sociocultural, literary and academic references into mere minutes or even seconds. The caveat is that the brain catalog must carry a warning about the content-independent perils of excessive screen time.

Not relying solely on superficial theories and industry experiences vulnerable to future disruption, @netflix itself has had a biophysical lab that measured electrical activities in volunteers' brains as they watched videos. To take this to an ideal level, we might want to randomly select individuals, habitual users of a medium and others alike, for each item or group in the proposed content library and conduct magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) or other suitable measurements of them before and after their consumption of the item or of a statistically significant number of group items. With massive samples of such individuals, any confounding factors would hopefully cancel out each other. To be sure, the problems with this approach are tremendous: staggering technical and logistical costs, denial of personal autonomy, riding roughshod over conscientious objection to consuming works of certain ideologies or themes.

One compromise would be comparing the neurological measurements of pairs or, if the numbers permit, paired pools of consenting, anonymized viewers who share similar biographical data and viewing histories but differ in whether they have consumed the content item or group under evaluation. A discounted price tier can be offered to incentivize the consent, data sharing and measurements. There are at least two complications, on top of the obvious analytical limitation of self-selection, however. First, while pure entertainment content may be viewed as merely a foregone luxury for non-consenting individuals, the same is not true for foregone enrichment items, including important academic books and courses as well as works of profound societal value that inspire you, for instance, to push on against your real-life difficulties or to take pride in your marginalized background. The consequence is the oft-discussed data-selling equivalent of organ selling for people of lesser means who actually need to consume the works. Second, discussions around TikTok bans and around familial genomic information have raised the concern that personal data is more than personal. The geopolitical and societal implications of massive data collection may be deemed troubling, however unfettered, authentic and informed the consent given is.

Until there is a solution or favorable consensus for challenges above, here is a suggestion for a crude proxy that circumvents them: a review site-like content library where each user can pick two shapes that she believes best represent the cognitive states and emotional states of her brain respectively after consuming a curated item. Polling on the shapes starts after complete consumption of the item is plausible. For example, the brain shape poll for a web series should start at a time that is the sum of the time of release of the finale of a web series and the running duration of the finale. To minimize the effect of any manipulation by rabid fandoms or unscrupulous commercial players, the most popular brain shapes for the item are to be unveiled only after the end of a reasonably long voting period, after which no more vote will be accepted. At least the fun concept itself should be sufficient non-monetary incentive for poll participation.

Quantitative surveys of neurological states need not obliterate any romance or particularity of a viewing or fiction reading experience. Just as you can imagine having separate fabulous friendships with twins with identical looks and similar personalities, the Shinichi-Migi bromance in the Japanese manga/anime version of Parasyte and the Suin-Heidi "sismance" (never mind that a widely-accepted term for female bromance still does not exist) in the South Korean live-action adaptation of Parasyte mentioned in the beginning may be both worth cherishing in their own rights, even if they all hold out brains in the shape of a reaper with a large heart as its head in poll results. Ditto for The Three-Body Problem franchise's Cheng Xin X Yun Tianming loveline and Cheng Jin (Jin Cheng) X Will Downing loveline, and any steaming, plasmoid-shaped brains.

youtube

#parasyte the grey #parasyte #jeon so nee #3 body problem #neuroscience #kdrama #netflix #korean drama #three body problem #cognitive science #sci fi and fantasy #fantasy academia #Youtube #Soap 4.0

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pointofreturn · 3 months

Text

professor's pet, pt. 1

I was always a model student. Always the teacher’s pet.

Intelligence was my earliest form of worthiness. People told me over and over how smart and well-spoken I was. In second grade, I was placed in a third-grade reading class. Gifted for fourth grade. I read books instead of playing with the other kids and spent middle school lunches with my nose between Edgar Allan Poe poems or Faulkner short stories. I aced every advanced English class, received praise for even the shittiest papers, and received perfect scores on state writing tests. I completed both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English with a focus on American Literature. I was accepted and offered full funding to two prestigious Ph.D. programs at famous southern schools. And I would have finished my doctorate if not for this dreaded tale I’m about to tell you.

Naturally, as a reader, I am also a writer. Mother saved all of the stories I wrote through grade school. I won an award in fourth grade for a story about a purple hairbrush. I wrote and illustrated a children’s book about squirrels with family conflict. All of the creative stories have one thing in common—they are infused with bits and pieces of my life.

I’ve always been one to speak from experience.

Writing was always something I enjoyed and I was objectively good at it, but my internal doubt ruined my ability to properly see my potential.

His name surrounds me months before I ever see him. He’s one of the more popular professors, and I’d come to learn that was for good reason. I started taking classes at Another University because I was determined to finally finish my bachelor’s. I started talking to people about the research I was interested in, what I liked to read and write.

“You have to meet him,” they say.

“You two will really get along. You’re so similar!”

“Have you talked to ______? He might be interested in picking your brain.”

I’m accepted to the honors program where I’m tasked with writing my first thesis. I settle on a comparative study on F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald’s tandem novels, This Side of Paradise and Save Me the Waltz, arguing that Scott’s patriarchal plagiarism and creative control directly contributed to Zelda’s mental and physical disabilities. It wasn’t profound, but Zelda’s novel is my favorite book ever, so I had to write about it. All my professors and peers tell me I should get his input on my work.

How I sometimes wish we hadn’t been pushed to cross paths.

How I sometimes wish I’d never met him.

After I decided to save myself, I finished inpatient treatment and figured the best way forward was to go back to college. I’d gathered a handful of credits from the two schools I’d been to previously and even though my heart was originally called by a music or art major, my head determined that I should be practical. English, I thought, was a path that could lead me to an attainable career in teaching or editing but would still allow me to engage with my creativity.

And given that it was my best subject, it made sense.

Several of my English professors had a profound impact on my life. My first creative writing teacher was at the local community college I said I’d never go to but have my associate’s degree from. He was in his early forties and kind of looked like Jason Bateman if you squinted the right way. His class was nonfiction-focused, so we spent a lot of time writing about ourselves. Easy enough. During our final meeting, he told me I should keep writing about my life. I’d had other people tell me to write a book, but he was the first to suggest writing a memoir, the first to suggest that my chaotic life was worth talking about.

I had an English professor in Tampa who assigned the book that taught me the truth about chattel slavery and the Native American genocide. He looked like a mix of Albert Einstein and Eugene Levy, always smelled like stale cigarettes and coffee, and was a notoriously hard grader. He was the first to give me a C on a paper, but he let me revise it and pushed me to be a better academic writer. Later, he awarded me a coveted A- on a paper about southern high schools teaching intentional misinformation on the Civil War and slavery. His only criticism was that I was too emotional, that I brought too much of myself into the subject.

After another health incident, I had to move back home, once again, but I was impatient to finally finish my bachelor’s degree. It had been nearly five years since I graduated high school and I was starting to feel behind in more ways than one. I transferred to Another University.

I grew up going to classes with Mother at AU. Another school I swore I would never go to and now have two degrees from. I distinctly remember a class she brought me to when I was four or five years old. We did a taste test—bitter, salty, sweet, sour. Each flavor was on a toothpick and we had to place the wood on a different section of our tongue to see where we got the strongest reaction. I have no idea what it was supposed to prove. But I loved the classroom, I loved watching the professor, I loved the feeling of belonging with the other students.

Another University birthed and destroyed my academic life.

I sit in an office with Josephine, my honors seminar professor. She is youthful and beautiful, blonde with a full, bright smile and spring-water eyes. Josephine will come to be one of my favorites over the years, one who sticks with me through my master’s thesis.

We’re waiting for her to introduce me to him.

“I think your project has a lot of potential,” she affirms. “I’m really excited to hear what he has to say. You have aligned research interests and I’m sure he’ll have some source recommendations for you to take this further.”

I smile and nod. I��m always nervous about meeting new people, but he responded politely enough to my email asking for a meeting. I was just getting in my head.

Josephine shuffles some papers around on her desk to break up the awkwardness. A figure passes outside her door.

“Oh! Dr. ______!”

I turn around to catch a glimpse of feathery blonde hair and the tail of a tweed coat. His body backtracks a few steps and stands in the doorway.

The world goes quiet.

Who are you? Did I know you from somewhere before?

I now completely understand his popularity. His looks alone are enough to tempt any of the academically needy English girls. Who wouldn’t want to sit alone in his office, listening intently to anything and everything he has to say about what you’ve written, all while secretly hoping for a hint that he’s interested in more than just your paper. His charming personality and hospitable mannerisms were just the cherry on top of a seemingly perfect package.

Josephine speaks again, beaming between the two of us stopped in time. “This is Mollie Steven, the undergraduate honors student you’re meeting with this afternoon.”

He opens his mouth and honey whiskey comes out.

“Mollie.”

He says my name and I don’t know if I’ll hear anything in the world ever again.

He leads me to his office and we sit down to have a conversation about my thesis. I can’t remember a single detail of the conversation but I will always remember the way he looked at me. I’ll always remember the way he shifted uncomfortably in his desk chair, obviously nervous. Despite the gossip I hear about his effortless confidence and charm, able to flirt with a light pole and all that, he stutters over his words and lets me lead the conversation. I think he asks a few questions about my personal life—where I’m from and went to school, normal things like that.

I knew immediately that there was a mutual attraction between us. And what was worse, some kind of instant, magnetic connection. Sticking your finger in a light socket and all that. I was still dating Seb, but this was the first man I’d felt something for in years. He felt something for me too, however fleeting or insignificant.

Our “story” spans over six years. It doesn’t have a happy ending, but why would I have ever expected it to?

#creative nonfiction #creative writing #memoir #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #academia #graduate school

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