#Both egomaniacs who look down on others (until they know them a little better) and become fiercely protective of the people closest to them

[dereksmcgrath]

Pity the greedy Daffy Duck starfish god: he just wants to make a buck and take over the world.

“The Dawning of the Crazy Cafe,” Magu-chan: God of Destruction, Chapter 58. By Kei Kamiki, translation by Christine Dashiell, lettering by Erika Terriquez. Available from Viz.

Rin called it from the beginning: Naputaaku would go bankrupt. Point and laugh at me for hoping this wouldn’t go so badly for the poor starfish god.

I’ve compared Magu-chan to Gintama before, and some of that owes not only to both being gag series but also how challenging it can be to enjoy the more mean-spirited stories. While Gintama has more violence and more tragedy than Magu-chan has so far, the former also gets to certain levels of It’s Always Sunny humor that make certain episodes or entire arcs ones I skip during any repeat viewing.

This chapter feels a bit like those bitter mean-spirited stories. And I don’t say that just because I wasn’t a fan of where things went. Yes, some of this is a matter of taste and subjectivity: I’m rooting for a loudmouth impoverished egomaniac like Naputaaku in the same way I can find myself rooting for his spiritual cousins in Daffy Duck and Donald Duck. But to make that comedy work for Daffy and Donald, so that you can still laugh at them, you have to make their ego so big, and their behavior so out of line, that when they become the butt of the joke, you feel like that was earned. Gintama and It’s Always Sunny for me feel like they enact too much overkill in punishing the characters for misdeeds. This chapter got a little too close to overkill, so it felt like punching down, as Naputaaku’s few misdeeds (overcharging for seaweed without letting Magu know that it is also pretty worthless; initially overcharging for food before immediately reducing the cost when understanding supply and demand) are either comparatively minor for the overkill punishment he is getting, or out of honest ignorance on his part. He’s a newly reawakened god who has only just learned about money and cooking: expecting him to understand business as well is asking a lot.

This is not quite the same as how the Coyote and Road Runner shorts work because Wile E. does himself in by his own mistakes; this is Naputaaku honestly not knowing better when it comes to the economics of running a business, and he’s getting punished for it. He’s not bad at running a business because he’s a fool; he’s bad at running because he’s ignorant. It seems like, with time, he’d get it. Right now, though, he’s like a little kid, as Ren realizes when he compares Naputaaku’s zest for learning rudimentary cooking skills for the first time to his own desire to impress his parents when he was little. This is like making fun of a child for getting screwed over: Naputaaku is still ignorant of human society and business, so while he may be savier than Magu to con him out of his money, he’s not savier than Ruru who knows how to budget her limited money, or like Uneras who remains a troll.

Furthermore, the people around Naputaaku are not giving him much help--but, again, you can blame him for not taking the help he can get and not being more judgmental about the advice given to him: he turned to Uneras and Rin, who can kind of be jerkish trolls at times. It feels like that moment where someone should have stepped in to tell Naputaaku not to do this--but then we wouldn’t have a plot for this gag series.

(Also, are we to expect Naputaaku bought all those ingredients off his own part-time work pay? Part of me wonders if he wasn’t getting more help from the restaurant--or potentially taking their ingredients for his stand. If that detail had been included in this chapter, his comeuppance at the end would feel less like overkill and more justified.)

Returning to how Naputaaku is portrayed as being like a child, I couldn’t look at him setting up his stand and not think of Lucy in Peanuts setting up her own therapist stand. But Naputaaku is not the Lucy figure; he’s more likely to get tricked by the football (forgive how tired that cliche has been in a post-2016 political climate), so he’s the Charlie Brown, only if Charlie Brown was a starfish-shaped madman who is trying to trick people out of their money out of his desire to rule the world while also making delicious food that puts a smile on diners’ faces...I lost the thread of my own comparison: I guess he’s not that similar to Charlie Brown as I thought.

I’m also aware of the gender bias I’m setting up in my complaints: I feel like I’m defending the man-coded Naputaaku while admonishing women or women-coded characters in this story--Rin, Uneras, Nosu Koshu--including with that Lucy comparison I just made. I’m trying to be self-aware that this could easily turn into some red pill nonsense, so, no, I’m nipping that in the bud right now: I do think this chapter could invite that bullshit argument, and that is not what is going on here. Like I said, the story sets up enough that Naputaaku is his own worst enemy, and there are diverse approaches by other girls in the story, such as Ruru and Yuika being honestly impressed with Naputaaku’s work, again pointing out that this was his own fault for the situation he got himself into. Even as what I write could easily invite that toxic reading, that is not what is going on here, especially when a boy like Ren is just as strict in calling out Naputaaku’s antics.

But turning back to how Naputaaku is like a little kid trying to impress his family with his rudimentary cooking, that childishness and ignorance is in awkward contrast with the more, for lack of a better phrase, adult content to this chapter. There is nothing out of bounds with the “adult” moments: Naputaaku and Nosu Koshu in cosplay for a maid cafe avoids the creepy factor if they weren’t chibi Eldritch gods, as the series continues to poke fun at these fetish or fetish-adjacent tropes, like back when Uneras was in a bath towel to tease the others--you get the joke because these are cartoonish blobby characters, not the conventional manga fanservice gags that are dull, boring, cliche, and offensive (yes, I’m still whining about _that_).

Beyond the maid cafe gag, what really felt like leaning into the adult subtext was Naputaaku waking up next to Nosu Koshu: the long pause as roughly the same panel persists for two out of four panels of Naputaaku waking up gave me an impression that maybe I’m misreading--it’s just as likely the joke is that Naputaaku is slowly realizing that his successful maid stand was just a dream, but it also invites a reading that is equivalent to realizing Naputaaku just slept with Nosu Koshu. No, not like that. But it is that he literally slept with her, she literally was in his dreams, and that level of intimacy does lend to a surprisingly adult but tame subtext that I haven’t seen in this series yet.

And speaking of Naputaaku’s dream: I already have embarrassed myself defending this greedy little starfish, but I was duped pretty easily by the setup. I didn’t figure out this was a dream until one panel is literally crumbling and gives way to Naputaaku waking up. It’s not that this plot outcome is unbelievable; it’s that I was roped into the story, such that, there is enough weirdness in this series in which humans in this coastal town are surprisingly chill about tiny little god monsters running around that, if they suddenly were into a starfish in a maid outfit serving good food, it wouldn’t violate the believability this series has already set up. So, good on Kamiki for setting up and paying off that gag without me noticing. That it was Uneras also setting up that maid cafe idea seemed like it could go either way: she’s spot-on enough with cringey fandom trends that there would be an audience for this, but the likelihood that would work with two tiny gods is of course miniscule.

All in all, this chapter is a setback for Naputaaku: he has lost more money to set up a business that failed. But it’s disappointing for me given that this also feels like a step back from how he was portrayed earlier and finally had his victory as the mad god and protector of his bosses’ restaurant. It’s all the more disappointing because the chapter was inviting you to think he was about to regress--Rin watching Naputaaku, digging through trash like he used to, bragging about world domination like he used to--so that, when it’s revealed he’s just setting up his own restaurant, something that was hinted to be his dream back in Chapter 54, it’s disheartening to see he was trying to better himself, only to have it all fall apart (again, due largely to his own faults). Now the little guy is back working in the caverns to pay off his debt to Uneras: how humiliating. At least he’s persistent in his last panel, exclaiming he is “not ready to give up yet.” I just hope the next chapters aren’t more of humiliating him: after how good the Muscar Arc was and let Naputaaku save the day, it’s a shame we haven’t had another arc like that yet to break up the gag installments.

#magu chan: god of destruction #manga review

[swimyghost]

Roses

Hey, I’m super tired but here’s a (possibly) non-canon story about @self-insert-nonsense‘s MHA OC’s mother, Sonaka. I really hope you enjoy.

---

She had double- no, triple checked everything. Every important item was wrapped and placed carefully into one of the two suitcases the sat on her bed. Sonaka knew if she carried any more people would get suspicious.

As if a gray-skinned woman and her equally pale child wouldn't arise suspicion.

"Mama?"

Sonaka perked up at that sound. She turned her head and saw her little girl innocently glancing up at her. Although she was visibly struggling to carry her suitcase, Sonaka's pride and joy wasn't going to let a minor inconvenience get in the way of impressing her mother. Sonaka bent down to her daughter's level.

"Nusuma, are you sure everything is packed?"

"Yes, Mama!" 

Sonaka frowned. "Are you sure? We can't come back once we leave."

Sonaka watched as Nusuma's face scrunched up into as close to serious as a six-year-old could get. "I'm sure!"

Sonaka chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Alright, let's get moving, shall we? The train will-"

A knock at the door set Sonaka into a panic. No one knocked on her door unless it was... Them.

Sonaka frantically shoved her suitcases under her bed before thrusting Nusuma out, slamming the door shut behind her. Nusuma watched with a curious gaze as her mother paced her newly barren apartment. 

"Mama?" She called, growing weary at the sight of her mother's panic.

"M-Mama's fine, honey. Mama just-"

The knocking grew louder. Nusuma whimpered and buried her face into her mother's brown skirt. The suitcase fell from her grasp with a resounding thud. Without a second to spare, Sonaka tossed it onto her bed's stripped bed and closed that door as well. Sonaka pulled her daughter in close.

"Honey, you can't tell anyone we're leaving. Understand?" she whispered.

"But... You said lying is wrong." 

"I know, but this is to keep you safe, okay? You know Mama just wants to keep you safe, right?" Sonaka prayed her daughter wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Okay..." Nusuma murmured back.

With a deep breath, Sonaka made the treacherous journey to her front door. She took an even deep breath once she made it. Shakily, she swung it open and was met with four pairs of glowing red eyes. 

A tall figure with luscious purple hair that fell to her waist stood at Sonaka's doorstep. Her eyes were constantly shifting, yet all eight of them held an aura of concern. Her hands (if you could even call them that) were two thick pieces of carapace with their "fingers" just being individual pieces of the shell. 

"Joro." Sonaka let out a sigh of relief.

"Auntie Tsuchigumo!" Nusuma cried with joy.

The young woman scooped up the child and tickled her stomach. While Nusuma laughed and giggled at the touch, Joro cooed. "How's my favorite ghost? Huh? How is she?"

"Great! Me and Mama are gonna stay home all day!"

Sonaka winced. She loved her daughter, honestly. 

But she's a horrible liar.

Joro easily saw through Nusuma's lies. Her red eyes showed everything Sonaka to know.

"Honey, can you go to your room and play with your toys?" Sonaka said, taking her daughter from the spider woman's grasp.

Nusuma looked up confused. "But-"

"Now, Nusuma."

Sonaka placed her on the floor. Nusuma didn't even look back as she scurried to her room and closed the door behind her. Sonaka turned her attention back to Joro who was taking in the apartment. She crossed her arms and glanced at Sonaka. Not with anger, but with clear pain.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Sonaka couldn't even try to deny her friend. The lifeless apartment was all the proof she needed. The to-bursting bookshelves had been stripped of their occupants. The vases that held the most beautiful array of flowers had been sold and the flowers buried under a mountain of trash. All the pictures that had ordained the walls had been removed from their frames, which also had been tossed, and placed in the suitcases. The same suitcases that were at the forefront of Sonaka's mind.

Sonaka couldn't hold it anymore. Without asking, she rushed over to her friend and buried her face into her purple sweater. Tears flowed freely at the same time as her sobs. Sonaka tried to speak, but her throat was closed. Each sob was wracked with grief. Joro, instead of pushing her away, pulled her in closer.

"It's okay, I already knew."

Her friend didn't seem phased by her words so Joro just chose to gently stroke her head. Sonaka was too busy thinking about all the wrongs that she had caused throughout her life. The same wrongs that could easily affect Nusuma.

"I can't let her get hurt, Joro. I can't. This life of villainy and evil isn't for her." Sonaka sputtered.

"We're not-"

"Don't try to say we're not because we are!" Sonaka shouted.

Joro blinked. She didn't even flinch at her friend's anger. Instead, all she did was stand Sonaka up straight. Joro forced her to look into her eyes.

"We're villains, yes. We weren't evil, however, not until he took over."

Joro was talking about Bladespinner, the current king of their villain syndicate and a powerful mutant Quirk bearer. After the previous leader stepped down, Bladespinner naturally took the position unopposed, with people either unwilling or too frightened to fight him. His saw arms were infamous for slicing through objects and people alike. He was one of the many reasons Sonaka couldn't live the life anymore. 

"He'll kill her, Joro," Sonaka said, fear seeping into her voice. "Maybe not personally, but he'd send her into Hell if it meant fulfilling his twisted goals."

"I know. And that's why I'm here to help."

Sonaka was shocked. Yes, Joro and her were friends for years now, long before Nusuma came into her life. But Joro was completely submerged in the life of villains. Joro noticed her surprised and raised one carapace finger.

"I'm not going to be joining you. I will help you out of the country, however."

Sonaka blinked. "Wha- I was just going to go North!"

Joro let out a sad chuckle. "You really think it'll be that easy? Bladespinner will be furious when he discovers one of his one deserted. No, you need to go away. Far away."

Sonaka's brain was still spinning with the realization of it all. This was happening. This was really happening. "But... Where will I go."

Joro thought about it for a moment. "Korea. There's a former villain there that specializes in forgery. She'll help you get all the necessary paperwork. Tell her that Tsuchigumo-hubae sent you and she won't ask any questions."

"Korea?" Sonaka repeated. "But I don't speak-"

"Do you want a better life for Nusuma or not?!"

Sonaka flinched at Joro's tone. She knew the villainess was right, but it still hurt to know she was leaving everything behind. Joro gripped both of Sonaka's shoulders and squeezed tightly.

"Do this not just for her, but for you. You deserve a real job, real life, a real man who isn't-"

"Don't you dare mention his name! I don't care wherever he ran off to or whatever he does, whether it be picking turnips in Russian or being a stripper in the States, he's more than dead to me."

Joro raised her hands. "Fine, I won't say it. But you should tell Nusuma when both of you are ready."

The mother sighed but nodded anyway. There would be a time Nusuma would learn about her father, but today was not that day. Suddenly, Sonaka realized something. 

"You wouldn't come here just to help me. I know you better than that."

Joro's tough demeanor fell she awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. "Bladespinner requires us to come to fight with him."

Sonaka snorted. "Can't he do it himself?"

Joro shook her head. "It's not that simple. A bunch of his lesser lackeys wanted to prove themselves to him so they started attacking the city."

"This includes us why?"

"Bladespinner was just going to let them captured but realized only one hero and his interns showed up to the fight. He thinks we can make a name for ourselves if we cause some real damage."

Sonaka frowned. "I just told you I wanted to leave the life. You told me you'd help me accomplish that goal. Now you want me to throw it all away just because some hotheaded dumbass wants to stroke his ego?"

"It won't only help him support his superiority complex," Joro explained. "It'll also keep him distracted on his victory, giving us enough time to help you two escape."

Sonaka knew Joro was right. Bladespinner was not only a ruthless demon-like man but an egomaniac who lived to support his delusions of grandeur. If this battle was a success, he'd be too busy basking in the light of "his" glory to notice one of his minions had gone missing.

But what about Nusuma?

Nusuma, her pride, and joy, the reason Sonaka got up every morning, the catalyst for this entire escape attempt, still had no idea of her mother's day job. Sonaka did everything in her power to make sure Nusuma wouldn't become a target for Heroes or other villains. Joro was the only exception since she still had some honor still left in her (plus she was a great babysitter). Nusuma, despite her young age, was already growing suspicious of her mother's activities.

"Why are you always hurt?" Nusuma asked one day after Sonaka returned home from an intense battle with some Heroes. The previous head of her syndicate believed that attacking a known meeting spot for heroes would weaken both them and society's moral. It failed miserably with many villains in critical condition or spent to Tartarus.

"Mommy got into a little trouble at work, sweetie. That's all." It was a weak explanation, but Sonaka hoped it'd placate her.

It didn't as Nusuma scrunched up her nose. "You're lying! You and Mrs. Nakamura always say lying is wrong."

Sonaka let out a silent curse to herself and her daughter's kindergarten teacher.

"Well, I'm not lying," Sonaka struggled to think of what to say next. "Only telling... A half-truth."

"Half-truth?" Nusuma questioned.

"It means I'm not lying, just not telling the full story. To protect you." Sonaka explained.

"But you're always protecting me! Why can't I protect you?" Nusuma whined.

Sonaka chuckled. "Because you're five."

"But I already have my Quirk!" 

Sonaka winced at that. Nusuma's Quirk had shown itself early and was similar to her father's. Too similar. It was why Sonaka had to pull her daughter out of kindergarten after the aquarium incident. Possessing a child like that would only lead to skepticism amongst her peers and adults. 

"You will protect me. Just let me do it first. That's my job."

"So that's your real job!" Nusuma gasped with joy, tackling her mother.

Sonaka sucked in a yelp of pain as Nusuma leaped onto her bruised legs. She put on a fake smile and rustled her hair. "Oh no! You found me out!"

"Sonaka?" 

Sonaka snapped back into reality. Joro was nearly pressing her face into Sonaka's. She jolted backward in surprise. Joro genuinely looked hurt as Sonaka tried to regain her bearings.

"Sorry, I just-" she took a deep breath. "My costume is in the wastebasket. Over there in the corner."

Joro went to place a hand on Sonaka's shoulder. "Are you oka-"

"I'm fine." Sonaka backed away. "Let's just go before Bladespinner throws a fit."

The villain looked over her shoulder and called out. "Nusuma, dear, can you come here."

It took a few moments, but the little girl shyly opened the door. She was clutching a toy figure of a Hero. Once she saw her mother's shining face, she ran over and gave her a tight hug. Sonaka ran her fingers through her hair.

"Mama's got to go out one last time, okay?"

Nusuma looked worried. "But... What about-"

"Everything will be okay. Mama just has to go do this one thing and we're gonna go to a magical land called 'Korea'."

"Koreena?" Nusuma attempted to sound out.

Joro snickered at mispronunciation, causing Sonaka to glare at her. "Korea. We'll have a new life."

"But I like it here!" Nusuma pouted.

Sonaka sighed. "You'll understand when you're older."

"Sonaka," Joro warned, glancing down at the phone she produced from her skirt pocket.

The mother bit her bottom lip. Nusuma was still looking bitter about the whole arrangement. She couldn't ask Joro to stay, knowing Bladespinner's temperament but she couldn't just leave her.

"Tell you what," Sonaka said with an attempt at a smile. "What if I get you something while I got out. Would you like that?"

Nusuma rocked back and forth on her heels, pondering the question. A smile broke out on her face. "A rose!"

Both Joro and Sonaka looked at her confused. "A rose?" Sonaka muttered.

"Yeah! I watched a movie where there was a magical rose and a princess and a beast but the beast was a good guy and the rose helped them fall in love!" Nusuma looked up with a Cheshire grin. "I wanna have you fall in love!"

Her heart tore at that statement. Joro could clearly tell that this the time to step in. "Your mama and I have to go now. Please be a good girl and stay in the house. Do not open the door for anyone. Do you understand?"

"And Nusuma," Sonaka dropped to her level. "I'll be home after this, I promise. Do you understand?"

Nusuma dipped her head. "Yes, Mama. Yes, Auntie Tsuchigumo."

Sonaka planted a kiss on her daughter's head before exiting the apartment. Noticing Joro's black car in the parking lot, she turned to her friend and saw her costume in her arms. 

"I got it when you were dealing with Nusuma," Joro explained, seeing her friend's perplexed face.

She thanked Joro and, once she got into the back seat, began changing. Joro smirked. "Shouldn't I be paying for this?"

"Shut up!" Sonaka shouted, but the playfulness in her tone wasn't lost on Joro. "At least my costume is decent! With yours, nothing is lost to the imagination."

Joro shrugged, turning the car on. The engine purred as she spoke. "Hey, my gift to the world is showing off my greatest assets." She motioned towards her breasts and rear.

Sonaka rolled her eyes.

Just before they were to drive towards their destination, Sonaka gripped her comrade's shoulder. "Make sure I get home. For Nusuma's sake."

Joro nodded in agreement. "For Nusuma."

---

For someone who spent almost two decades battling Heroes, Sonaka knew when a battle was starting to get rough and this battle was it. 

The Hero that swooped in to save the day, some hotshot named Fantastic Devil (a red-skinned twenty-something with horns, a tail, and fire-breathing. Your standard edgy hero-style), and his four interns. Bladespinner's lackeys were barely keeping up with the Heroes before Joro (codenamed Spinneret) and Sonaka (codenamed Wraith) showed up.

Weaving into and out of the fray, the ghost-like villain pop out of the wispy form to slash at her enemies. She noticed a couple of Sidekicks showed up to attempt to defeat the villains, but she wasn't worried. They were novices compared to a master of concealed weaponry. Currently, she was dealing with an intern with some sort of speed Quirk. He dashed back and forth like a child on a sugar rush. He attempted to land some square hits on her, but Wraith used her Quirk, Phase, to simply turn into a puff of gray smoke. 

Suddenly, the speedy intern landed a strong jab right in between her ribs then a swift kick to her right arm. Her blade was launched from her grasp. Cockiness must've taken hold of him because he tried to unleash another attack. But, as a concealed master, Wraith always had something up her sleeve. In this case, literally. Sliding out a blade from its hidden sheath, she let out a yell as she dug it straight into the man's orange helmet. It's pale yellow screen cracked due to the force. The intern was too stunned to block Wraith's second attack. She side-kicked the helmet, causing both the wearer and it to drop to the ground. She was about to turn away when she noticed something.

A round young face, mousy brown hair, as he laid gasping she could see braces. The most damning evidence was the giant UA logo on the back of his hero costume. 

"You're... A student?"

Before he could reply, a shot of web stuck to the kid's back. He was whipped into the air and slammed into the ground several feet away from Wraith. The attacker was Joro, Spinneret, donning her infamous costume. A black mask shielded her identity, but not her vision. Even from far away, Wraith could see the intensity in her eyes. Her costume was a tight latex with a cobweb type shirt and boots. Two latex pieces were barely holding up her breasts. Wraith would've said she was beautiful, had she not slashed the throat of the student with her long carapaces.

Wraith wanted to scream but her throat had closed up. The sounds around her became muffled as the realization hit her. These were just regular interns. They were students. Children. 

She backed away from Joro, no, Spinneret, as her former friend basked in the glory of her kill. As she backed up, she felt her heel step onto something. Something squishy. Wraith (could she still call herself that?) Turned and nearly throw up.

It was another student. Her costume was torn to bits but she could make out that it had something to do with constellations. A mask, probably hers, laid broken against the pavement. Sonaka leaned in to meet the girl's eyes. They were a teal. Sonaka could imagine how bright they were when this girl was told she entered the Hero Academy.

"Please..." the girl noticed Sonaka and weakly reached out for her. "Please... Help."

Sonaka choked by a sob. This was someone's daughter. No, this may potentially be her daughter.

"I'm sorry." Sonaka managed to say, grasping the girl's hand. "I'm so... So sorry."

The girl didn't say anything. She couldn't. Her eyes were dull, one of the key depictions of death. Sonaka let her hand fall back to the pavement without another word.

The world around her was crumbling, both physically and mentally. A burning piece of a car crashed landed next to her but she didn't even move. Not even All Might himself could get her to move from this position. The girl was young, sixteen or seventeen at the most. Black hair with specks of white. But despite her physical differences, all Sonaka could see was a teenaged Nusuma. Laying like that in the middle of some pointless battle.

"Who did this?" Sonaka murmured. She placed the girl on her side a gasped.

Her stomach was completely torn up. It was like a pack of wolves that had chewed through her organs. Blood was pooled all over the front of her costume and the pavement. Sonaka gagged when she noticed the chunks of meat. And all of it red. So much red.

Like a rose.

Sonaka reluctantly traced her fingers over the wound. It wasn't as messy of a cut as she once believed. It was crude, yes, but done with a clear purpose. Like it was made by a tool.

"Bladespinner!" shouted Sonaka to no one in particular. She needed to stop him. Fast.

Nusuma, I'm sorry. But I have to do this.

Sonaka's costume flowed elegantly behind her even as she threw herself into the chaos. Quirks were flying all over the place. That Fantastic Devil guy was hanging off the side of a building breathing fire onto the villains below. Mountains of debris loomed threatening around her. Sonaka could see in her peripheral another villain pounce at a sidekick. The sidekick bounced away and disappeared in a shimmery flash before appearing behind him. Normal Sonaka would've floated up to save her comrade. But that wasn't her comrade and, right now, she wasn't her normal self.

She shifted into her Wraith form to move past the burning rubble and blood spatters.

"I wanna have you fall in love!"

Sonaka dodged another flying piece of debris when she saw a familiar muscular form. 

Bladespinner.

His silver was caked in blood and, most horrifying, skin. His villain outfit, a silver and black skintight costume with a saw symbol on the front and back was mostly torn, revealing his muscles and machine parts. His arms, if you could even call them that, were giant mechanical wonders. A mixture of organic and machine parts with two razor-sharp saws at the end of it. He was currently locked in battle with a pink-haired- correction, pink petaled girl. Her pink eyes were filled with terror, yet determination. Next to her was the body of another student, most likely one of her classmates.

Another intern!

Sonaka's body moved on her own. She couldn't watch another death. She was tired of it all. The fighting. The lack of trust. The hatred from society. The reality that you'd never know if you'd make it home or not.

For Nusuma

"Kaori!" Sonaka screamed over everything.

Bladespinner, before landing the final blow, angrily spun around to glare at Sonaka. The girl managed to scurry away as Bladespinner drew closer to a frozen Sonaka.

"What... Did you say?"

"Kaori... Goto... You need to stop." Sonaka waved her hands to motions towards the environment. "Look at this! Look at you! Look at what you almost did."

"I was about to defeat our enemy," Bladespinner bared his teeth. "Are you questioning my decision, Mimoto?"

Sonaka stiffened but stood her ground. "I'm questioning the fact you're about to murder a child!"

"A child!?" Bladespinner scoffed. "That's our future enemy! The ones that might kill us! It's better to strangle the weeds before they overrun the garden!"

"This isn't one of your stupid analogies, Kaori! These are innocent lives!"

"You have no right to call me that!" he snarled. "If you wanna protect them so much, you can die with them!"

Bladespinner had raised his arm to strike, but Sonaka already had disappeared in a poof of smoke. She reappeared just above him. She swiftly tapped her ankles together and two blades shot out from the back of her boot's heels. She raised her left leg. She struck down, but Bladespinner managed to just barely dodge. Still, she managed to graze his cheek. A trail of blood dripped down and onto the ground. 

A rose?

Sonaka snapped back into reality when Bladespinner used the back of their arm to bat her away. She wheezed as all the arm was forced out of her. She went tumbling across the ground, hitting several mounds of rubble. She was sure his attack at least cracked a rib or two was cracked but she needed to move. Like a raging bull, Bladespinner began to charge. Just before he made it towards her, she managed to disappear and poof back into existence right in front of him. She just managed to dig a knife right across his chest and popped out of the way. 

I'm going to get a serious migraine after all this Quirk usage she groaned, already developing a headache.

"Stay... STILL!" 

Bladespinner tried to punch her but she already was gone. Before he could blink, his throat was already slit. He choked out blood with it splattered on a broken pile of bricks. Before he could even get another word out, another knife was planted in his back. Then another. Then three more. 

All Sonaka could see was red. Both figuratively and literally. Bladespinner had hit the ground several seconds ago, let she just kept stabbing. All the pent up rage she had built over the years were being unleashed on the body of her murderous boss. Was she just as bad as him? Probably, but she just needed to be free.

Free.

Nusuma!

Struggling to stand due to her shaking legs, Sonaka started to shuffle her way back towards an alleyway. Maybe she just shed her costume and make it back to her apartment just before nightfall. The last train left at eleven in the evening, she cod make it. She had to.

The sounds of fighting and over the top Quirks were dulled by the memories of her child. Nusuma's birth was a painful, lonely, yet beautiful experience. Her first words 'up, Mama' might've been small to everyone else but the world to her. Her smile was so precious. Her laugh was music to her ears. Her first ever A was on a math test; basic, but God did she almost cry at seeing her child succeed.

Succeed. Nusuma would succeed.

Nusuma, Mama's coming. Don't worry.

"You!"

Bladespinner? No, it was a feminine voice. Joro? No, too young.

Sonaka turned around. She wasn't prepared for the thick piece of wood going straight through her chest. Sonaka let out a deep wheeze. It pierced her lung, she could feel it. Her attacker? That same pink-petaled intern/student from before. Except her eyes were now a green, a green that reminded Sonaka of the grass at the park she always took Nusuma to. Although rage was pouring out of those emerald eyes, Sonaka also detected loss and hurt. Sonaka couldn't blame her. She was a child pretending to be a great Hero. This was probably her first experience with death, at least death that involved her friends and Hero's life as a whole. She wanted to tell her that she was sorry, but the girl raised another arm. It was covered in wood like a thick armor plating. Her hand, although covered, managed to sprout another tree branch.

"I-" 

Sonaka couldn't finish. Her heart was immediately struck and everything slowed. She always thought death was supposed to be painful but she just felt tired and, in a twisted way, peace. All the stress dissolved at the moment of impact. The girl's face was still morphed due to all the suffering she was struggling with. Sonaka wanted to give her peace to her. But she couldn't.

She was falling.

Darker and colder was the only place she was heading and she embraced it with open arms. Sonaka let out a tear; it was her final regret.

Nusuma, I'm sorry. I didn't keep my promise.

#oc #ocs #mha oc #bnha oc #fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #body horror tw #body horror #gore tw #gore #major character death #backstory #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

[intothestarkerverse]

I loved Paper Hearts. Can I request a Starker version of The Good Place?

Ohhh! I hadn’t thought of his particular Starkerization, but this was loads of fun and I hope that I did it justice!

I hope you like it Nonnie and if anyone else has any requests, feel free to toss them my way!

The Good Place 

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048128)

When Peter Parker dies, he doesn’t expect to go to Heaven. Oh, sure, he’s tried very hard to live his life in the best way he’s known how, but he is also totally responsible for his uncle’s death and that alone had to get him a one way ticket down south. So, the last thing he expects after his untimely demise is to wake up sitting on a nondescript couch in front of a very handsome man who calls himself ‘Tony’, the ‘architect’ in charge of Peter’s ‘neighborhood’ in ‘The Good Place’. 

 While Peter thinks Friday the heavenly computer is amazing, he’s a little trepidatious about spending eternity with his ‘soul mate’. He’d been so unlucky in love on earth, he couldn’t imagine that his track record would improve just because he is now dead.

Quentin Beck is handsome, and at first he seems pretty cool...until he doesn’t. In fact, he’s a little bit of a jerk. Peter is completely unimpressed by his soulmate and tries to spend every moment he can away from home. Really, he doesn’t understand how anyone in charge of the Good Place could think that he was into egomaniacal, self-serving, not-as-smart-as-they-think-they-are jackasses. Cause he’s not. So not.

His neighbor is worse. So much worse. Peter begins to question the nature of the Good Place based entirely off of Flash’s presence there and continued insistence in referring to Peter as Penis Parker. Surely in Heaven you are spared from your High School bully...and why when the word sh*t is censored is Penis still a totally okay thing to bellow at the top of your lungs during a fancy ‘Welcome to the Afterlife’ party, anyway? Perhaps Peter’s first inclination that something is not right comes when he catches sight of Flash in the crowd at said party and his attempts to dodge him are thwarted with a shout of, “Yo! Hey, Penis is here! Penis Parker! Penis, it’s me! Ya boi! I can’t believe you made it here, dude, you were such a loser....”

Then there’s the case of Bucky and Steve. They aren’t soulmates. At least...not according to Tony and Friday, but Peter has to be blind not to notice the looks they give each other across the room and behind the backs of their respective mates. While he tries not to be superficial, Peter cannot even begin to imagine what it’s like to go to bed with Arnim Zola every night. Brock Rumlow is a lot hotter, but also a lot scarier...

No, something is definitely wrong.

To discover exactly what it is, Peter decides to get close to the only one who seems to have any clue about what’s going on. Tony. It helps that Tony is super hot and while also egomaniacal and self-serving, he is every bit as smart as he thinks he is...and Peter digs it.

~ ~ ~

This is his last chance.

As far as last chances go, it could be worse, really.

Tony knew going in that he was probably going to fail, but this was the Bad Place and things never go quite the way you want them to here. Still, the idea of eternal torment or ceasing to exist are not things he really wants to look forward to, so he is determined to do his damnedest to make this thing work....even if he knows it’s doomed to fail.

Peter Parker is a problem.

He becomes a problem on the first night when that Flash kid makes such a spectacle. Really? How is Tony supposed to sell this Good Place Schtick with some annoying Gen-Z’er publicly humiliating the most innocent, Bambi-looking soul in the bunch? Also, it made him look bad because he hadn’t done that on purpose...though if anyone asked...

He doesn’t know how he ends up with the kid tagging along with him like some intern from hell. (Ha!) In the beginning, it seems like Tony despises having Peter around. He tries to ditch him, tries to distract him, tries any number of methods of ridding himself of Peter...but Peter is like the gum in his hair that won’t leave until it’s cut out...and unbeknownst to Peter, Tony isn’t able to cut Peter free no matter how badly he wants to. So, he begrudgingly begins to accept Peter as an assistant of sorts. He tries to assign him meaningless, boring tasks, but Peter seems to thrive under the attention.

He keeps coming back form more.

Every embarrassment Tony imagines to demean him, Peter shrugs off and pushes through. Every injustice he faces, Peter shoulders and works his way around. Every torture Tony can dream up, Peter endures with grace and humility and begs for more. He’s amazing. He’s fucking good, and Tony has never met a good one before.

Not a really good one.

Not.

Ever.

He doesn’t know when he begins looking forward to the kid being around; when he finds himself spending a little too long admiring the boy’s chestnut curls and warm brown eyes; when his eyes begin a downward adventure, enjoying every chiseled edge and soft curve on the boy’s form.

Oh lust isn’t a problem. It is one of the Big Seven. They are encouraged to feed on it, trouble is...Tony isn’t dreaming of Peter screaming in pain or begging for mercy from the dark and twisted sexual acts encouraged by those in the Bad Place. No. No, if he was, well, everything would be fine, wouldn’t it? No. Tony is thinking about the whimpers of mercy from the gentle caresses and tender worshipping a boy like that deserves. He wants to take him apart in the best possible way. Not to torture him, but to revere him. Peter Parker is everything about humanity that Tony thought could never really exist and he wants him...wants to taste him, to have him, to know what it’s like to become so close to something that isn’t festering and rotting and putrid like everything else in the Bad Place.

So clearly it’s all his fault when Peter Parker shows up at his office one day with a look of determination and declares.

“I know this is the Bad Place, Tony.”

Well, that’s it. The jig is up. If he’s going to cease to exist or spend eternity in a fiery pit of excruciating agony, he might as well have one moment of joy. So, he silences the boy with a kiss. Peter seems surprised, until he isn’t. One moment he is frozen in shock, and the next moment he has his arms around Tony, fingers caught in his thick dark hair and the boy is kissing back with everything he has.

It’s is everything Tony ever thought it could be. It is warm and tender and gentle and soft and good and passionate and fills him with something he cannot even begin to describe but really, genuinely fears might be love. He never wants the moment to end and every time Peter tries to pull away, Tony pulls him back, pawing at his clothing and throwing everything on his desk into disarray in his harried attempt to make room for everything he wants, everything he needs. If a demon can die happy, than he will die happy, just give him a night of this, a night of Peter.

Tony commits every moment to memory, tracing his hands over the soft ivory skin, exploring every edge and curve, ever ridge and furrow. He tastes everything, spends what could be hours (time is such a Jeremy Bearimy) turning every sordid sexual torture from the Bad Place into the most worshipful offering he can. Peter screams his name a dozen times, sometimes muted against the desk and others freely into the room. Tony relishes every sensation, pauses in certain moments to remember what it feels like to have his body so close to something so good. He isn’t worthy, he never will be, but Peter is giving it all willingly and enjoying every minute of it. That does have to stand for something doesn’t it?

It has to end, everything does, and in the morning even though they’re both spent, Peter is still determined to have his answers. So, Tony tells him everything. Who he is. What he is. That this is the Bad Place and they’re all being tortured for eternity. Peter begs him to show mercy to people like Steve and Bucky and even, surprisingly, Flash, but Tony isn’t really in charge of anything. He’s just as doomed as the rest of them.

“So, that’s it, we’re all just...we’re all just going to be here forever like this?”

Tony looks away, scrubbing a hand over his carefully groomed facial hair and cocking his head slightly as he winces. “Not really, Baby. You know. My bosses are going to call this a failure. I’m dead, or good as...and, uh, you and the others are going to go to the Bad Place for real this time. It’s....pretty terrible. Lot worse than this. Eternal torment. Worst fears. You know the deal, I’m sure.”

“You can’t let that happen.”

“What part of I’m not in charge did you not get? Do I look like I run the place? Cloven hooves, pitchfork, horns? Huh? I can’t save any of them. I can’t even save you, and if I was going to save anyone...for the record, it would be you.”

Peter is reaching for his hands with an indistinguishable look in his eyes that Tony soon learns must be what humans call ‘hope’ because what he is suggesting is insane. “Maybe, they don’t have to know. That I know, I mean. I could pretend that I don’t. We could go back to things, the way they were. We could pretend and we could all just stay here because if here is better than there...than here is all we’ve got.”

Tony knows its a ridiculous plan, but he can’t look into those eyes and say no. He hears himself agreeing before he even realizes that he has, and the next thing he knows...he and Peter have returned to their normal lives...only with a lot more sex. A lot of sex. And sharing, Peter is big on the sharing. Tony pretends to mind, but really...he’s never actually been to earth and it’s interesting to learn about what it’s like to live there, to be human. He can even find himself fantasizing about what that might have been like. To be one of them. To be free to live a real life with Peter instead of...whatever this is.

~ ~ ~

Peter isn’t giving up.

It’s not in his nature.

There has to be a way out of this, not just for himself but for everyone and for Tony. He refuses to believe that any of them belong in this place, not really, and he’s determined to find a way to get them all out.

Tony is so gentle, so starved for affection, so eager to drink up every drop of the human condition. He’s no demon. In bed maybe, sure, but not....not in the torture people and take pleasure in their pain kind of way. And Steve and Bucky, they haven’t done anything worthy of being in the Bad Place. Even Flash wasn’t that terrible.

Something is wrong and Peter is going to figure it out. He has to, but also has to do it without Tony knowing because that would ruin everything, wouldn’t it?

It happens in small doses, when Peter is alone with Friday he asks her all kinds of innocent questions about how The Good Place operates. How do people end up there? What do they do to earn the way there? What happens if they’re bad? A thousand questions that he asks and records carefully and innocently in such a way as to avoid alerting anyone to his true intentions.

Slowly things begin to make sense and his also carefully considered questions to Tony about how the Afterlife works and the hierarchy of upper management is laid out provides Peter with the solution.

“I can’t call the Judge for you, Peter.”

Peter purses his lips in an almost petulant frown as he looks the human-like computer over unhappily. “Why not?”

“I am almost certain that Boss wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Almost isn’t certain. C’mon, Fri, did Tony tell you that I’m not allowed to speak to the Judge?”

The computer pauses, considering this for a moment before she gives a curt shake of her head. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Has he told you that he would be angry if I did?”

“No.”

“Than you can’t be certain at all that he’ll be made if you call them now. So. The Judge. I need to talk to them and I need you to call them for me because I know you know how.”

“Peter...”

It is a round about argument that goes on for an indeterminate amount of time before Peter finds himself standing in front of an imposing dark man with an eye patch and a penchant for leather who is looking at him like a bug he would like to crush beneath his steel-toed boot.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Peter clears his throat and plunges into his carefully pre-written speech. He can tell that this man is not the sort to be swayed by emotion, so he skips some of his more eloquently penned descriptions of the situations to stick with cold hard facts.

Something is wrong in the Bad Place.

There are souls there that shouldn’t be and he can prove it.

To his credit, the Judge listens with only a few derisive snorts and muttered curses, but it is a mention of Tony that finally draws an interruption.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Slow you’re roll there, kid. Go back to this Tony guy. He’s a demon right? Bad guy? Tortured and all that. So why did your voice get soft when you talked about him? Don’t lie to me. I’ll know and we’ll end this little chat of ours in ten seconds flat.”

Peter didn’t know what to do besides simply tell the Judge the truth. So, he did. Everything that had occurred between himself and the ‘architect’ and everything that he felt for the man.

“You love him? A demon.” Another snort. “I mean, I know humans can have some pretty self destructive tendencies but...”

“He loves me, too.”

“Yeah, no he doesn’t. Demons can’t fall in love. Can’t feel it. Don’t even know what it is.”

“Tony can.”

“If that’s true, there’s more wrong in the Bad Place than even you realize.”

Peter crosses his arms and stares the bigger man down victoriously. “I told you.”

The Judge lets out a long sigh, “I’ll have my best people look into it and if you’re correct...I’ll make it right, because that’s my job.”

Peter is returned to his every day existence and does his best to hide his deceit from Tony. Though, he does not seemingly have long to wait to learn to the fate of himself or his friends.

Just as the upper management arrive to take them all to eternal torment, the Judge returns with his findings.

Something is indeed wrong in the Afterlife. There are souls in the Bad Place that were never meant to be there. Clerical errors that may be (but probably are not) a mistake resulted in the damnation of an undisclosed number of human souls. These souls would be immediately relocated to their correct resting place. Peter included.

“What about Tony?” Peter cannot just let that go.

The Judge rolls his one good eye as he looks down at the kid again. “You won, Kid, enjoy your victory.”

“I can’t. Not if Tony is going to stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be here....”

“Look, you were right. He can feel love. He does, in fact, feel love. But he’s a demon and there’s not a damn thing I can do about where he is. If he were human maybe...”

“Than make him human. Let him live. If he sucks he can suffer here like he’s going to anyway and if he doesn’t than he can be with me there...in the Good Place.”

The Judge narrows his one good eye at Peter. “It’s a reasonable compromise, but I’ll only consider it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You go back with him. Tony can be human but he’ll have no memory of any of this. Not until he dies and comes back here. I will erase the moment of your death, return you to your life as if you have always been there. If you really want, you can retain some memory of all of this as a near death experience because I have a soft spot for wise ass kids. I’ll even make sure you cross paths with Tony while you’re there. But you live your life and you take whatever Afterlife you earn. If Tony leads you down a dark path, you’re back here. If you manage to reform a demon, you can both shine your halos into perpetuity. Sound fair?”

Peter is sure this is a trap, but he cannot see how he can refuse. Despite the protestations he can hear coming from Tony where is he is being restrained by demons several yards away, Peter nods his agreement and the world goes dark.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t nearly as hard to get used to being alive again as Peter thought it would be. Details are a bit fuzzy when it comes to the Bad Place. He remembers some things better than others and wonders about the Jeremy Bearimy of it all because Flash is still very much alive when Peter is given his newfound lease on life. He’s literally never going to get away from that guy.

Peter has no idea when or where he will encounter Tony again, but he waits eagerly for the chance. He is still daydreaming about the demon when he’s being led into the office of his new boss on the first day of his internship exactly a month after his resurrection.

“Peter, this is Tony Stark...”

Anything else Ms. Potts has to say to Peter is completely lost to him as he takes in the roguish form of his devilish lover. Peter cannot hide the smile from forming on his lips as Tony holds out a hand to shake.

“Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Kid, but being my intern is probably going to be Hell.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Stark, but I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

#starker

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

As You Are

Title: Grilled Cheese

Co-authors: hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadotkitty

Summary: A reader insert series about a spoonie Stark Industries IT tech who finds a kindred spirit in Loki, God of Spoons, because it’s hard being different on the inside.

Rating: General Audiences

Also found on Ao3 here :)

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles, @yespolkadotkitty

“Is it a critical emergency or can it wait until tomorrow morning?” you asked distractedly, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder while you perched on your stool in front of the stove, watching over your grilled ham and cheese sandwiches sizzling pleasantly.

“How long do you think an issue like this will take to wrap up?” Tony shot back another question, voice distorted slightly by the cell phone speaker wedged into your shoulder.

You flipped over the first sandwich, nodding silently to yourself in approval, and then flipped over the second. Your mouth quirked to the side and you shrugged your shoulders lightly, as if your boss could actually see you. No, the only one who could currently see you was the long and lean Asgardian draped across your couch.

“Hard to say. A few hours, maybe? But it’s…” your eyes drifted to the clock on the stove, “already eight o’clock. I’m not sure if I’d get anything done besides staring at the screen blankly at this point, Boss.”

“Fair enough, Spoons. Take your meds, get some sleep. We’ll touch base tomorrow,” he paused, and his tone shifted from kindness to concern, “Reindeer Games still there?”

“Mhm,” you hummed your assent, not wanting to think about the implications that held.

“He bothering you? Say the word, Dorothy,” he added referring to your home state, “I’ll have his ass out of there.”

“He’s fine.” It was, shockingly, true.

You hung up and slid the phone onto the counter beside the stove, directing your full attention to the sandwiches frying in front of you and maintaining your precarious balance on your cheap stool. It had only been five dollars at a local thrift shop, and with what you paid for rent for your tiny one-bedroom apartment in New York City, you preferred to save any money that you had. Medical bills ate at most of your expenses, and you never knew when a new one would arise.

“Why does that overgrown manchild Stark address you as cutlery?” Loki came up behind you, watching you tend to the sandwiches as he waited for your response.

You carefully leaned forward to turn off the burner to the ancient stove and pulled the pan off of the heat. “Grab a couple plates? They’re in there,” you pointed him in the right direction.

He didn’t object to your request, simply grabbed them for you and deposited them on the counter beside your phone. “I asked you a question, mortal,” he repeated, the barest hint of frustration peeking through his typical bored tones.

You rolled your eyes and slid a sandwich onto a plate, holding it out for him with a small smile. “You did, but I was focusing on not falling on my butt from this rickety stool and burning your precious sandwich. So impatient. Now, do you want your sandwich cut up?”

He looked so offended at the suggestion that it was comical, and your smile grew to crinkle around your eyes and nose. “I can handle Midgardian food perfectly well without your help.”

“Suit yourself. It tastes better cut into triangles. Not rectangles. If you cut it into rectangles then you’re a heathen and cannot be trusted,” you explained with mock seriousness, grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer and cutting your sandwich in half the correct way. You slid off of the stool and took your plate to the coffee table, settling down on top of your duvet nest beside Loki.

He had cut his sandwich the wrong way while you were getting situated, probably from one of his conjured daggers, and a mischievous twinkle glittered in his eyes as he bit into it while maintaining eye contact with you.

You shook your head in over-dramatic disappointment. “See? Heathen.”

Quick as lightning, he snagged the other half of your sandwich off of your plate and took a bite off of one of the corners. He feigned deep thought for a second before putting it back. “It seems your theory is correct.”

A laugh barked out of you, easy and free, and you nudged his arm with your shoulder. You were aiming for his shoulder, but Loki was tall. You decided to finally answer his question after you had eaten a few bites. You shook pills into your hand from your pill container, Sunday PM. “Well, we all know how he loves his nicknames, Rock of Ages, and I’m a spoonie. It’s just one that he’s stuck with more than the others.”

Loki, having eaten his sandwich much quicker than you, leaned back onto your couch, draping an arm behind where you were seated and appearing fully relaxed, excluding the crease of thought between his eyebrows. “What does it mean to be a ‘spoonie’?”

Unable to hold the position any longer, you clutched your plate carefully in one hand and slowly sat back into your pile of duvets and supportive pillows. Loki held his hand out for your plate without comment, and you handed it over so that you could use both hands to get comfortable before retrieving it from him. You were acutely aware of both the small amount of relief the supportive position held and the way his thumb rested against the nape of your neck, brushing your skin just enough to raise goosebumps.

“Well, as you’ve so nicely put it, I’m ‘substandard’. Here on Earth, it’s just called disabled, if they’re going to be nice about it. It’s why I take so many different meds. Anyway, there’s a theory called the ‘Spoon Theory’ that was used to explain how people who identify it have to go about their daily lives.”

You took a beat, gathering your thoughts and taking another bite of your sandwich, watching him as he listened to you. You had his full attention, and it was almost too intense to be the sole focus of his piercing gaze as he waited for you to continue. Clearing your throat, you plowed on, doing your best not to ramble too much, “Everything is harder for me, but you know that. It’s why you brought the books. You figured out that I was going to be exhausted and in more pain from going to that party. The way the spoon theory would phrase that is that I used up spoons from the next day to have more fun that night. It’s easier to explain if I have spoons handy, or something to draw with…”

He huffed in exasperation and held out one elegant hand. Spoons, presumably from your kitchen, flew into his outstretched hand. You only had four, living alone and all, but it would do to prove your point. You took them with a nod of gratitude before pressing on, “So, say I’m having a really terrible pain day and I wake up knowing that I’m not going to have the physical and mental strength to get much done that day. So, I have to decide what is important to ‘spend’ my spoons on and what isn’t.

“Getting out of bed already takes away one spoon.” You place one on his thigh. “Cooking usually is the one thing I can kind of let go, with food delivery and freezer meals, so I can forget that. But then it takes spoons to shower, get ready for the day, change out of my pjs, do any tidying up, etc. If I desperately needed to shower, for instance,” you dropped the rest of your spoons unceremoniously onto the duvet currently cocooning you, “then that’d be all that I really got done for the day. It’s just a way for those not in the disability community to understand how we have to look at life and prioritize what we do each day.”

He was silent for several minutes, frowning in thought.

You left him to it, finishing the rest of your cooling sandwich before leaving the plate in your lap. It wasn’t worth leaning forward and possibly falling on your face just to put it on the ramshackle coffee table.

“What do you do when you cannot finish all of your tasks for the day?” His expression was difficult to read, curiosity and frustration warring on his elegant features.

“Well, I do what I can. And I hope that whatever I can’t get done can either wait until tomorrow or isn’t important.”

He grabbed a book from the impressive stack that he renewed daily on your coffee table, resuming his previous position that anchored his thumb to the nape of your neck. The familiar touch made you shiver, but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact reasons why.

“That will not do. Your fragile mortal body is already delicate enough as it is without you taking proper care of it,” he stated, matter-of-fact, cracking open the book in his deft-fingered hands. “I will be of your assistance when necessary.”

You opened your mouth to say something, then shut it, unable to come up with the words to properly express your confusion at his insistence to help you out. You eventually eeked out: “Why?”

He glanced over as if you were a remedial child in need of education. “Because my time in what Stark generously calls a Tower does not require all my hours.”

God, he was a dick sometimes. “Why me,” you clarified.

A smile touched at his lips. “Because, as I told you at the gala, I know what it is like to appear as everyone on the outside, yet be different on the inside. We are kindred spirits, you and I.”

You snorted. “Sure. We’re practically soulmates. Apart from the whole destroying New York thing,” you deadpanned.

He arched a black-as-sin brow. “As you well know, mortal, I was not myself during that period.”

Your stomach lurched, and guilt ate at you a little, making the sandwich you just finished sit like lead. "I know." Over the last few months, you had learned that while Loki could be an arrogant asshole, a pedant and an egomaniac, he wasn't a destroyer of worlds. "Sorry."

He rolled a shoulder as if this was no big deal. "I have learned a thing or two about perception, Midgardian."

And then he picked up a battered copy of Hamlet and started to read to you as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe your life wasn't perfect. But cocooned in the duvet, your stomach full of grilled cheese, your feet propped on his solid thigh, listening to the cadence of his soothing British drawl, you thought: it's pretty darn close.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader #disabled reader #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #spoon theory #spoonie #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #as you are #hopelesswrites #yespolkadotkitty

[fireintheforest]

Negotiations

Ganra should be here by now, Saufinril mused, making his anxiety and excitement increase. He’d rented a private room at an inn, where he was at right now. The only furniture in it was the table and chairs and the big window that allowed him to see the side of the inn (probably a room for private reunions), the docks and the people walking around Anvil. Whenever he thought he saw a glimpse of golden blond hair, he’d stand up from his seat and sharpened his gaze to see if it was Ganra. It never was. What would he look like, anyways? The last time he saw him he was 19, and on the same night he finally left his house. It’s not like he was going to change his face completely. But he was still curious.

Footsteps approached the room and the voice of the innkeeper came along. Saufinril turned to the sound of the noises, was it heading his direction?

They were, oh Mara they were. He could feel his heartbeat increase drastically. And that’s when the door opened. A grown mer’s voice with Saufinril’s same accent thanked whoever had guided him, and that’s when Ganra stepped in the room. The Imperial lady left them alone, Ganra closed the door behind him as Saufinril stood up. Neither brother moved while they took in how much their sibling had changed in 32 years.

He was so…buff. And taller than him for some 2 or 3 inches. He still had the elegance of the race, but he also had the straight back and neutral demeanor of a Warrior, which undoubtedly all the men here saw. For Altmer standards, his brother had developed a lot of muscle. But the heart shaped face that was their father’s was still there, as were the eyes everyone said were like his, emerald green, but for him had always been a dark yellow. Ganra looked older, definitely freshly turned 51. The goatee was new, and the hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen him, but it was him. It was his little brother. The first thing that escaped Saufinril was a smile, imitated by his brother, then both went to each other.

“Look at you!” Ganra exclaimed with a voice deeper than the last time Saufinril had heard him as they hugged (too tightly but the years called for it). Ganra lifted Saufinril some inches from the ground while still embracing him, “You’re so thin!”

“Hey hey, ground. Ground. I’m your older brother, come on.” Saufinril protested. Ganra put him back down and they both broke the hug. Saufinril looked up to Ganra and smiled again, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It is! Look at you, how have you been? Where have you been this whole time?” both brothers headed to the table where the wine and food awaited.

“Hoo, where do you want me to start?” Saufinril asked, serving Ganra, “I’m good, I’ve been living between Skyrim and Valenwood for a while.”

“You mentioned you were heading to Valenwood after today. What even is there?”

“My patron, his business. I travel back and forth with him. I did have to ask him for a day here to meet, and afterwards I continue south. But look at you, you enlisted? When? How did they even let you come?”

“I did, last year. Not too long ago. It’s been going well, mother and Mithras are very happy with this choice, and I am too.” Ganra watched as Saufinril pressed his lips lightly and passed the drink to him before serving himself, “Thank you. Well, what is this patron? What does he do?...why are you not spouting ice randomly?”

“Because I grew up. I wasn’t going to be the same little Finn that one day couldn’t do magic and the next was setting the kitchen table on fire.”

“You’re not my brother. The real Saufinril is a menace with his magika.”

“Fuck off, I’m 52. I had to control that sometime.”

“How did you control it?”

“Eh,” Saufinril waved his hand vaguely, as if it was an insignificant detail, “a lot of practice, reading endless amounts of tomes at night, day, during slow business hours, a lot of times where I thought I had it right and then electrocuted someone. I think being busy helped. It stopped happening around the time I was 30.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks.” The silence fell between the brothers for some seconds before Ganra asked, “So, this patron. You didn’t answer me, what does he do?”

“Mm.” Saufinril finished the sip of wine and swallowed, “He has business in Skyrim and Valenwood. A store and a bar, respectively. He’s like a tutor to me.”

“Since when?” the tone of Ganra’s voice made Saufinril turn to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Since when is he a tutor? You had tutors back home. And you had Mithras. Why is he the one that helped?”

“I don’t know, Ganra.” Saufinril lied, “I just know it did. He has a lot of experience, he’s travelled Tamriel, he’s seen and lived a lot.”

“So?”

“So, he has knowledge that maybe those tutors or Graywatch didn’t have.”

“At the time.”

“Or at all.”

Ganra observed his brother take another drink. He observed their mother’s factions in him: the high cheekbones, the narrow jaw, the overall face structure so similar to Kusunna’s, the effect broken only by the blond hair and the emerald green eyes.

“Now that your magic is…stable. Will you come back?”

Saufinril immediately began to choke on the wine, putting the wine glass down and coughing. Ganra rolled his eyes but patted Saufinril’s back.

“It’s not that bad, come on. Your patron will understand. What do you do with him, anyways? Whatever you do, you can get a much better position in the Isles. You can enlist to train as a Battlemage, even, like Gilan. You can-” Saufinril held a hand up, stabilizing again before turning to his brother.

“Gunny,” he cleared his throat, “one is not returning to the Isles.”

“What? Why not?”

“Why would one? One is happy here.”

“Because it’s not your home. Your home is in the Isles. And don’t talk to me with ‘one’, I’m your brother, not some stranger.”

“Well, I think I know where my home is. And it’s here.”

“Not with your brother?” Ganra asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt, “Or your mother or Mithras?”

“It’s not that, Ganra,-”

“Then why don’t you return?”

“Bec-”

“What is there here that you don’t want to be with your family? Do you not love us?”

“Ganra, of course I love you. You’re my brother.”

“Then why is it so hard for you to come back?” Ganra demanded, slamming an open hand at the table. The glasses clinked and Saufinril involuntarily tensed up, then glared at Ganra, who was glaring back.

“Keep your fucking goblin antics down.” Saufinril hissed, “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Mine. That’s what they are.”

“What could possibly be more important than us? Is it this tutor, this patron?”

“I-partly, yes.” Saufinril admitted, “There’s not much back there for me. Listen, here I make good money, I have a job, I have my social circle, my patron-”

“Everything you described, Saufinril, you have back in Cloudrest. Your old friends? Remember them? They’re back in Cloudrest. You can get a better job, you can get more money, you can find a wife and get married and have children,” Saufinril avoided Ganra’s gaze and shuffled in his seat, “Like I said, you can enlist and become a Battlemage. You can have your own business and not work for some patron. You can be back with your family. Us. Mother, Mithras, me.”

“Ganra, I said no. I am not returning to the isles.” Saufinril stated.  Ganra leaned back.

“This is unbelievable. After everything that’s happened with mother and Mithras, everything they went through and everything you put us through, you won’t come back? After everything both mother and Mithras did for us?”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Why? I was there, I saw it.”

“You didn’t see anything, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“You’re just so comfortable living in Cyrodiil, right? Having everything handed to you,” Ganra stood up, slamming his hands at the table again, “You’re so selfish. You didn’t have to watch Mithras lose nights of sleep trying to figure out how to prevent the invasion from killing everyone in your hometown, you weren’t there when we all thought he was going to die and mother couldn’t handle losing another husband.”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“Unbelievable, you never even visited or-or contact our parents! You weren’t there, you weren’t there for me! You have no filial duty, you don’t care!”

“I could say the same about you!” Saufinril now stood up, “Why are you only coming over here after thirty-two years? Huh? And what about mother? She could’ve come. So much for being my ‘family’.” He air-quoted the last part, “You all are a bunch of hypocrites that only care about what others will say, so don’t come to me talking about family when you don’t know what that means! Mother hardly knows what that means!”

“You just don’t want to take any responsibility. You’re ungrateful and a coward! A vagabond! You have no respect for all that your own people, your own family, has gone through! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come back to your family if you really loved us!”

“Is that so? You’re delusional, Ganra. You choose to call an egomaniac control freak your father when we both know we’re not his sons and our real father would’ve never done anything that he’s done! You’re an ignorant and an idiot! But go! Keep your fucking cult to Graywatch.”

“You’re pathetic, did you know that?”

“Oh, fuck off Ganra. Do you even know what kind of mer he is?”

“Yes I do, because we grew up together, Saufinril. I thought that meant something to you.”

“I thought the same.”

Another bout of silence fell. They both kept the hard stares on the other until Ganra shook his head and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Saufinril asked.

“Far from you. I’m going back home. I don’t need this.” Ganra turned to Saufinril, “I don’t need to hear you disrespecting my parents and everything they’ve done for their country and their children. Especially for someone that wants a mediocre life, and that clearly doesn’t want to be around me.”

No. No this couldn’t end like this. He hadn’t seen his little brother in 32 years, was he going to let this meeting end like this? All the anger he was feeling melted. That’s not true, Ganra. He wanted to follow him, to pull him into a hug and say he was sorry, that he was going home if it made him happy, that he never meant any ill to happen to him after all these years, that he just wanted to stop feeling so trapped and alone… but his ego was what planted him in place and shut his mouth. Ganra opened the door and left. Saufinril sighed and passed a hand through his hair.

#third era sau #altmer #tes #tesblr #in which Sau realizes he totally forgot to come out of the closet to his family #in which Ganra and Sau both think they're grown because they hit the 50 year mark #no you're not #you're not as mature as you think you are #that's so sweet #I can see 700 ways this conversation could've gone smoother but neither of y'all did #dumb elves #Ganra gonna return fuming and disappointed to the isles #and Sau will return the same way to Valenwood #y'all are a prize aren't ya #your father is facepalming on the other world

[squidproquoclarice]

Don't know what you'd think of this, but my read on Dutch is that his first concern is his own safety, and when his safety isn't a concern his talk is genuine. When everything starts going to shit his selfish nature comes to the forefront and he subconsciously ramps up the manipulation tactics. And I don't how Ch 6 Dutch would have behaved if he wasn't Post-Hosea and brain damaged.

I’m wrapping this into another Ask of “You believe Dutch never loved Arthur, John, or any of them?”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~To answer second Ask very directly, I’d say no, that Dutch never loved any of them.  But that’s due to asking “What is love?”  (Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more).  I’m saying that with the perspective that real, genuine love needs empathy, selflessness, concern for the other person first above yourself.  You can be very fond and affectionate and caring, but if you’re a narcissist who will always, always instinctively want to put yourself first, if you’ll sacrifice them for your needs, then yeah, you don’t truly love them.  You can’t.  But none of them knew it, including perhaps Dutch, because they weren’t pushed anywhere near that until 1899.  The only vague hint we have is his implied habit of going through women and treating them as somewhat dispensable.  (I do think he was fond of Annabelle, but if you dig into it, I’m going to guess at its core it’s mostly anger that something of his was taken from him.  He only talks about her in a sense of outrage that Colm killed her, not the grief for her as a person.  Contrast that to Hosea’s very real grief for Bessie.)To the first Nonny, I think you’re right.  I never would say Dutch is all a cynical act.  He does like and care about these people.  He’s taken them in when they’ve been lost souls and given them a family, and yes, there’s certainly an angle of self-interest in preying on their vulnerability–the ones he finds as kids are particularly painful–but it’s clear he also enjoys these people.  He likes them.  He’s not just seeing them as little toy soldiers who he has to fool by playing nice so he can use them.The trouble with Dutch is, as you say, when the good times are good, his better nature is there.  He can be kind, generous, funny, and it’s easier to downplay the darkest part of the reality, that he’s a silver-tongued egomaniac who’s drawn all these people together into an anarchosocialist cult with him as their godhead.  But there’s room for kindness.  There’s room for affection and pride.  There’s room for him to see Hosea as (almost) his equal and treat him and his opinion with great respect.  Though the fact that it’s very definitively the Van Der Linde Gang, not the Van Der Linde/Matthews Gang, makes it clear that Hosea may be a brother, but definitely subordinate.  There were other outlaw gangs with a more equal partnership definitely noted: the James/Younger Gang, for example, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid getting equal billing in the Hole In The Wall Gang.  In this case, Hosea’s the quieter junior partner, and even he eventually observes how he’s fallen under Dutch’s spell.Most violently oriented cults don’t hold together for years on end.  I think there’s a reason for that.  Technically the gang’s been in existence for at least 23 (?) years, since I believe Hosea’s news article details him and Dutch breaking out of prison in Ohio in 1876.  They found Arthur in 1877.  Hosea had Bessie, and it sounds like Susan is also an OG.  But that was that for a while, until they brought John into it in 1885.  That changed things again, but I’d argue that the early days of the gang were very different.  It was a small group: Dutch, Hosea, Bessie as Team Mom, Susan leaving her role as Dutch’s lover and becoming Team Spinster Aunt, Dutch’s current lover in any given year, Arthur growing into manhood and his role as Annoyed Older Brother, and John as Little Brother.  That small core family of two kids, two dads, one mom and one aunt (though Bessie sounds to have died before the gang really exploded in size) and one revolving-door girlfriend, seems to have been a fairly set dynamic until c. 1892 or 1893.  It sounds to have been fairly stable, tight-knit, warm and affectionate.  I suspect Arthur’s anxiety settled down when he saw that he’d always be treated and respected as the eldest son, and he and John were actually pretty close until John fucked up with Abigail.  The closest that anyone came to leaving was Arthur riding off for a few days every couple of months to  go see Eliza and Isaac.  This also sounds like the best days of the gang in terms of charity—that article from the bank robbery from the mid-late 1880s that’s clearly Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur happened, and they promptly went and were handing out money to the local poor people and basically being giddy Robin Hoods.  Arthur remembers when they used to help people.  These were the good days.  So in 1892/1893 you have Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Susan, and Dutch’s Current Girlfriend (though I suspect nobody counts her that much since she’s prone to changing every couple of years).  I think Bessie is dead by this point since Hosea makes it sound like it happened before most of the gang members were there. So we’ll say this gang is effectively five people, with one more loosely attached honorary member.  Suddenly the gang population explodes.  It sounds like everyone else joined in the last six years prior to RDR2, probably many in the last two to three.  From Pearson’s pic of the stagecoach likely in 1895, given Abigail holding baby Jack, they had Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, Abigail, Susan, John, Pearson, and Bill, and we know Javier was part of it, Tilly sounds to have been.  That’s ten right there, maybe more.And I think that swapped the dynamic for Dutch too.  Suddenly they’re acquiring every stray, lost soul, and orphan in their path.  He’s not just the fond patriarch of a tight-knit family, he’s got to be the leader, the prophet, the Messiah of a Goddamned movement.  And I think that exacerbates his narcissism.  He has more people to look after, and more people to hold in his sway.  His personality becomes bigger.  His rhetoric and his plans become more grandiose.  He becomes more of the fire-and-brimstone street preacher.  The gang becomes less charitable, more insular, more we take care of our own first, because they’re becoming far more dangerously visible with the need to take care of ten, fifteen, twenty people, and the more constant stream of risk and crimes that comes with it. The population explosion pretty much doomed the gang, I think, because it pushed Dutch’s narcissism to deadly levels, and forced them to start taking on bigger and riskier crimes on a more regular basis.  By 1896 the clock was probably already ticking down, and the pressure of the next few years ratcheted that up until it finally explodes in the Blackwater Massacre and everything that happens after. So to backtrack: I think the Dutch that Hosea, Bessie, Susan, Arthur, and John knew from c. 1876 to 1893 was a proto-narcissist who would have looked out for ol’ Number 1 when pressed hard, yes, but the situation and dynamic they had was a lot more forgiving and brought out Dutch’s idealism, affection, and the like rather than his worst traits.  When the gang started getting bigger, he had more people to hold there, and more risk to keep it all together, the manipulation and grooming and gaslighting ratcheted up too because things had already subtly transformed and started to turn.  You can see some of it in Chapters 1-4 with things like him insisting Arthur will betray him and telling Hosea he needs FAITH NOT DOUBTERS but yeah, it’s really Chapters 5 and 6 that show it.  Missing Hosea’s restraint and with Arthur as the son being unable to take the role of the brother, and with the likelihood of Traumatic Brain Injury/TBI to boot, there was no other way it could have ended, because those were the final nails in the coffin.  But I don’t think it was all Hosea and TBI. The seeds of everyone’s destruction were there long, long before.  I don’t think Dutch is this cynical mastermind and that everything is a deliberate act, mind.  Both those who say that Dutch changed (Sadie, Charles) and those who say he became who he always was (John, Arthur) are right.  He changed and became his true and worst self, and I’m not sure even he fully realized how much he’d been keeping at bay in a far more forgiving situation that let him be his best self.  

#dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 #hosea matthews #thank you for coming to my red talk #Anonymous

[iguessilovebakugou]

Rain Water ||  Bakugou x Reader

Author’s note:  I have crippling depression...

You don’t actually remember when saying goodbye to Bakugou in class lead to walking home together.  You couldn’t even begin to remember when you started saying goodbye to him specifically instead of the whole of Class 1-A to start with.  But it had become a central part of your day.  He’d wait by your cubby while you tied up the laces to your high tops - in silence or with aimless conversation, it never really mattered.

“I’m always afraid someone is going to steal my umbrella.”

His eyes glanced down at the blue plastic in your hands, watching as you tapped the tip against the concrete getting off any excess water before you started home.  His brows furrowed, in his usual fashion, before rolling his eyes.  “I don’t think anyone is going to steal an umbrella with flowers on it.”

“It doesn’t just have flowers on it,”  You said, ignoring his not so subtle jab.  “It has disappearing flowers that re-appear with water.”

“Still pathetic.”

“I’m just saying, if it’s one thing I don’t miss about home, it’s tethering everything to a snarling dog to keep it safe.”  You slipped your book bag back onto your shoulder and started off, your companion slowly following behind you in his usual lumbering gait.  “I remember my sister had her bike stolen....twice.  By the same kid.”

The rain had stopped by mid-morning, meaning you were spared the despair of having to walk home with wet socks and even wetter shoes.  You could only stand the irritating squish for so many feet before you gave up and went barefoot.

The moment you went outside, both you and Katsuki ditched the school’s uniform jacket - him tossing it over his shoulder and you tying it around your waist.  The humidity was doing a number on the other students and teachers - the only ones that didn’t seem to bothered by the heat were those who had any sort of leaning towards ice quirks.  What you’d give to create ice at a moments notice.  Especially on a day like today.  Some slow churned ice cream, or some cold lemonade - homemade so it’d be the perfect blend of sweet and tart.  But most importantly...

Iced Coffee.

“What happened to the kid?”

It had been so silent, lost in your thoughts, that you had nearly forgotten that you weren’t by yourself.  You let out a soft sound, turning to look at Katsuki.  His eyes were cast towards the ground, lips pulled tight together as he seemed to be lost in thought.  It was growing more and more common since the beginning of the year that your friend was drawing into himself.  It...wasn't alarming, so to speak; like dropping a stereo from 11 to an 8.  Still loud and overbearing, but better than what it had been.  

Though you found yourself longing for when he would be a yelling, screaming, seething mess.  It’s what attracted you to him anyway, right?  “You mean...the kid who stole my sister’s bike?”

“Yeah.  You had to get it back from him the first time to have him steal it twice, right? So what, you call the cops on him or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Though you couldn’t deny that the line might have slipped out once or twice when you realized that your neighbor had been the one to commit the heinous, villainous act.  “It was a tight-knit little area - everyone looking out for everyone else.  My dad just went to talk to his dad the first time he did it. I think all of us were kind of surprised he tried it again.  Impressed, almost.”

“Hah,”  His smirk was so wide, it encompassed nearly the entirety of his face. 

“Actually, funny story,”  You continued, rounding a corner.  “That kid that stole her bike?  After she moved back in, he came back home for vacation.  And he asked her out on a date - wasn’t too long after that he became my brother in law.”

This seemed to catch Bakugou’s attention.  “Brother-in-law, huh?”

“He’s a good guy,”  You admitted, shrugging, “I didn’t really like him at first, you know?  I always thought of him as this...total jerk who was nothing but a no good.  He was a bully and just...”  You faltered, finding yourself at a loss for words.  “He isn’t a bad guy anymore.  And maybe he wasn’t even a bad guy then.  He grows on you.”

He didn’t say anything.  Instead, his eyes shifted to the ground before you.  More often than not, you found yourself wishing you could pop right into his headspace.  What could he be thinking about?  What made him stop altogether when the aspect of other people’s growth was brought up?  The others in the class, in the entire school...it wasn’t pride, you knew that now.  After his display at the Sports Festival, you know something as simple as “egomaniac” didn’t fit the fearsome kid standing next to you.  The aspirations to be the best were deep-rooted elsewhere - somewhere so deep that no one, not even Bakugou, could reach them.    But god did you want to try.  

The splash caught your ears first and, judging by his equally confused expression, Bakugou’s too.  Your attention shifted instead from each other to the small crowd that was steadily growing around the even smaller bridge that acted more like a dam than anything.  You couldn’t really hear what the commotion was about, the waters from the rain had turned the river into a large, overbearing rush of sewer and foliage.  But one second of looking over the crowd - you could definitely tell something was horribly wrong...

if the woman shrieking and reaching like a banshee was anything to judge by.

Your feet moved without thinking, rushing over to push yourself over the edge of the bridge.  You know you could hear Bakugou screaming at you to stop, taking off quickly after you.  It didn’t take you very long to spy the child in the water, screaming and gripping onto one of the pipes sticking out.  How the force of the sewage wasn’t knocking him over was beyond you - but there he was.  You didn’t waste any time, tossing yourself over the edge and finding your grip on the ledge.  You could feel someone swipe for you, as well as the smell of burned clothing.  But the determination was too much adrenaline to take your own welfare into account.  

You could hear people calling out for you to stop - to just wait for a hero to show up - but you knew just like anyone else there:  the kid didn’t have much time.  If he lost his grip, or if a large gush of water just so happened to force itself through the pipe, he was a goner.  You didn’t even want to think of that and you knew that you couldn’t live with the guilt of the kid just...

What you wouldn’t do for Sero to be there right now.

“MOVE.  MOVE!!!!  I WILL SET EVERY SINGLE DAMN ONE OF YOU ON FIRE IF YOU DON’T MOVE.”

“Hey, kid!!”  You were within reaching distance now.  He had scuffs that were bleeding against his left cheek and arms, but other than that and the absolute terror, he was whole.  That was good.  “It’s okay!  You’re going to be alright.”

Okay...you can do this.  A few more shimmies and you soon could pull yourself onto the pipe...ideally.  It didn’t have enough length to go around, and you didn’t have enough footing to boost yourself up onto it.  And from the splashing and fresh shower just an hour before...well, let’s just say gripping onto it was nearly impossible.  The kid was lucky he landed right onto it.  Grabbing his arm was dangerous - one wrong move, and he was falling the other 10 feet down into the rushing water.  But his clothes...

“I want my momma!”  He pleaded, hardly hearing you over his own sobs and trembling.

He was absolutely terrified, understandably.  You needed to find a way to calm him down, to give him hope and trust that you weren’t going to let him die.  You opened to say something - anything - but stopped when you hear your bag thunk against the concrete.  You turned, eyes widening as the familiar grunting reached your ears - absolute music.  You looked up and saw Bakugo dangling the bag - attached to his jacket.  “HEY.  GRAB ON, YOU DAMN IDIOT.”

  God, you could kiss him...  

You didn’t waste any time reaching up to grab at the brown strap dangling down to you.  He was bent half over the bar, teeth gritted as you focused your attention back to the boy.  It was a stretch, but it was imperative that he stay just like that until you were ready to come up.  With the unspoken laid out, you turned your attention back to the trembling boy.  “We’re going to get you to here, but I need you to listen to me, okay?”  You were trying to be as calm as you could, given the circumstances.  Your fingertips were screaming, your arms were starting to ache with the strain of keeping you tight against the concrete wall.  You didn’t have much time left - it was now or never.  

He seemed to realize that, nodding as quickly as he could.  You had one shot at this.  If you screwed this up, both of you were going down and there was no guarantee...

But this was what being heroes was about, right?  

“Listen to me, okay?”  You reached out, gripping the back of his shirt as best as you could, curling your fingers for good measure.  “When I say go, you’re going to hug yourself as tight as you can, can you do that for me?”  

“O-Okay...”  He whimpered, laying however much trust he could find in that tiny body.  If you were going to be brave, so was he.

And despite all the fear and anxiety you were feeling yourself...you still managed to give him a wide grin.  “You’re going to be just fine.  I got you.”  With a deep breath, you steadied the shaking of your body.  He couldn’t know you were afraid.  He had to have faith you’ve done this before and had some semblance of confidence.

“Bakugou!!”

You could smell caramel in the air, overpowering your senses and nearly shoving the smell of sewer water out of the way.  Without another moment’s hesitation, you slammed your foot on the pipe and catapulted yourself and the boy up and towards the outstretched hands.  Your arm lifted, using the momentum to get him up and into the arms of someone who was a lot stronger than you.  They snatched him, grabbing his shirt and - thanks to his desperate hugging - tugged him up and over the bars.

The sound of the pipe snapping was almost drowned out by the cheers and cries of elation of the crowd above you.  Your eyes widened as you realized, and quickly, you were falling - and fast.  You were too focused on getting the boy up there that you didn’t think about getting yourself close enough to any limbs reaching out towards you.  Bakugou realized it too, your eyes meeting his in a heavy moment of realization.  Your body was falling backward and no amount of scrambling was going to save you.  Shit...shit!!

“Wait!  Grab the kid, grab the kid!!”

You weren’t sure who said it, but the crowd, without hesitation, reached out and grabbed at the back of Bakugou’s shirt, using all their combined weight to tug both him and you back away from the raging water down below.  You soon were feeling weightless, hanging onto the bag’s strap for dear life.  Don’t snap, don’t snap, don’t-

“Up!  Get them up!!”

Bakugou reached out, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and tugged you over the metal railing.  You landed against his chest with a grunt, gripping him like your life depended on it still.  You were shaking...and so was here.  He was trembling as he pulled back and snarled at you.  “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!?  YOU ALMOST KILLED YOURSELF!!”

It didn’t seem to hold the effect he was going for.  You just grinned and let out a quivering breath before laughing.  “You know, I’m not entirely sure.”  You admitted.  

“Thank you!!!!!”

You were knocked back as the mother of the boy, in all her wailing glory, threw her arms around you.  Your eyes widened, bracing yourself against the ground so she didn’t topple over with you.  “You...you’re welcome, I was just...”

“TELL YOUR LITTLE BRAT TO BE MORE-”

Katsuki’s yelling is cut off by the woman’s arms tossed around him.  “You two saved my boy!!  I could never repay you!  Thank you so much, I almost lost him and-”

Despite his glowering, and his screaming, and his harsh attitude attracted stares, you couldn’t help but smile.  It was soft and warm, and while it had been something you never questioned before - you knew it then and there.  With his brash personality, with his strangely skewed sense of self-worth and determination, one fact was a shining sign:  Katsuki was going to make an amazing hero.

#katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #I...had a lot of fun writing this #oompa

[last-of-the-dreamers-blog1]

The rest of our lives

This is a Tony x Pepper oneshot :)

I got a little carried away but I hope you enjoy it!

The story starts at the end of Spider-Man Homecoming

Warnings: None

Fluff!

“Happy? You still got that ring?”

Pepper raised her eyebrows.

A ring? What is he even saying?

These were the only words running through her mind. The both of them never even talked about marriage. And who could blame her for not having started this topic considering the life he lead from the moment they started dating. Technically speaking it was worse before they had started dating. Tony Stark – A bachelor ever since. Why would he of all people be mentioning a ring in a situation like that.

It must be a joke!

“Of course!” Happy started fiddling in the pocket of his dress pants. “I’ve been carrying this around since 2008!” He pulled out a ridiculously expensive looking engagement ring. At least it did look like an engagement ring – Pepper could not know that for sure. It appeared to be a platinum ring topped with a single round diamond. The only decorative elements consisting of waves on either side of the band holding the diamond in place. If Pepper hadn’t known any better, she would have definitely thought that Tony must have hired a personal shopper to choose a piece of jewellery as timelessly elegant as the one Happy still held between his index finger and thumb. Maybe Happy actually IS Tony’s secret personal shopper. But this is a thought for another day when there were not more than a hundred journalists waiting. Pepper shook her head to let go of all these unprofessional thoughts which were running through her head. She was here as Virginia Potts – CEO of Stark Industries. Not as Pep – Tony’s girlfriend. But she just couldn’t manage that to a full amount as one thought repeatedly came to her mind.

2008?! That was years ago! What is he even planning?!

Tony invitingly raised his eyebrow telling her something between the lines of “Come on! What can go wrong?” But with him…with this self-destructive, careless, anxiety driven, charming, wonderful human being standing next to her everything could go wrong. Pepper’s brain started to think outrageously fast. Calculating several scenarios to avoid embarrassing both of them in a public engagement and the announcement of a publicly cancelled wedding afterwards. For an innocent bystander the current scene must have looked completely ridiculous: Three people dressed to the nines were standing in front of the closed doors of a room filled with journalists who where actually gathered for another announcement made by the infamous billionaire, playboy, genius and philanthropist Tony Stark. Furthermore, the guy holding the ring looked like he did not belong to what should be an intimate affair between a soon to be husband and wife. The connection between the other two people who were standing mildly closer to each other represented itself crystal clear to even a blind person. As if the situation was not weird enough, the “bride” just raised her eyebrow with her mouth hanging slightly open and stated to the “groom”: “I can think of something better.” Before turning around and entering the room to speak in front of the waiting audience. Little did she know that Tony – ever since full of surprises – followed her on her heels but not before he held his hands open to catch the ring gracefully thrown by one of his oldest friends. Said friend made his way back to his car, a smile plastered on his face, in anticipation to see his best friend happy and save in a committed relationship.

When Pepper entered the room, she was immediately greeted with at least a dozen cameras flashing at the same time and microphones being shoved to her face before she reached the speaker’s desk. But being used to standing in the limelight for a few years now she was acting as a pure professional - walking across the stage with her head held high until she finally reached her destination. She had just started announcing that there would actually be no announcement on this day, as the audience erupted in cheers which lead to her turning her head to a Tony with a microphone in his hand – wherever he managed to get this thing in the last two minutes but being a billionaire had its perks now and then.

The strawberry blonde woman was flabbergasted which honestly did not happen that often. But maybe she was only fed up with the ridiculous ideas of the man she called her partner. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am dearly sorry to say this but…”, Pepper started before she realised that her microphone was not working at all. Her blood started to boil and she felt her heartbeat bumping in her ears. Just because of her boss’s or her boyfriend’s ego, she would not accept being humiliated in front of a crowd by being unprofessional. Her mind worked quickly as she took a step towards Tony to grab the microphone from his hands with an unapologetic smile on her smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am really sorry – actually no I am not – but still there had been a minor change of plans for today.” Tony stated as he sauntered elegantly around Pepper and into the middle of the stage. “Today…” He flashed the whole crowd his signature grin showing his perfectly white teeth in the process. “I will make a more personal announcement.” The audience started to cheer while Peppers heart sank.

He can’t be serious! In a situation like this?

“Virginia Potts. You are not only a reliable part of our workforce here at Stark Industries. Furthermore, you are also an important part in my own private life. Maybe the only truly reliable part there ever was. Therefore – as I am not that good with words when I am flustered as we all know..” He smiled at the crowd once more to get a reaction from the listeners, while Pepper still stood frozen in the same spot. Her heart started to race as she saw him sinking down on one knee in front of her holding the diamond ring Happy had shown her mere minutes ago.

He can’t be -

“Will you marry me?”

Serious!

The next moments lasted a whole lifetime. It felt like eternity to Pepper, to Tony, and to all the people who were sitting in front of a screen at home who were watching the stream of Tony Stark’s highly advertised announcement.

Tony himself was not fully aware of the buzzing room around him – only having his eyes on the woman in front of him. He was not aware of his suit bunching up around his knees as he was kneeling on the floor – only thinking of the woman he truly loved. He was not even aware of the fact that his hands suddenly started to get sweaty. He, Tony Stark, billionaire – genius – playboy – philanthropist, flustered by a woman? And still he could not keep his eyes off of her. His dark brown orbs fixed on the eyes of the only person who mattered to him at this exact moment. A chocolate coloured gaze running to Pepper’s blueish green one which always reminded him off a day at the sea. Maybe he could bring her to the sea? His thoughts started running wild as he was waiting for an answer. As he was totally fixed on the storm happening inside his own body, he did not realise the change going through Pepper’s demeanour. She did not want to say “Yes!”. Well, of course she did. But not in front of an audience, or cameras, or mobile phones. She may was a strong business woman – but she had also dreamed of her dream man, dream proposal and dream wedding as a little girl. Dream man…The last years she spent at Tony’s side rushed through her head. Tony getting kidnapped, Tony getting saved, the Iron Man Suit, many Iron Man Suits, the battle of New York, the Avengers, Iron Legion, the war between the members of the Avengers, so many enemies, will she ever be able to sleep normally being married to a man like that, he was a good man wasn’t he, a bit … a lot of an egomaniac, but also not really … Pepper was not used to having her thoughts running through her mind in an order like that and yet she started focussing on a face. She still could remember that exact moment – like it was yesterday. Tony stepping out of a plane. Blood still visible on his face even despite being clad in a clean suit and tie. Back then she could not hide her smile nor her tears of relief. Did she fall in love with him back then? Did she already love him back then? She could not answer these questions and honestly, she did not want to.

Slowly shaking her head to get these thoughts out of her head, it was her turn to focus her ocean blue eyes on the man kneeling in front of her. Not as collected as usual, she felt a tear forming in the inner corner of her left eye slightly blurring her vision.

“Come on, honey. It is only the rest of our lives!”

There he was again. The Tony the media knew and either loved or hated. Was this HER Tony as well? She felt overwhelmed by her conflicting feelings. She did not want to agree to an engagement because her dear boyfriend could not think of a better way to call off a gathering for an announcement. And still… Happy had this ring since 2008…it sure must mean something….

“Yes….”, she whispered lowly only for Tony to hear.

“What did you say, love?”, his signature smile visible on his face as he stood up, bringing the microphone to his mouth.

“Yes!”, she said once more, now uncomfortable as she started to realise the cameras, and the people, and the lights, … again. She did it. She just got engaged. And she did not know whether it was just a joke or not. Therefore, she did not realise how Tony pulled her in to seal their lips in a kiss which would be all over the news the next day. Nor did she realise how Tony slid the ring on her finger or how Happy grinned when they came back to the car. The ride home was spent in total silence. Tony thought it was because of pure bliss – as that was what he was feeling. Happy thought it was because of pure bliss – because that was what he wanted for his friends. Pepper knew it was because her confusion.

Why did he do it? Is he serious? Will he call it off? Why the hell did I play along?

Once they had arrived at the Avenger’s tower, Pepper immediately left the car and made her way up to their shared apartment leaving it to Tony to receive Happy’s congratulations. She needed time solely to herself right now to make up her mind about the journey lying ahead of her, although a small voice in her head still called the whole proposal a joke. A bad joke – to keep the journalists at bay – to avoid bad publicity and that’s it. Hearing this little voice growing louder and louder inside her mind, she could not help herself but she started to cry. Pepper was weeping silently. She still had not reached their home and so there were people around who should not – under any circumstances – see her cry. This would make a great headline as well: Pepper Potts, devastated after accepting the proposal of her long-time boyfriend Tony Stark. This is not a possibility for her. Tears were now running down her cheeks and dripping to her collar bones. It seemed like a miracle but she was able to catch an empty elevator without being in close contact to an employee or any other person who had god knows what to do in the building.

When Pepper finally reached their apartment, she kicked off her high heels, took the ribbon out of her hair which caused her strawberry blonde length to run over her shoulder, and sank down on the expensive looking leather couch in the middle of the living room. She could not take it anymore. Every emotion welling inside her chest and running wild inside her head broke loose. Her silent cries turned to deep sobs which were vibrating in the air. The picture that presented itself was a miserable one. A woman of power breaking down because she did – for once – not know what was going on in her life. The scene was replaying again and again. She could see Tony in front of her inner eye – on his knee with the ring between his fingers. The Ring! Pepper had nearly forgotten about the ring. Carefully, she glanced down to her ring finger taking the ring in with all his beauty. There was a small inclusion visible in the otherwise perfectly polished diamond. Raising her hand into the sunbeams reaching her from the nearby window, she could see this imperfection even more clearly. She was not mad about that – it even made the ring more charming.

He would not buy something like that. He can afford everything. What does that mean? It is a joke. It must be.  

At these thoughts, her eyes started to fill with tears once again. A low sob got caught in her throat but she did not want to give in to it – not anymore.

“Ya like what you see, Pep?” The smirk even noticeable in Tony’s voice. Pepper had been too preoccupied with examining her ring, to hear Tony entering the apartment. Before she answered him, she lowered her hand and straightened her posture, but did not turn around to look him in the eyes. Too proud to let him see her during such a vulnerable moment.

“Why did you do it?”, now her feelings lay noticeable in her voice. Tony’s face fell. Instead of his almost always present grin, he furrowed his eyebrows and the delicate lines around his mouth got more visible than ever.

“What do you mean? I love you! That’s why I –“, he walked across to room to stand in front of Pepper. Even without having her look him into his eyes, he knew she had been crying. Without second thoughts, he lowered himself down on one knee in front of her – for the second time on this day. The view was like a slap in the face for Pepper. She did not want to recall the moment. She was dearly convinced that everything was just a cheap PR gag.

How can he play with a person’s feelings like that. I thought he had changed…

“Tony. You did it because Peter left. It was just your emergency plan. Tomorrow we will do a press statement and everything will be over. I – I can’t do it. Not like that.” Pepper wanted to keep herself contained. A woman who has been through so much more, a CEO of a huge company, a modern businesswoman should not cry because of a man – because of the simple guy, the man kneeling in front of her. Her body was shaking when she made up her mind and reached to her finger. “I can’t do it….” Her voice was breaking as she slipped the ring off her finger and let it fall into his now opened palm. Tony looked confused. Now it was his turn to have his chest flooded with a million different thoughts and feelings – many of which he had never felt before. And some of those he could have felt before, but he never allowed himself to do so. “You think I just asked you because of the journalists…” He spoke more to himself than to Pepper, although the woman did her best to avoid the man’s gaze. It did not take him long to regain his composure. Quickly he got rid of his suit jacket and tie throwing both pieces to the floor next to the couch. While Pepper was still avoiding his gaze, he dropped down on one knee – for the third time – and raised the ring to her face. Now the redhead was not able to look away anymore and locked her eyes with the brown orbs slightly beneath her own. At this moment Tony could see the outcome of the whole disaster. Mascara draining Pepper’s porcelain cheeks with greyish black tears, her nose red and puffy and her eyes swollen from crying. He wanted to let his head sink down as hope drained from his body, but it was his only chance to not lose the woman he truly loved.

“Pep. Honey. I know…the timing…the timing may have been a bit of…”

>Come on Stark! Get it together! You are not shy for words!<

“I had this planned for a long time…well …planned it differently. I wanted to take you out somewhere. A small bistro, nothing big. I thought about taking you to Paris. But that would have been too much so I thought about the tiny one just down the road. We wouldn’t even need a car. We could just walk there. It is a nice place. Nice food as well. We could have spent a nice evening there and then I would have asked you. I mean we can still spend a nice evening there. I mean if you want…”

Pepper had never observed him rumbling like that. He merely looked like a little boy who did not know what words to use to ask for a forbidden fruit. A grin conquered her face, the tears nearly forgotten although the traces still visible on her cheeks. As Tony saw this slightest form of a smile his courage returned.

“Happy was not lying when he said he was carrying this since 2008.”, he said referring to the ring. “It was back then when I decided you will be the only woman I will ever get to marry. Did you … did you see the small bubble inside the diamond.” He tried to point at the small imperfection but his fingers where actually too big which drew a hearty laughter from Pepper. “I chose this one on purpose…”

HE chose it? Pepper’s heart got warm. He chose it for ME.

“I thought … I mean … it would sum us … would sum me up pretty well. Me with this thing in my chest…” His gaze turned away from her, and she knew he was drifting off to a dark cave in a distant country. To save him from his inner demons, she grabbed his hand which was not holding the ring and linked her fingers with his bigger ones. Both of their now entangled hands settling down in her lap. This small gesture was enough for Tony to return to the present, to turn his back to his darkest memories – at least for this moment. Tony cleared his throat before he continued his monologue.

“I had this thing in my chest. I mean this thing made me, it created me. It created all of what I am now. But it still is my pressure point. The best and the worst side of me. This small imperfection … this bubble in the diamond…I mean it is the worst side of the diamond and still its best feature. It does not look like all of the other diamonds in a store. It makes the stone special; it adds character to it. I know you usually don’t like things which are a bit rough around their edges but you still chose me – despite of all my edges. Over and over again it was always me. I think it represents us: You are my best feature, while I am your worst.”

He had put a lot of thought into choosing the ring. This realisation hit Pepper. At the same time a wave of guilt ran over her. She judged him completely wrong – she could have and should have known better.

“I will ask you again, Pep. And believe me. This is the last time you will see me on my knees for a very long time…” He looked straight into her blueish eyes; smiles spread over the lovers’ faces. Pepper felt a tug on her heart. This mess in front of her – her mess – was her home and always will be. With a grin on his face which was entirely different from his signature grin. A grin which was only reserved for Pepper and people nearly as close to him, he spoke the magic words.

“Pep. Will you become my wife?”

No more words were needed as she answered him with a kiss.

The ring – however – slipping back onto her finger in the tangle of limbs that followed afterwards. 

#tonystark #tony #stark #pepper #potts #pepperpotts #virginia #mcu #mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #tony stark #pepper potts #fanfic #fanfiction #ms potts #mrstark #tony x pepper #pepper x tony #pepperony

[supersleepygoat]

Better for Everyone: Part 2

Parings: Platonic Sam x Reader, Platonic John x Reader, Platonic Dean x Reader (this will change in subsequent chapters), OFC (Jonas)

Warnings: Angst-ish (not really).

Word Count: 1,947

Summary: The Reader spent most of her life with the Winchesters. She loves them like family but doesn’t feel like the feeling is mutual. When she is essentially kicked out of the Winchester clan she is left physically and emotionally vulnerable to dangerous situations.

A/N: So, this series is slightly off canon because John is alive when the boys (and reader) are older. I just like John and wanted to write him into my story so in my dream world he is alive and well. This part is more of a plot pusher but the next chapter will be super duper angsty to make up for it.

Series Masterlist

The world seemed heavy. As you regained consciousness you couldn’t help but notice the heavy ache that thrummed in your head. You attempted to open your eyes but the task seemed unnecessarily difficult. So you instead, you chose to stretch your arm out to try and feel the ground beneath you to stabilize yourself.

Your movement did not go unnoticed by the inaudible voices that were in the room with you. The voices stopped and you heard heavy footsteps getting louder and therefore closer.

You tried to lift yourself off the ground but your shaking limbs were useless. A gentle hand came to sweep your Y/H/C hair out of your face and place it behind your ear. You flinched at the contact causing a chuckle to come from the owner of the retreating hand.

“Morning, Pet. I was afraid that idiot knocked you around a little much and I would never get to see those pretty eyes. What do you say, can you open your eyes so I can see if I won the bet?” the man softly spoke to you.

You turn your head to face the gentle voice and are finally able to open your eyes to barely a squint.

“Come on, you can do better than that, Pet” the man encouraged.

Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes and when you opened them you were face to face with a man who was crouched in front of you with a smile plastered onto his handsome face.

“Well, hot damn… I just won 50 bucks!” the man said while staring into your Y/E/C eyes and widening his smile. “But trust me, Pet. The real prize is looking into those beautiful eyes,” he sang as he reached out to caress your cheek.

You scoffed as you pushed his hand away. Even though it gave you a splitting headache, you couldn’t help but instinctively roll your eyes at the cheesy line he just offered you.

Instead of getting angry like you expected he would, the man merely let out another chuckle and rose from his haunches.

“The name is Jonas” the man all but bowed in his greeting. You glanced to the men behind him and Jonas continued “Don’t worry about learning their names quite yet, Pet. We’ll all get to know each other in due time.”

“Y/N,” you tried to rasp out but you throat was too dry.

“I’m sorry what was that, Pet?”

“My name is Y/N. So, you can quit it with the condescending nicknames, asshole.” You confidently bit out in an attempt to disguise the fear that is quickening your heart beat.

That irritating chuckle slipped Jonas’ lips yet again “Now, now, Pet. Don’t be rude.” He leans in close to whisper in your ear, “I like your style, Pet. I do really, but don’t be mean to me in front of my men… because then I’ll have to go all macho alpha male and teach you to behave yourself. And, I don’t wanna do that quite yet, sweetheart” he pulled away laughing again and patted your knee, a gesture too friendly to match his threatening words.

“Sorry,” you whispered out with downcast eyes, unsure if he would hear you. But, you promised Sam you try to stay out of trouble and it was usually your big mouth that makes things worse for you. So, you thought an apology would help your case. Jonas did hear you though and looked at you with narrow eyes until a self-satisfied smirk played on his lips.

“Anyway, Pet, let’s cut to the chase, I need your help with something.” Jonas said while clapping then rubbing his hands together.

“What can I do for you?” you responded with a chipperness that was laced with sarcasm.

“I’m going to ignore your tone and get to the point: you are bait. Plain and simple. I know as far as evil plans go, it’s not very original. But it’s a classic for a reason... it’s effective.”

“I am assuming this has to do with the Winchesters?” you ask in a bored tone.

Jonas merely touches his nose then points back at you with a wink and that goddamn smirk.

You roll your eyes again now more tolerant of the pain and let out a little laugh. “Well, good luck with that. Although, I think you running on old intel. They won’t come for me but by all means… give it try.” You gesture your arms in a waving manner.

“Oh, they’ll come. They always come for their damsel.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“Confidence is key,” is his only playful response.

Dean walks over to where his brother is sitting at the table in the motel room. Dean reaches over and steals the mug sitting in front of Sam taking a sip then spitting it back into the mug with a look of disgust on his face.

“Dude!” Sam protests.

“Ugh, that's not coffee,” Dean groans as he pushes the cup back to his brother.

“It’s green tea, you jackass! What the he-” Sam starts but is cut off by the glare sent at the two of them by their father who is on the phone and trying to write something down. Both boys silently wait for their father to finish.

“We got a case,” John asserts before even hanging up the phone.

“Where to?” Dean questions after rummaging through the kitchen area and tossing aside the bottle of whiskey he had polished off the night before.

“It’s a salt and burn, only a couple hours West,” John replies.

“Alright then,” is the only response that is needed for each Winchester to start packing up and start heading out.

Out in the parking lot, John is packing his truck and asks Sam to bring him the blanket they keep on the back of the Impala so he can hide the treasure trove of weapons John has in his passenger seat.

Opening the back of the Impala, as Sam reaches for the blanket he sees your whale shaped change purse on the floor in the backseat. He sighs while mumbling a profanity to himself.

He emerges from the backseat with no blanket, but is instead holding the little purse that each man loved to tease you about because it was so girly and childish.

John’s eyes narrow at Sam but then roll once he notices the whale he is holding.  

“What are we going to do about Y/N? Do we leave her here or try to find her so she can tag along?” Sam inquires.

John runs a frustrated hand down his face and shakes his head “I didn’t think we’d be leaving this soon - I forgot about all that shit.”

Just then Dean rounds the corner, finally holding a real cup of coffee. When he sees what Sam is holding, he realizes what the two men are contemplating.

“Leave her here,” Dean offers the simple solution.

“Dean-” Sam starts but is cut off by his brother.

“Relax, Sammy. We’ll only be a few hours away. We’ll come back for her when we're done. We just all need some breathing room. Just text her and tell her we’ll be gone for a bit.”

Sam looks to his father who merely shrugs and states, “It’s better for everyone. Now go grab that blanket.”

You had fallen asleep again but were now being awoken by something rough licking your hand. You jerked your eyes open to see the same black cat who had lured you to capture sitting in front of you. You reach out your hand and chuckle out a “Hiya Cat”.

The door to the room you are confined to opens and Jonas’ happy face comes waltzing in. “How are my two favourite girls?” he asks with a teasing glint in his eye.

“We’re just awesome. Thanks for asking,” you retort as you sit up to lean against the dirty wall behind you.

“Do you even know why you’re here? Why I have such a hate on for the Winchesters?” Jonas asks as he pulls a chair over and sits in front of you.

“Did they kill some of your monster friends? Screw up your evil plans to rule the world? What kind of monster are you anyway? You look human but that don’t mean you are one.” There is genuine curiosity in your voice.

“I can answer all your questions with a little bedtime story,” he responds with a smirk.

You roll your eyes in preparation for another villainous monologue by yet another egomaniacal monster.

“Long story short -“ Jonas starts once he sees you’re not too interested in the whole backstory. “I was a petty thief, never had much in the way of family. I picked the pocket of vampire one fateful night and well-“ Jonas bared his vampire teeth for dramatic effect, making you flinch. “The rest is history. I decided to start my own family… one that wouldn’t leave. We would love each other and be happy blah blah blah” Jonas leaned back in his chair clasping his hands on his lap. “We lived happily ever after, that is... until last night.”

“I knew that nest was oddly small,” you said mostly to yourself.

“The trick to hunting vampires is to make sure you clear the whole nest, not just one outpost otherwise all you do is piss off the remainder of the pack,” Jonas suggested.

“I was there too. Why not just get your revenge by killing me and leave the Winchesters out of it?”

“Because, Pet, you didn’t kill any of my family. You may have been there but you were too busy almost dying to actually kill any of my people.”

“That’s not -“ you tried to defend yourself but Jonas just laughed at you.

“Relax, kid. I know you’re a tough cookie. There's no need to get you panties in a twist,” Jonas interrupts. “Besides, there has been a change of plans.” Jonas pulls your phone out of his pocket and lets you read the text you got from Sam an hour or so earlier.

Hey Y/N/N

We got pulled into an emergency hunt that’s a few hours away. We’ll come back but I think we could all use this time to clear our heads.

         -S

“Now Pet, I don’t like this just as much as you won’t but my boys are itching for blood and retribution and so on,” Jonas adds with an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t worry, they are user strict instruction not to kill you. But, I ain’t gonna lie to you sweetheart… this is going to suck”.

Jonas leans down to squeeze your knee and looks you in the eye with an expression that you would consider almost contrite had you not known better.

Before you can respond, Jonas is turning to leave the room.

“Wait!” You call after him making him turn again. He is expecting to hear your pleas for mercy but instead you stand up and pick up the black cat that was laying by your feet. “Take her. Keep her away from what’s about to happen. She’s innocent and I don’t want those assholes hurting her to hurt me,” you whisper out as you place the cat in his arms.

You oddly enough trust him that he wouldn’t turn on you and hurt the cat now that you had admitted you care for her. Jonas merely narrows his eyes at you in disbelief that you care more for this random cat than you do your own safety.

Rendered speechless, Jonas nods and leaves the room. The door is left open and a few seconds later four men with various instruments and weapons enter your prison, slowly backing you into the damp corner of the room.

Tags:

@fangirl-moment-x @icequeen6666 @soobi89 @youre-alive-and-thats-your-job @morefuckingvodkaplease

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean x reader #sam winchester #sam x reader #john winchester #john x reader #angst #spn fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #sister reader #spnfamily #spn

[ronsenboobi]

many deaths i’ll sing (assassin’s creed: syndicate)

novembre 2018: a character study of jacob frye throughout the events of sequences 8 and 9. spoilers, obviously. 4,232 words. read on ao3

I.     bedfellows 

The bravest man in London, he said.

Maxwell Roth was easy enough to read, from the start: a grandiose egomaniac of a dandy whose theatricality came as a surprise, when juxtaposed with the knowledge that he was one of the most dangerous men of London’s criminal underworld. It was enough to throw Jacob off-balance, like a discordant chord being struck midway through a dance he thought he knew—Roth was too bright, too lively, too familiar by half. Jacob had expected a lot of things when he made up his mind to meet with the head of the Blighters, and Roth was, by and large, very few of them.

London had been a sea of red when Jacob and Evie stepped off the train from Croydon; since then, he’d made it his own personal mission to remedy it, and he’d built the Rooks from the ground up to make it happen. There was an irony in knowing that it was a sort of forceful bloodletting that would lessen the Blighters’—and, by extension, the Templars’—hold on the city and make it so that Jacob’s life was less full of that red, and then he walked right into the lion's den. There was red everywhere he looked: the outside of the Alhambra, the thugs who surrounded it, the curtains, the velvet carpet. The splash of red around Roth’s neck.

It was like stepping into hellfire and taking a drink with the devil, and the devil poured the spirits himself and called his efforts the heroics of the bravest man in London.

Not reckless, not misguided, not sloppy. Brave. Such a small, unassuming word, yet Jacob struggled to remember whether he’d ever earned it from anyone else in his life, even once, and came up utterly empty.

Roth called him many things after that, but it was not so much the words as the faith and the pure delight at the trouble they stirred up together that left their mark. It made Jacob breathless, like he was racing to keep up rather than always running in headfirst, with Father or Evie behind him yelling to slow down and think, for once. He did think, and that had always been his problem: too fast, too restless. Roth, however, seemed to think exactly the same as he did in so many ways. Instead of coming head-to-head, they worked in tandem, the Rook and the Blighter opposed in the streets but united against Starrick.

Jacob wasn’t used to this sort of partnership; he and Evie worked well together—they always had—but they challenged each other. Everything she would have said no to, Roth met with an eager why not?

Those times were full of wonder and bewildered fascination and philosophizing, even, and once—just once—Jacob found himself thinking of how staunchly Father would have disapproved of this. He would have disapproved of Roth, he would have disapproved of their ends and their means; he would have disapproved of Jacob himself because it had become reflexive by the end of his life. For once, it did not matter. Jacob was his own man—and, for once, someone saw it.

  II.     games

The factory did not feel like bravery. It felt like a sickness, one that left violent nausea in his belly and a taste of poison on his tongue, sharp and choking—though perhaps that was from the smoke. The smoke seemed as though it would never leave his lungs.

Jacob stood watching the flames for what felt like half an age, so bright they danced in his eyes and so hot he could feel the air on his skin like he was still in there. He hadn’t hesitated, because he never hesitated. Headfirst. No time to dwell on his disgust, his disappointment, the sickening pull of betrayal. The children were all that mattered, then, the innocent lives he was meant to protect; Roth’s rage, and his own, were secondary.

He could not tell whether he was already shaking when he was handed the box, or it was the box that made him shake. Roth’s hand on the paper was like a voice in his head, like the claws of a raptor around his throat, and it gripped him tighter and screamed when he peered inside the box and met the lifeless black eye of that young crow. Once free, then caged; now dead.

His horror was quiet, but his rage, driven by sorrow and fear he wouldn’t admit to, was not so. Stormy steps took him up that alley, the rhythm of them a fatal chorus of one of us will die, one of us will die, one of us will die before I’m the one in that cage. He all but stumbled through the door of the fight club hiding in plain sight nearby, and today he had no cordial words for Topping as he began to take off his gear unprompted.

“Put me in that ring,” he said, forming the words around the taste of smoke, his voice raw. From the coughing, he told himself. It was the coughing.

Topping saw the intensity that clung to him and it translated to sterling in his mind, as it always did, and so he was happy to oblige. Jacob let the rumble of the fighting quiet everything inside him that he didn’t want to hear and did the one thing he was truly good at: he fought and fought and fought, fingers digging into muscle, knuckles cracking bones, until the sweat washed the soot off his face and he couldn’t smell the smoke on him anymore. The tang of blood replaced what lingered of the flames; red, always red, like the faded crimson of a Blighter flag hanging from the rafters, looming over him.

He fought some more and thought, distantly, that he would have that flag taken down if it meant burning the place—

No. That wasn’t him.

He stopped. The fighting went on without him.

Jacob sat on a bench amidst the dizzying sea of noise and sniffed, wiping the blood under his nose with the back of his hand. Looking down at his chest, he saw drops of red splattered across the outstretched wing of the bird on his skin, flying free. He wiped his hand across it, too, and thought of the baby crow in the box.

He knew what he was going to have to do, tomorrow—but for now, he let the rush take him until he realized his entire body ached.

***

Evie was asleep in her armchair when he stepped onto the train from the near-empty platform at St. Pancras, so weary his muscles shook as he moved. The book in her hand was still half-open and dangerously close to falling; he took the book, kept her page with a loose pressed flower lying forgotten on the table beside her, and set it down. His own gentleness surprised him, as though he’d forgotten he was even capable of it after a night like this. Evie did not stir, and he did not linger.

He hopped over to the next car and stood before the board Henry had helped him set up at the very beginning, his gaze passing over every thread that connected to Starrick. Nearly all of them, he had broken, but for one: the Blighters, with their hold over every part of London, still too strong over the Rooks to his taste when this began. Roth had almost made him forget that. He looked at the letter he’d pinned beside the map: that very first dinner invitation that he and Evie had both scoffed at before he went ahead and decided to go anyway, because he was reckless and impulsive and so intent on charging towards his goals that he didn’t think of the consequences.

The chance to have a little fun with the bravest man in London.

Jacob gritted his teeth and pointedly did not reach into the pocket inside his jacket for the new note—the one Roth had sent with the box containing his invitation—even though it would have gone on the board, had it come from any other target. But it hadn’t. He couldn’t leave it there, my dearest Jacob and all, for Evie and Henry and every passing Rook to see, so instead he rummaged around his things until he found a photograph of Roth he remembered seeing among the various files Henry had sent over. He pinned it to the board so mechanically it was almost as though it were only some prick like Twopenny or Cardigan he was only too happy to remove from Starrick’s power.

Tomorrow, he would be crossing it out in red, as he did all the others—or it would give Evie a path to Roth, if he somehow didn’t come out of this alive. If he managed to bungle this up, too, she would clean up his mess with her eyes closed, he knew.

He couldn’t tell what was worse about that thought, between Evie ending Roth’s life—it has to be me, he thought bitterly—or Roth doing so much as laying eyes or a finger on his sister. Not after all of this. Would he call her dear, too, or was that a privilege and a curse reserved only for him?

He’d get no answers tonight, and likely not tomorrow, either. Moving heavily, his limbs as though through molasses, he grabbed a thick wool blanket off of his sofa and went back into the next car to lay it over Evie, tucking it around her shoulders snugly. Maybe she’d think it was Henry who had done it, when she woke; maybe it was better that she did, to bring her closer to him. She would need him if the rift between she and Jacob were to grow.

As he fell onto the sofa, Jacob almost wished Agnes was around to ask if they had a bottle of laudanum on hand. He hurt like the devil.

  III.     stage

The Alhambra was burning, and Jacob felt numb. Yet his lungs were raw from the smoke and every inch of him ached from the tension and the fighting—he knew that, distantly, as though there was a wall of flame between his mind and his body.

For a moment, through the horror and the anger and the twisting, crippling, slithering sorrow, he had truly thought Roth and his thrice-damned theatre were going to take him with them. Hellfire and damnation, all sealed with a bloody kiss.

How could you do this how could you do this howcouldyoudothis—

Jacob forced himself to breathe as he watched the flames shatter the windows, the lights bursting in the letters that spelled the Alhambra’s name on its façade. Chaos and destruction: that was Roth’s legacy. Jacob thought that it would come to be his, too; it already was. He’d done so much wrong, too much, and the only thing that had kept the whole city from crashing down because of him was Evie.

The bravest man in London, indeed.

Around him, Leicester Square was still spinning out of control, but Jacob stood frozen in the cool night air that the fire slowly corrupted with smoke and heat. Darling, what a night!

He couldn’t be sure what it was that made him want to be ill; he couldn’t even tell whether he was most furious and disgusted at Roth or himself. At long last, he made himself turn away from the flames and walked shakily to the fountain to dip his hands in the water. He made no effort to wash the blood off of his hands, but he splashed his face until he felt like it was his own again and his eyes stopped watering from the smoke. He passed the edge of his sleeve over his nose and mouth, still so tender from the fight club, and he didn’t want to think of being kissed and tasting the metal of his own blade.

He made to sit on the edge of the fountain; instead, he slid down until he was on the ground, his knees folded towards his chest and his back against cold stone. He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair, his whole body fidgeting restlessly as he sniffed and fought back pointless, childish tears. He pressed his fingers into his eyelids and struggled for breath. The last time he’d been like this, it had been after Father died, but Evie had been next to him, her legs stretched out and her shoulders slumping from the shock and the grief. She had reached for his hand and held it so tightly he’d thought she was going to break his fingers.

Jacob didn’t know how to be alone in this, but he didn’t know how to be with her anymore, either, and certainly not with the ghost of Maxwell Roth filling every little space he’d left open inside himself to linger between them.

***

It wasn’t until nearly dawn that Jacob returned to the train—in the blue hour of twilight, as the painters called it. He sat on the empty platform at St. Pancras again for the better part of an hour before the familiar locomotive came in, and by then he could barely feel his own legs as they stretched out before him. There was a pinkish line of sunlight hugging the horizon. He watched it reach higher, inch by inch, so weary that his gaze was distant and his mind blank; he didn’t have it in him to find it pretty.

He could only be glad that it wasn’t red, but then he was standing in front of his board and dipping a brush into the red ink to smear a cross over the photograph of Roth, the leader of the Blighters, the last line of defense Crawford Starrick had that wasn’t himself. In the end, it hadn’t been much of a defense—Roth was, to his last, in it only for chaos and for Maxwell Roth. Jacob had learned that the hard way.

Defeated, Jacob went to bury his left hand in his pocket, only to find that it wasn’t empty. He pulled out a mask, gilded and glimmering, hard and blank. He didn't remember picking it up. Part of him wanted to walk out of the car and toss it out onto the rails, but instead he cut a new length of twine—red, red, always more red—and wrapped it around the nose, through the eyes, to pin beside the map of London. The curtain had fallen. So, too, would the Blighters.

Jacob breathed, again and again, and wondered if he would ever feel once more what it was to breathe without agony burning through his chest. Sleeping was hell, too, even though he’d come to find the train’s vibrations and stops comforting. He lay unmoving on his back and slipped in and out of the fog. So many times that he lost count, he woke with flames in his mind and the lingering resistance in his hand of his blade slicing through flesh and a cold, bloodied mouth against his. Dawn had barely passed him by, pale and grim behind a grey-white sky, but it still felt as though he’d been restless through a night-long fever.

Henry came aboard and found him staring blankly at the board from the couch; it turned his gaze to the new photograph. “The leader of the Blighters is dead, then?” he asked, his surprise passing smoothly over his face. Jacob didn’t blame him for having missed it, with how fast it had all happened.

“Do you know me to get ahead of myself, Greenie?” Jacob said. It was meant to be sarcasm, to point out that he had no reason to mark a target as dead before the fact, but he was so, so tired and it came out all wrong. Henry could all too easily answer in the affirmative, especially if he’d been basing his impressions of him on Evie’s word as much as what he saw for himself.

Henry opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Jacob rolled over onto his side, so painfully he almost wanted to scream, and faced the window. “Don’t answer that,” he said.

“Good work,” Henry said uncertainly to his back. His steps were quiet on the plush carpet Agnes had bought as he walked to the next car.

It had been too personal to be work—too strangely, uncomfortably intimate—and it certainly hadn’t been good, but Henry was probably more concerned with what mess Jacob’s actions had unleashed this time, anyhow.

  IV.     jokes

Jacob had liked the songs, before. It might have been that he liked the drinking, mostly: the laughing with his Rooks, arms around each other’s shoulders as they swayed happily to the music, the triumphant brandishing of their bottles and tankards as they sang along. He liked being a part of something that wasn’t the Frye name or the Brotherhood, and this was something he had built himself; he was a part of London as London had become a part of him.

If London’s way of toasting him for ridding it of the people who poisoned its streets was a lively ditty to help send them to Hell where they belonged, it was only fair that Jacob should sing along.

The one about Pearl had felt a little distasteful, perhaps, but he’d sung anyway. He didn’t feel so inclined towards being a proper and respectful young gentleman for the sake of a woman who had manipulated and used him and delighted in it to Starrick. It had hurt Jacob’s pride, certainly, but his disdain for her felt righteous because he had needed to make it up to the Brotherhood for his carelessness. If he had his way, no one would ever know of it—not Henry, not George, and certainly not Evie—but for Father, if he was looking down on him and clicking his tongue the way he did when his footing was too heavy.

Still, it felt like a lesson: delight in the poetic nature of an Assassin aiding the Templars by some underhanded machinations, and meet your end at the point of the Assassin’s blade.

So he sang along and welcomed that the people should use Pearl’s death for their amusement like she had used him for hers, and it did not keep him from sleeping at night by any means. It was a good, properly cheeky song, besides.

They wrote one for Roth, too, but to this one, he did not sing along. He’d been doing his damnedest to be himself again since that cursed nightmare of an evening, to find the same satisfied irreverence in his advancement as with everyone else—it almost worked. Still, there was always something empty, and yet so heavy, that stubbornly kept a semblance of normalcy just out of his reach.

As he drank, he half expected Evie to burst in and tell him some institution or other had fallen apart because of him again, but the only thing that was crumbling without Roth was the Blighters. The Blighters, and the part of Jacob Frye he’d built up with admiration and terms of endearment. It was to their advantage, this time, that the Blighters should be crippled like this. And Jacob wouldn't let anyone see him bleed.

The folks at the pub, they sang of Maxwell Roth as they had everyone else before him, because they didn’t know and they couldn’t know what it cost the man who had cut the rope and put the blade through his neck. Jacob listened, tense and queasy, but he couldn’t sit through it. The piano felt like an erratic heartbeat, the words drenched in overly chipper poison, and then—

“—and Maxwell Roth, he then received a very bad review!”

Jacob snatched his hat up, slammed a banknote—not counterfeit, thanks to Evie and none to him—down on the table, and left.

***

“And I am sorry this doesn’t involve something you can destroy,” Evie said.

For a moment Jacob’s ears filled with the thundering roar of fire, again. Like it wasn’t enough, or perhaps because she didn’t know her words drove home something too painful that he already knew, she cut deeper: Father.

Of course Father had never approved of his methods or much of him; that wasn’t new information. But Father was dead, and so was the only man who’d ever shown him approval. Evie was what remained.

Father was right, she said.

It hurt worse than it did whenever their father called him reckless, and it hurt worse than it had when he finally opened his eyes and saw the sort of man Roth truly was. Evie was still here, but she would soon be gone.

Jacob couldn’t even resent her for it; he had only himself to blame.

  V.     rook and queen

The mission did not wait for him to stop feeling miserable; perhaps that was his saving grace.

When Abberline met up with him in the royal guard’s uniform, the ridiculous bearskin hat in his hands, there was something in Jacob that leapt for joy for the first time since the Alhambra. No matter everything he said, all the necessary chastising that his position demanded of him, Freddy seemed to trust him—and Jacob had never, for one second, thought to distrust him.

(Not that it was a mark of his good judgement, all things like Pearl Attaway and Maxwell Roth considered, but Freddy was the better man. Of that, Jacob was certain.)

Like the Rooks, it felt like he had finally built something that was meant to last. Even amidst the chaos and the destruction left in his wake, he had a few things that were solid and steady and that he didn’t owe to Evie or Henry or his father or even George. All this was his, and he wasn't about to lose them like he was to lose Evie.

There was a moment—once, suddenly, one fleeting impression—where that delighted something made him want to grab Freddy’s face and kiss him. What stopped him wasn’t shame: it was that he didn’t want to force it the way Roth had forced his blood onto his lips. If it were to come to pass, better it happen by meeting halfway, somewhere between words of charming sarcasm and reprimands made out of habit, so steeped in familiarity that they only came as half-hearted.

Shame wasn’t for irreverent fools like him. For once, it felt comforting to be so.

***

Jacob was tired of choking because of Roth’s smoke, and now Starrick’s hands. As he dragged himself back to his feet shaking, knowing that Evie would need him to fight in her stead like she fought in his, he heard Starrick speak: “The rook falls, and now the queen.”

Those disdainful words echoed through the vault. They broke through the clamour of the unrelenting battle between Starrick and Evie, rang in Jacob's ears in the spaces between his coughing and his ragged breathing. Starrick's voice was so smooth, so soft even when it was so sharp, and so utterly pretentious.

Jacob almost wanted to laugh, and he wondered if Evie did, too. Had the situation been any other, Evie may very well have primly informed Starrick that it was no use making any sort of reference to chess where her brother was concerned.

When they cut the Shroud free from his shoulders, Evie's blade buried itself deep in Starrick’s chest. “Queen takes knight,” Jacob hissed. His own blade followed—a mere four seconds later—and Evie said, low and dark, before Jacob was even finished speaking: “Rook takes knight.”

They looked at each other and wrenched their blades out in tandem; Evie stepped away, and Jacob caught Starrick to lower him down on the ground. They stood over him and heard his dying words together. It was done.

When they were outside again, eyes squinting in the bright early morning light, Jacob was smiling as though everything had washed away with a tide that had seemed like it might never come. He’d meant it when he told Evie he’d missed her, more than anything he had ever said in his life—and now they were at each other's side again, as it always had been. Evie had Henry at her arm and Jacob was without smoke in his lungs.

He could breathe.

The knighting was secondary in his mind when he glanced sideways, still kneeling, and saw Evie gazing not at Henry but past him. She was looking at him, her little brother, with a smile and a light in her eyes so bright she didn’t even need to speak for him to feel it to the bottom of his spirit.

But she still spoke, coming to his side again as the queen's carriage rolled away.

“Father would be proud of you,” Evie said, her hand steady on his shoulder and her smile gentle. She meant it, too.

Jacob smiled back, but said nothing. Perhaps he would be; perhaps not; perhaps any pride Father might have felt would only be a product of that which he had for Evie, not for him. As he stood beside his sister, Jacob found that it didn’t matter so much to him anymore what their father would have thought; he was dead and gone and Jacob had tortured himself overmuch with the dead, by now.

He heard the pride in Evie’s voice, saw it in her eyes. That was more than enough.

#assassin's creed: syndicate #assassin's creed syndicate #jacob frye #evie frye #mawd does a write #mawd plays ac:s

[simonandbaz]

what could have been

A/N: Here's a drabble that I came up with about what Simon and Baz's story could have been if they'd never become outright enemies. Enjoy.

~~~

Suppose there were a world where happy endings weren't cases of one in a thousand. Where what appears unlikely in reality can be as common as air. Suppose that two boys could have met out on the Watford lawn as fate drove them together and emerged as friends, or at least accomplices, rather than the enemies that they ended up.

Suppose that fate wasn't predisposed to make the roads to the few happy endings that do exist as painful as possible.

It's Simon Snow's first year at Watford, and he's terrified. His entire life, he had been considered unwanted. Not wanted by the parents that he'd never known, not wanted by the people who were supposed to be taking care of him, not wanted by the kids that were supposed to understand what he was living through better than anybody. He's discovered that he was always supposed to be different, but even on the Watford lawn, he's unwanted. He's possibly the most powerful mage to have lived and he's still not magical enough. He's never been enough.

It's Baz Pitch's first year at Watford, and he's walking through enemy territory. This is the place where his mom died. This is the place where he was bitten. This is the place where he'll have to spend his education watching as an egomaniac bastardizes his family's legacy. He's angry, and he's scared, but there's also a sense of contentment there-even after everything, this is where he's always been supposed to end up.

The crucible draws these boys together, and they shake hands because that's what they're supposed to do. Baz says something that Simon finds mildly cruel and pretentious. Simon says something that Baz finds particularly idiotic. But they introduce themselves, and they don't hate each other just yet.

There's a war going on, or at least one on its way to starting, but at the moment, that war doesn't matter. Part of a happier ending is that eleven-year-olds aren't pushed to fight in the wars of their parents.

The first year goes by, and they exist as roommates. They aren't friends, but they're somewhat friendly. They have their routines, but they stick to them for the sake of convenience and not because they want to avoid one another. Sometimes they squabble, but kids that age always do.

(And they both know that they mostly fight over the most inconsequential things. Neither would admit it, but they do.)

Neither boy sleeps their first night away from Watford that Summer. They've each forgotten what life was like without that room, and in a way, without the boy on the other side.

Their second year starts with much less of the spectacle of their first. Simon still tries to punch Baz- they'd forgotten how to work themselves out of stupid arguments- but this is the extent of the conflict. They spend that year much of the way that they did before. Simply existing in each other's space and not minding the other person's presence in their own.

At one point Baz catches Penny sneaking up to the room to visit Simon. He threatens that he'll report her, but it's obvious that there's not much there to fuel those threats. He keeps quiet.

In their third year, Baz starts talking to Simon outside of their room.

It's never about anything important. They're not quite at the point of eating together and trading life stories- after all, there's still conflict bigger than themselves that's pushing them apart- but they talk. Simon will hang out at the football field during practice and Baz will give him a friendly nod. They'll have to partner in classes and actually make decent progress with their work. They're getting somewhere.

In their fourth year, they actually do eat together a couple of times. It's usually at breakfast when almost nobody else is down there, and it's in these occasions that Simon notices that he's never actually seen Baz eat. He still doesn't. He just sits at the other side of the table and talks while Simon stuffs himself with food. It's still not anything important, but it's something.

At this point, Simon is almost entirely sure that Baz is a vampire. He doesn't bring it up to anybody but Penny, and that's only because that's part of what their friendship entails. The Mage is starting to push him to take his future confrontation of the Humdrum more seriously, but Simon's heart isn't in it. He loves magic. He loves the World of Mages. He'll do what he has to to protect it. He just doesn't think it's fair that this burden has to have been given to him.

In their fifth year, Baz realizes his feelings for Simon.

He's not sure when it starts, exactly. It's just that when he looks at Simon, he starts to see more than he did before. He starts to notice that he loves looking at Simon's eyes, as plainly colored as they are. He notices the way that the gold of his hair reflects the light of the sun. He notices just how much he'd like to kiss him.

He has no idea what to do with any of these feelings. He doesn't think he can act on them, because there's still family pressure there, and because he doesn't want to lose the almost-friendship that he has managed to achieve with Simon. He's clueless, but he doesn't hate himself for it. In fact, he's almost relieved that he's figured out where he stands with Simon Snow. Just close enough to fall for, but not close enough to have.

It's during this year that Simon outright asks him about his vampirism. Baz tells him the truth, much to his own surprise. Simon just nods at his explanation as if it's nothing. The way that he goes on about it after, he might actually think that it is nothing.

All the wars get worse in their sixth year. Some start looking to Simon and Baz to take their places among them, but they both resist. If anything, it just pushes them closer together. They talk at night, when neither of them can sleep for fear of what's going to happen when they wake up. They talk about life, and death, and life after death, and every potential that they may or may not achieve. It's a good outlet, even if neither of them would bring any of it up in the daylight.

They have more in common than they'd thought before. After all, they're both just boys trying to live up to impossible expectations. Everything else is just filler.

In their seventh year, they both make the decision independently that this story don't end with one killing the other. They know that it's what's expected. Simon, the Mage's Heir, and Baz, a Pitch and a Vampire. Simon has this idea that these things would suggest that they were practically born to hate each other, and that's why everybody's so insistent of it. What he doesn't entirely understand is that nobody's born to hate. A child doesn't understand anything beyond what he's taught, and only if that hate is taught to him, will it evolve into something terrible.

In the eyes of time, Simon and Baz are still children. The only exception is that they're long past learning to hate each other.

When the Humdrum teleports Simon and Penny at the end of that year, it's when Baz had been right there, walking along with them to pass the time. He's terrified. All of that, and he's convinced that this is how it ends. Not with a fight, but with one second in which Simon had disappeared from his life completely. One second, and then a million after that Simon should have lived through but couldn't.

When Simon reappears later, Baz has so thoroughly convinced himself that he had died that it takes a moment to realize that he isn't looking at a ghost.

Their first kiss is on the first day of their eighth year. Simon had walked into their room to find Baz on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering where the hell this is all going. How it's going to end. It's still day, but they talk about the important things anyway. And by the end of it, they're sitting side by side on Baz's bed, and Simon realizeds everything that Baz had years ago. How much he likes to listen to Baz talk, even when he's trying to be insufferable. Just how lonely he is when he thinks about a future where they're going to be shoved apart, the powers that have always been there in some fashion working at full force. He realizes that he has this moment, even if it's all that he might ever have, and that it's not the type of time that he should waste.

When Simon kisses Baz, Baz leans into it, and for the first time, he doesn't have to worry about where this is all going.

It's going exactly where it needs to be.

They fight the Humdrum at the end of that year. It was bound to happen eventually. Simon's fate has always been one of fantastical proportions, only until then he hadn't known just how extraordinary it would be. Because he has Baz at his side, his one constant for the past eight years. And he has Penny there with him, the only person who's simultaneously been his rock and the one to encourage him to seek the stars.

When they win, there's less loss.

Simon still loses his magic, but he feels like he loses less of his world. The parts of it that matter are still there, just as they'll always be.

It still hurts, but not as bad as it could be.

Because, when it comes down to it, no happy ending actually happens without suffering. What matters is that that suffering doesn't end up in excess, the pain spilling over into every other part of life.

Pain leads to growth. It's just important to keep track of what, exactly, is growing because of it.

In this case, it's none of the bad things.

And that's what it could have been, in a world of miracles. Little ones that nobody sees, building on top of each other, and the larger ones that end up getting counted.

A perfect story told in imperfect moments.

The truest miracle of them all.

#baz pitch #carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #simon snow #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

[rebelheartsmustbefree]

L. Grins, running my hand through my tangled mop.”How’s it going, Wings? Long time.”

W hanging in there. *Chuckles, kicking my feet up.* it has been a minute, Wolf. I hope you're doing well.

L. “I’m always doing well, you know me..”  I chuckled.“Glad to hear you’re hanging in there.....would the hanging be metaphorical, or are you attached to a rope.”

W Metaphorically, Luc. Unlike you and your friends hanging by ropes.. *I smirk to myself, running a hand through my hair.*

L” I don’t hang from ropes Wings; you know that..” I grinned smugly.”Coffee while you're here?”

W You know damn well I wasn’t. You’re referring to you being strung up, Goldie. *I crossed my arms across my chest and nodded.* Sure, I could use some coffee. Thank you.

L My bare feet padded across the wooden boards, the kitchen as neat as it always was. I took out two cups; the machine was constantly on during the day, so it didn't need any heating up. I filled the cups, still chuckling to myself at your response. “Here Wings....” I held out the cup as I padded back across the floor.

W *Somehow, I magically ended up in your house even though you came to me, but I wasn't complaining because your home was beautiful. It smelled like you. All over. I look up and take the coffee from you, smiling softly.* 

Thanks, Wolf. *I blew across the hot coffee, fingers tapping along the sides.*

L “You're welcome, Wings...” I walked past you, the windowed wall open; it was rarely closed. The deck was still a little damp from the rainfall yesterday, but the freshness in the air was perfect. I plonked my arse in one of the wooden chairs.

“Join me out here, Wings....the weather is perfect.” My skin tingled, my spine cracked. Perfect.

W *I chuckle to myself as I get to my feet, my coffee and I make my way out to join you on the deck. The night air had a crispness in it. It felt good and the sky was welcoming.* This place is beautiful. I always thought so. *I lower myself into the other wooden chair across from you, taking a sip of my coffee.*

L “It is....” I inhaled. “Autumn is approaching; the breeze has changed temperature slightly.” I took a mouthful of coffee, crossed one leg over the other. “I remember you like it here; you liked my woods too. It's that angelic streak in you; you appreciate the freedom.” I looked over at you, sat in the chair. “Coffee good?”

W Autumn makes everything feel good. And beautiful. I bet these woods are gorgeous in the fall. *I motioned out towards them, remembering enjoying these woods plenty before.* 

The coffee is perfect, Luc. *I glanced back at you, grinning.* Is that why I like these woods? The freedom, me being an angel and all?

L. I nodded my head in agreement; the trees were like rolling colours, each their own hue of colour. Oranges, reds, yellows, greens, as though an artist had taken his paintbrush and landscaped all of them onto an enormous canvas in the world.

“I do; how many places can you spread those wings of yours? Here you can soar, be yourself, and no one will see or bother you.”

W.  Not many places. Too many curious eyes and dirty, grubby fingers of people I don't want touching them. *I chuckled into my mug as I took another drink of the coffee, my fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic.* 

I did enjoy being out here with my wings those few times. It was nice. It was freeing, as you said. We're not so different in that sense, Lucian. *After another swig of coffee, I swallow and smile over at you.* But in your case, your wolf can be free and run as he pleases.

L. laughed I  at the grubby fingers comment; it didn't surprise me that those beautiful white feathers were a draw, but I also knew you weren't happy with people touching them.

I chuckled. “Yes, I can; why do you think I bought this piece of land?” I stood up and looked out down into the woods. “I had places I could stay or live, but there is nothing like your own, where you can be free.”

W *I sat up at the edge of my chair, hands around my coffee mug as I smiled over at you, nudging your knee with mine.* 

Would you mind if I came and let loose once in a while out here? Of course, with your permission, before I just show up. *I laughed, keeping the why's of that back from my words out loud.*

L I laughed. “Of course you can; no one will see your wings here, Wings.” Then I frowned a little. “But...if you do get seen and  accused of being a UFO or something, don't bring the press here.....”

I looked over at you, deadpan. “I'm too damn hot to be on the front page.”

W *My brow arches, and I keep from being a smartass... for like three seconds.* who says you'd be on the front page? Have you seen me? *I direct my hand from head to toe, pegging your eyes with mine.*

L "Yes.....” My eyes roam down your body, following your hands directly. My eyes returned up, and I returned the stare. “I’m hotter....” I winked and took a mouthful of coffee; my shoulder shrugged.

W You dick. *I laughed and sat back, kicking my feet up as I sipped on my coffee.* I have wings. That has to count for something more than having a perfect dick.

L My eyes close slowly and then open again. “Your wings are spectacular, magnificent. I've never seen anything like them before...I've never met an angel before, so that makes sense...” I laughed. “But....fuck, my dick is perfect.”

W Ah, I see what you're saying. Just because I'm the only angel doesn't mean I'm hot? *I tease before I finish off my coffee, ignoring that comment on your dick because I already complimented it. What a cocky bastard you were.* When these leaves get to changing, I'll come out and have to see them. And you.

I'm here mostly or....” Nods towards the woods. “Out there, or working. You've got wings you'll be able to get in, make yourself at home, you know where the kitchen is. Shower...” I pointed roughly in the direction of the corridor. “Over there.... I don't blame you for wanting to see them after they've changed.”

L “

Wings: Then I'll have to drop in once in a while and let the wings out. It's been a long time, and they need to air out. *I chuckled and got to my feet, stretching before heading back in to leave my coffee mug in the kitchen for you. I took a moment to glance around and take in your scent with a smile before I came back out on the deck.* Nothing like the stars out here.. I envy this kind of view.

L “The wolf loves laying and looking up into the clear sky, the stars making their statements across the sky. He basks in the moonlight that remains uncovered here.” I smiled. “He doesn't like to leave until sunrise on nights like that. You let your wings air anytime.”

W *I smiled down at you, reaching to give your shoulder a gentle squeeze.* as long as he doesn't bite me, I'd love to find an open space and layout with the Wolf and watch the stars. Also, as long as he doesn't bite at my wings, or I'll have to unleash my bad side. *I smirked and ruffled your hair.*

L “You have a bad side?” I chuckled. “The wolf won't bite you or your wings, as long as you don't flap them in his face; I can't promise then.” I felt your hand messing up my already messy hair. “I'm not the wolf; I don't like being stroked,” I smirked.

W Now that's a lie.. *I couldn't stop the words from coming out.* 

Yes, I have a bad side. The wrathful side, It comes out when needed. Not often.   

*I hoisted myself over the railing of your deck and let my wings unfurl.* It was nice hanging with you, Luc.. come by the bar anytime. *I grinned, looking over at you.* keep it sexy, Wolf.. *With that, I was gone and into the night.*

L I watch as the feathers unfold, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips. I nodded in acknowledgement to the invite. 

“I'm the epitome of sex Wings!” I shouted into the night as I watched your silhouette disappear.

…………………………………

W. *I watched as you relaxed in your chair, just as I had left you the evening before. I don't know how I got back here but I did.*

You’re gorgeous, Wolf. *Before I realized the fucking words came out of my dumb mouth. Why. Wouldn't that have been better as an internal thought?* 

L “Of course I am” Throws you a wink with a wicked smirk.

W. Just. -take- the compliment, Lucian. God, you make me want to slap you. *growls*

L “My arse?

W You'd be lucky if that was my target.

L A bellowing laugh explodes from me. “You mean you would be.”

W Honey. You have no idea what I could offer you. Luck is just the tip of the iceberg. *mumbles under my breath about how cocky you are.*

L Cocks a brow. “I’m honey now? Wings, you want to tell me? I mean, you've already said you wanted to slap my arse....” Shrugs. “I can understand it; it's a fucking sexy arse.”

W You're definitely honey. *Smirks* I didn't say I'd slap your ass. And mine is just as sexy, so calm down, egomaniac.

L “You said I made you want to slap me; we both know where and it was nowhere above the neck...” Shrugs. “It's only egotistical if it isn't true...” My hand runs down my abs. “It's undeniably true.” Grins.

W *I roll my eyes, but we both know it's true, but I was hanging on by a thread not to let you visibly affect me.* We need that muzzle for your mouth.

L I let my tongue peek out, pulling my lip into my mouth, probably more slowly than I would have, then my tongue sweeps around my lips once finished, my tongue pops back into my mouth. “Are you telling me you don't want me to speak anymore, Wings?”

W *I watched your mouth a little more than I should have, my eyes snapping back up to yours when I heard your question. I take a step towards you running my fingers along the inside of your forearm.* Did I say that, Lucian? *I swallowed and dropped my hand.*

L My eyes flicked downwards; they followed the trail of your fingers along my skin after you’d stepped forward. “You didn't Wings, but we both know why you wanted to muzzle me....” My voice lowered. “You don't want my teeth sinking into your skin... You’d enjoy it.” I took a step back, grinning. “Coffee?”

W Oh, you just know me so well, Wolf. *I rolled my eyes and stepped back, privately admitting that you were right.* yes, *I clear my throat.* coffee would be great, Luc.

L With a smirk on my face. “One coffee coming up...”

W. You ass. *I saw that smirk and grinned as I followed you out to the kitchen, leaning against it as I watched you.*

L The coffee pot was never cold and was always replaced as soon as it ran out. I grabbed two mugs, filled them and turned back to you. “Loitering too...” I laughed and passed you the mug. “My arse again, you've got an obsession.”

W Yeah yeah. *I wave a hand at you, ignoring your comment.* I'm not loitering! You want me here and bribed me with coffee!

L A brow cocked, and a smirk appeared. “I bribed you?....” My eyes looked at you, stood where you had been when you'd been watching me. “You're loitering.”

W *I took the mug, taking a sip, my brow raised. I set my cup back down and stood straight up from my leaning stance. I had a few inches of height on you, and I smirked as I met your eyes.* You'd rather say I'm loitering than say you want me here.

L.  It always amused me when you stood to your full height, as though you were ten-foot tall and I was two feet. There were inches between us. Those blue eyes glowed into my golden ones. “You were loitering in my way...” I shrugged. “I've already told you you're welcome anytime. I don't reiterate things, Wings.”

W *I laughed softly, using the tip of my finger to brush hair out of your face before I went back to my coffee.* Never mind, Luc. Thank you for the coffee. I'll be sure not to loiter next time. I would never forgive myself if I impeded in the making of coffee.

L “You didn't impede....” I shrugged. “You want to sit on the deck or go for a walk in the woods? If you're busy, then we can save it for another time....” This was how Wings and I were.

W Let's go for a walk, Luc. *I smiled warmly over at you before taking another drink of my coffee.* A walk in the woods and maybe some coffee to warm us up after?

L “Take the coffee with us.” the glass wall was as always open; my bare feet padded across the wooden floor. “Walking is good.....” I smiled.

W *I deposited my boots by the open glass doors before following you out, coffee in hand.* of course it is. And a place this beautiful is always so tempting.

L I could have replied with a retort of how I was too, but instead, I took a mouthful of coffee and made non-committal noises.

W *I knew it probably about killed you not to say anything, I grinned to myself and finished up the coffee in my cup before hopping off the deck. When I landed, my wings came out on full display, letting them shakeout and finally get some air.*

L My head snapped to the side as I heard the feathers of your wings flutter. Still the most amazing sight I’d ever seen. Automatically my hand reached up, touching the quills. “Let's go, Wings.”

W *I smiled warmly, appreciative of the touch. With a nod, we both set off towards the woods. The fresh air ran through my feathers, leaving them quivering to the will of the breeze.* What's your favorite time of day to run free with the Wolf?

L.  As we ran, I weighed up, losing another pair of trousers to the change; I didn't give a fuck; I was used to it. “Anytime Wings....” The words began to deepen as I said them, my muscles already obeying the command from my brain. Was it my brain? I wasn't sure anymore. My body stalled, hitting the floor, bones broke and reset, my muscles stretched and curled. I fought with the wolf in my head to keep control of my brain. I didn't want Wings to become the size of a ravaged chicken. My eyes opened, the wolf's lips drew back as he looked at you, the growl echoed around the trees. His paws hit the floor, not moving; he shook his head and howled. This was the wolf’s land. As he walked past proudly, he snorted and leant back on hunches taking off. The only thing left behind was a growl for you to follow.

W *I would never get used to the transition. With me, the wings came out, and that was it. With you, it sounded more painful than anything. The pants discarded, the snapping of bones, the growls evolving. My wings stiffened in alertness, watching you change from a gorgeous man to a beautiful Wolf. I didn't crowd him as he walked past, but when he took off and howled, I followed him into the woods, keeping a few paces behind you.*

L His head up in the air, your scent in his nostrils, he ran, his muscles straining as the ground below passed quickly, nails digging into the mud. His brain was fighting to get free with my human one; I couldn't let him go. Not now. The trees appeared, disappearing in the blink of an eye. The hues were changing light and dark, light and dark. He could hear the feathers quivering against the wind, his legs straightening, causing his entire body to halt. His head turned, nodded up and down as he growled. The wolf wanted you to fly.

W *Bright fiery amber eyes looked back at me, a snout motioning to the sky. I flashed the Wolf a grin, and my blues brightened to a soft glow as I let my wings spread and carry the wind beneath them. They took me yards above the Wolf, waiting for him to start running again. My wings spread out wide and carried me with ease along the treetops, whistling down for the Wolf to get going again.*

L His ears pricked hearing the sound; his feet left the floor as you flew up. His eyes watched your outline as your wings took you further up, and then he was off avoiding the tree trunks keeping up with your speed. Elation ran through him; I could feel it. His head dropped as his speed increased, the blurriness back of his surroundings, his instinct taking over. The synchronicity of his limbs, his muscles being used to full effect.

W *The Wolf let go and ran, hearing his heavy paws hit the ground, rhythmic drumming in my ears. They were only rivalled by the sound of the wild heart-pounding happily in his chest. My wings carried me higher still, seeing woods as far as my eyes could see, dipping back down to fly over the Wolf as he ran. It was like the air cradled me, keeping me even as my body stretched out from head to toe, wings proudly stretched out and let the air run through those feathers.*

L The Angels scent grew stronger every time his body soared nearer; the wolf's back legs would stretch out, his front ones rear from the floor as he’d jump to meet him. Growls, snarls, chattering of teeth and then back to solid ground again and off. The water that ran through my property fed into an ocean somewhere, the coast far from here, but the beauty of the sound as the river some days ambled some days gushed. Today it was somewhere in between, and that's where his feet were taking him.

W *I could smell the water, and the sounds of it filled my ears. My wings could have yelled for joy if possible. Letting some water run through them was damn near orgasmic. Even better than the feeling of the air streaming through them. I knew that's where the Wolf was heading, and I happily kept up with him until the water was within sight. I carefully dropped down out of the wolf's path so as to not alarm him and got out of my jeans to keep them dry. There was a chill in the air closer to this water, but it felt amazing after flying. So me, my wings and my briefs slipped into the refreshing flow with a happy sigh.*

L The wolf's head turned slightly, his dulled eyesight catching you landing. His paws didn't slow, nor did he wait. He leapt from the bank, four paws leaving the ground and entering the cool water. He ducked underwater briefly; the sound of the flow of water for a brief second filled his ears. His tongue lopped out, and then he was again above the water, his paws and powerful back legs keeping him afloat, his golden eyes watching you entering the water.

W *The water was calm, cleansing, and refreshing. The sounds of it are so relaxing. I smiled to myself as I watched the Wolf enjoying the water as much as I did. I wondered if he was hot with the thick fur and that maybe this felt like heaven to dip into. I swam over towards the natural waterfalls, clear water streaming over a cliff that overlooks the river. It wasn't too highly elevated but enough for me to swim under and let it wash through my wings properly. Now, this.. this was heaven.*

L The wolf watched as you headed to the falling water, my human brain knowing precisely what you were doing. The wolf curled himself up in half of my brain. NO! My whole body began to shake. Fucking wolf. I felt like Bruce Banner attempting to ebb the turn of himself into the hulk. The wolf spun, swimming to the embankment. Perhaps death by drowning wouldn't be that bad. My malformed limbs had already begun the change, the muscles stretching, bones cracking and breaking. Shit. SHIT. The urgency of adrenaline rushing through my veins, the water covered my head, my mouth gasping against the onslaught of water. Fuck. My head stretched against the shallower water; neither myself nor the wolf could survive without oxygen; I gasped. A half paw, a half hand reached for dryland and somehow dragged half my changing body to the bank. My eyes closed as pain ran through every inch of me. 

My eyes opened, I rolled onto my back. “Fucking arsehole of a wolf!” I pulled myself up and looked across the water; you were standing in the moonlight, seemingly making your wings glow with droplets of water on; I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

W *I heard the commotion, and my wings stiffened in alarm before I even looked over to see what was happening.  Even looking, I had no clue what the hell was going on. I stopped myself from jumping into action, but I never took my eyes off the Wolf until the half human, half Wolf managed to slip onto the bank of the river. 

I let out a relieved breath, wings easing back under the water. My heart finally calms when I see you back to yourself, naked and laying on your back. Words were said, but I didn't catch them as I turned and averted my eyes from your naked human form. I didn't need to stare. I already had plenty of visuals to keep in my mind. The thought makes me chuckle as I pull one wing down to run my fingers through it, letting the water get in thoroughly.*

L My feet were hung over the edge of the bank; the cool water was rambling over the obstacle that dared to try and impede its ongoing movement. I watched as you pulled one wing down, those long digits running through the glistening quills. My head tilted, hypnotised by the motion before my senses were online again, half wading through water. I wanted to watch. An urgent pull inside, as though an invisible, pulling me right in. I stopped still. My eyes never leave your fingers. Each stroke, sensual and commanding. Each quill is adorned with sensitivity and care and cleansed of earthly dirt. “They're truly magnificent.”

W *Though I could feel your eyes on me, I finished up with one and turned around to begin the other. My eyes landed on you, wading in shallow water just at the bank of the river. The water clings to you like a towel, low around your hips but covering what needed covered. It was still enough of a sight to make me swallow thickly. 

As my fingers began working through my wings, I called out to you, hoping you'd lend a hand.* 

Lucian.. would you mind helping me?

L For some reason, I looked down at my hands, my fingers, once your question had been asked. I looked back up and nodded, my legs pushed against the water as I walked over. 

“Of course.”

I lifted my arm; the pads of my fingers touched the delicately strong quills; they shuddered beneath my touch. I watched your fingers and copied; I placed a quill in my palm, my thumb running over it, cleaning it back to its purity.

W *A warm smile claims my lips as you make your way over to me. The light of the moon gave us the perfect amount of luminous glow, hitting the water that we could see everything we needed to. As you begin slowly working over the feather you choose, I move on to another.* 

I don't get many chances to clean these properly. It feels perfect to clean them. *I smiled over at you. Your focus was purely on cleaning. It did feel good to clean them, and it felt even better when someone touched them.* 

The most problematic spots to reach are the ones stemming from my spine. My arms just aren't long enough, sadly. *I chuckled softly*

L My head tilted, and my eyes left the quill in front of me. “I will do them...” I grinned at the thought of your arms elongating to be able to reach. I finished off the one I was doing and moved closer to you. I looked at your back, the beautiful wings entwined with your spine. I reached out, touching your spine where the wings connected. Fascinated at being so close. “Does it hurt?” 

I’d seen you soar through the sky on these amazing things but never thought to ask. I separated a single quill gently and leant forward; my nose ran down the quill, I chuckled. 

“You still smell like Wings.”

W *I hum softly from your touch, tracing along my spine where the flesh and feathers become one.* 

It felt like fire racing through me when I shed my old ones, and then these grew in. The pain was intense as they took root and wrapped around my spine. 

 *My wings slightly shiver at the memory.  Seeing my old wings wither and combust on the ground around me while the new ones stake a claim on my spine. My back was splayed open and bloodied until the wings were set up permanently. Your words snapping me out of my fog.* 

Do you think you'll always know my scent, Lucian? Will the Wolf know it as well? *I smiled and stilled my fingers as I glanced back at you.* The both of you are ingrained within me. Just so you know..

L The quills shivered below my touch. I knew that feeling every fucking time I changed. It won't have been anything like you’d experienced. A finger touched your spine tenderly, running down it. My finger halted as you turned to look at me and asked your question.

“Yes, I will always know your scent, Wings...” My eyes are glowing. “The wolf....he never forgets a scent. In years to come, he’d be able to find wherever you are. Overland and sea, he could hunt you down.” I grinned. “Don't be surprised if he ever does.”

W *My grin matches yours, hearing your answer. I liked knowing you and the Wolf could find me anytime it's wanted. I turned back around and continued working over my wings, soft strokes of my fingers spreading them apart and letting the water rise through them.* 

I wouldn't be surprised one bit if he did that. *I spoke softly, enjoying your company, your help and the tenderness in your touch. The conversation came so easy to us. It felt good.*

L I laughed. “He has a mind of his own; you know that Wings...”

I went back to the beautiful quills. My fingers and thumb made sure each inch was cleansed and cleaned. The silence between us was as comfortable as our conversations. I concentrated on the small quills that were below the bigger ones. My fingers tenderly move along those close to your spine. 

“Wings, ....” The word out before I could stop it, I had a choice to continue or leave it there; I shrugged. “They're magnificent.”

W *The particular way your fingertips graze over the base of my wings closest to my spine made me shiver. It was involuntary. Each feather has its own set of nerves, sensations that make it very sensitive.  I bit back a groan and swallowed down to trap it in my throat. 

When I heard you speak again, it gave me chills to listen to the words that followed my name.* 

Thank you, Lucian. *I glanced back and met your eyes.* I feel the same about you and your Wolf.  Magnificent. Truly.

L My golden eyes looked into those bright blue ones, spiralling downwards as though the ocean had opened, and my soul could be pulled from me, my fingers splayed feathers covering them. For a second, I could swear time stood still. An imprint on time. A negative from a photograph. Silence surrounded us.

“Thank you, Wings.” 

Then the world began to move again. I went back to caressing and cleaning your quills as tenderly as I had been. 

“We should swim once we've done this. Can you swim with your wings?”

W *The glowing amber caught the hold of my stare, the blue glowing in reaction to it. That side of me rarely comes out. I smiled and turned back to face the other way.* We can swim. The wings would love another dip when we're done.

It was also rare that you said thank you for something. Usually, after a genuine compliment, your cocky mouth would have something clever to say. But there were no remarks this time, and it felt nice to have you accept my words.* 

I wish you knew how good this felt, Lucian. It's hard to explain. I haven't let many this close to touch them like this. I enjoy it when you do.

L I chuckled. “Should I write a list Wings?...” Amusement laced the words. “Not many could be numerous...” I continued to tease.

“I imagine it feels, in a way, like when someone strokes the wolf but stronger for you as when that happens; my human side is detached from him.”

My long fingers continue to clean the quills, slowly, methodically, not wanting to leave anything uncleaned for you. The quills deserved perfection, and that's what they’d get. 

“We will swim...” My hand touched your shoulder and ran down your arm, then went back to your quills.

#WolfAndAngel

[zaxal]

oh look it’s another day, another group of michael haters in the AD tags.

let’s go ahead and break some of this shit down, shall we?

before we get started, i’m not saying anyone has to like michael. it’s fine to not like a character or their actor or WHATEVER YOUR PARTICULAR REASON IS, but i wanna dispel some of the blatant bullshit i’ve seen.

there’s this notion that michael is somehow a sleeper agent ‘worst bluth’. i don’t know where this comes from, if people are genuinely betrayed when they figure out that he’s a bad person (just like the rest of the family) or if people are holding him to a different standard than they do every other character in AD.

the entire ensemble is filled with characters who are self-serving egomaniacs who are out of touch with themselves and reality. even those not directly related to the bluths are selfish, petty, and outlandish, with characters who don’t fall under that umbrella usually disappearing after a couple of episodes because they aren’t the focus of the show.

so when the entire show is filled with human garbage, why does michael receive so much hate for having basically the same qualities as every other character?

i think it’s because he’s the ‘straight man’. he’s not like gob, lindsay, tobias, buster, lucille, or george sr, where the whole point is that the audience is waiting for them to do something ridiculous again. instead, michael serves (in the first three seasons at least) as our window of relative stability in the storm.

so since he’s not ‘funny’ with his flaws, they aren’t excusable. people don’t laugh them off. (which, really, people shouldn’t be ‘laughing off’ the flaws of other characters, but we do and we excuse them bc it’s funny).

so bc michael fills the narrative and comedic niche he does, he gets all of this bullshit, but let’s go into the characters themselves.

is michael a good father? a good brother?

no. but he’s trying. in comparison to every other main character on the show, michael tries harder than any of them to connect with the people around them. 

let’s start with parenting! lucille and george sr are emotional manipulators and (less often but sometimes) physical abusers who seek to profit off their childrens’ insecurities and use them to keep them in line. oscar goes out of his way to make buster question his parentage then offers him nothing in terms of stability or support. gob calls up steve holt when he wants to feel better about himself then bails almost instantly when his son fails to keep his interest. lindsay and tobias are serial neglectors who rarely knew where their daughter WAS much less if she was fed, safe, doing well in school, etc.

so then we have michael who, yes, pressures george michael. who controls his son a little more than he ought to. who offers to listen then mishears his son’s confessions or blanks them out. michael who doesn’t support george michael’s relationship with anne until the alternative is maeby. michael who is trying to be both the authority figure in his son’s life and his best friend and doing neither well at all.

but as far as parents go, he’s the most present, the most involved. he cares about george michael. he’s trying.

so then, siblings!

the obvious contender is gob, who is so obsessed with michael that he’s willing to do almost anything for his brother. okay, that’s one. then there’s lindsay, whom gob forgets they grew up with because he spares her no thought at all. and buster, whom gob bullies so relentlessly that it’s detrimental to both of them (ie gob hurting himself because he was too busy making fun of buster, and buster filling with so much resentment towards gob that he physically attacks him).

so next up is lindsay. lindsay and michael share a connection that is almost completely one-sided, to the point where lindsay thinks michael has been hitting on her since they were kids. lindsay is so self involved she barely has a relationship with her other brothers.

then little buster, who mitch has referred to as ‘arguably the most innocent’ bluth. as such, he doesn’t openly antagonize anyone, but he also doesn’t make the effort to reach out to them until something in his life needs fixing (just like the rest of them). he’s content to be unhealthily codependent with lucille or lucille 2; siblings whom?

then there’s michael, who has relationships with all three of them, even when all of them have had their turns mocking him, belittling him, and manipulating him for money or for him to take their side in whatever petty argument they’ve had with someone else in the family. michael who indulges gob more than he should and reminds him that he’s better than their father tells him he is, michael who supports lindsay even while telling her she needs to get her shit together, michael who is pretty much the only person who treats buster normally after he loses his hand despite the fact that he had the exact same childhood trauma as gob who is made viscerally uncomfortable by his brother’s missing hand.

so fucking MISS ME with this michael hate that is entirely based on yall forgiving every other character for their sins but crucifying michael for having the same.

and if you made it this far, DON’T TAG YOUR FUCKING CHARACTER HATE. no one in the michael tag is there looking to be reminded that people hate him for basically no reason but because they’re looking for content for a character they presumably enjoy.

#michael bluth #arrested development #wank/ #if yall need this in a snappy meme format to understand it please LMK and i'll cook it up for you :)

[selfinsertdio]

Can u do “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” w/ u and Niles please

HEY ANON THIS SUGGESTION WAS UHHH SO GOOD THAT I WROTE AN ENTIRE MINIFIC, THANKS. absolutely under the cut for length.

Dioniles | Heroes AU | 1.7k | PG-13 for Niles being Niles. Niles-centric POV.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

Niles’s voice rung out low and gravelly, too quiet to echo off the thick stone walls in the grand corridors that housed the Order of Heroes and their summoned help. Pinned between him and the cold rock was Dio, ears flat against its head. The young man bit its lip, refusing to meet the piercing gaze of the archer that towered over it. Their height difference was steep, Niles being one of the taller members of the Nohrian retinue, and Dio, even with the few extra inches tacked on by its ears, was so short as to occasionally be mistaken for a child. Despite this, Niles had come to understand that it was very much an individual of its own company and care, a fact that allowed him to so easily catch it alone.

He murmured in a hushed tone, Dio trapped under his arms. Niles could nearly feel the heat that emanated off of the younger man’s face, and certainly that which came from its body as the gap between them shrunk, smaller and smaller, as the seconds passed. Being the egomaniac it was, Dio’s face contorted in discomfort as it tried to keep up the brave façade it preferred to present to others, but under the pressure of having someone so close, the mask quickly began to crack.

Niles had observed, from their first meeting, that their dear summoner had been averse to even the idea of touch. Whereas many would have offered their hand as an introductory gesture, Dio’s grip remained firm around the flashy weapon that brought Niles forth in the first place. With the other members of the Order, too, Niles had caught the split seconds in which Dio had shied away from a friendly clap on the shoulder, or a celebratory hug. When greeting him on patrol, Niles had taken to his usual routine, finding enjoyment in spitting forth words that would make anyone flush red. And Dio did fluster, in some way, but nothing near the extent he had expected, particularly given the demeanor with which the man carried himself. A lick of its lips, a nervous gesture, gave way to an excuse to carry on with its patrol, but Niles saw without a doubt in his mind the glance back over its shoulder that he had earned from the reserved summoner.

Niles’s mind had been spinning with all manner of deviant ideas since that moment. He continued to watch its interactions, its habits, its daily routine until finally he’d resolved to put a plan into action to test the little hypothesis he’d come up with. Dio tended to take the paths of least resistance around the castle, avoiding others so long as it wasn’t on patrol, and it went alone more often than not, despite the insistence of other heroes that its life was too valuable to keep unguarded. The idea of being stuck with another person at all hours of the day made Dio sick to its stomach, which came as no surprise to the former outlaw. He had no qualms, seeing an easy opportunity to strike. Perhaps his actions were just what the others feared, but he carried no genuinely ill intent - just a desire to sate his curiosity and his need for entertainment. If Dio truly objected, he’d back off, apologize and promise not to repeat the same mistake again: simple enough.

But now, Dio wasn’t pushing him away. Its fur bristled, tail fluffed to twice its size, but no words were spoken to deter Niles, no force shown to push him away. He moved his hand from the wall to its shoulder, admiring the way that it flinched at even such a small gesture. Its chest rose and fell more visibly, giving hints as to the internal conflict that blazed to life within the smaller man. With his other hand, Niles deftly slid his fingers along the edge of its jaw, fingertips thick and rough from years of pulling bowstrings taut. Heat blossomed across his palm as it came in contact with soft skin, and Dio screwed its eyes shut, breathing heavy through its nose as their lips pursed in a straight line, signs of distress clear as day on its face. Niles raised his knee against the wall beside it, capitalizing on the previous claustrophobia he had already imposed. He lowered his face, nestling his mouth and nose in the fluffy, ghost-white hair that obscured half of Dio’s face.

In some small corner of his mind, the thought occurred to him that, perhaps, just maybe, he shouldn’t be tormenting a prominent member of the leading organization in this way. Maybe Dio didn’t have the conviction to tell him off, or had frozen in fear from knowing someone so dangerous had it in such a compromising position. Perhaps something in its past had lead to the distant behavior that they displayed with such subtlety, and fearing retribution, it simply shut down under Niles’s tormenting. There were other Nohrians who were more than likely to turn up their nose at his mere existence, and dreamed-up tales of some unsavory exploit of an outlaw could have easily reached Dio’s furry ears, striking fear into the newly-appointed as rumors often did.

Niles began to pull away. He had no wish to upset anyone, and moreso, no wish to incriminate himself any further than he already had. Leo’s presence was lacking in the current lineup, and there would be few to leap to his defense if he were to get in trouble. He had nearly taken his leave of the trembling man, his head lifted and posture relaxed, before a shaken, hoarse voice caught him off-guard.

“W...Wait.”

Dio’s ears perked straight forward, a serious look on its features, crimson eyes burning bright. Niles looked down at the bristling summoner beneath him, meeting his gaze as his mouth fell open slightly, still half-buried in the haze of his thoughts.

“I…” The fleeting moment of confidence that allowed it to stop Niles in the first place faded away, and Dio suddenly shrank back again. Its tail flicked wildly, and it swallowed thickly, desperate to force down the anxiety that bubbled up in its chest. It stuttered still, unable to manage out anything more than a single word. “Y-Yes.”

Niles’s thoughts swirled, and he searched his memory desperately, trying to remember just what it was exactly that he had tormented the young man with at the beginning of their encounter. The daze he was in before filtered itself away as the current instance became clear as ever to him, and the predatory grin he had become so accustomed to flashing at his victims spread across his face. He was ultimately expecting rejection, and the revelation that their summoner wasn’t pushing him off, but rather, inviting him closer, hit him like a hammer. As luck would have it, he suddenly remembered the question he had posed to it earlier.

“Really, now? And you’ve neglected to share with me all this time? You wound me, Summoner.”

He was quick to adopt the falsetto tone he so enjoyed teasing others with. Dio’s face flushed again, and its gaze nervously darted up to Niles’s single blue eye, and then away to their surroundings, clearly avoiding him. The archer slid his hand down from Dio’s shoulder to its hip, resting his thumb in the feminine curve of its body. Carding his hand gently through its hair, he reached up and caught a furred ear between his pointer and middle fingers, watching as it twitched, and as the man beneath him winced, biting down on its lip to keep steady.

“Go on, do tell. I want to know each and every last scandalous fantasy you’ve dreamed up.”

Niles leaned down, pressing Dio back flat into the stone barrier behind it. Its ears turned away from the archer again, the lighter-colored insides obscuring themselves from view. Niles was undeterred, and each word was sounded out purposefully, whispered into the summoner’s ear, and then punctuated with a quick, but gentle bite to the thin rim that curved along the concave shape. Dio shuffled in Niles’s grip, pressing its chin flat to its collarbone as it squirmed under the ministrations of the other. The moment teeth met skin, it made a small noise through bitten lips, an unmistakable keening that was nothing short of music to Niles. Paws clapped over its mouth, and it sucked in a quick breath, looking up to Niles in the hopes that it had gone unheard. Niles simply licked his lips, a twisted sort of elation flowing through him.

Just as suddenly as he had pounced on his victim, Niles retracted himself, watching as Dio’s paws flexed as if they were lost. One eventually settled to cross its body and grip the opposite arm. Niles gave the young man another look over, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement at how only a few words and a little close contact had brought their summoner to such a level of dishevelment. Dio just gaped, taking the moment to catch its breath as it stared at Niles, wary of whatever move the former outlaw was next inclined to take. The smirk drawn across his lips gave it little information, aside from the knowledge that Niles had it wrapped around his finger, and they were both clearly aware of it.

“My apologies, but I’ve just suddenly remembered a chore I forgot to take care of.” Niles slid smoothly back into the formal tone he was used to taking with his superiors, with Leo and the others of the Nohrian royalty. “Seems we’ll have to cut this short. Let’s continue this stimulating conversation another time, hm, Summoner?”

Niles quickly adjusted his gear back into its proper place, having been slightly disturbed from the ordeal. The moment he turned on his heel to leave, Dio crumpled against the wall, clutching at its chest. Eyes bored into the back of Niles’s head, and though somewhat unsatisfied, he was pleased with what he had accomplished. He knew better than to push his luck, and despite the urge to turn back and make Dio into a whining mess then and there, Niles was aware that patience would do him well. The next time he caught it alone, he’d push his limits a little further, and a little further, just to see how far he could go. With this small victory notched on his belt, Niles felt nothing short of excited to see just where this little conquest would go.

#ask games #diotxt #self-insert #self-shipping #dioniles #heroes au #what a GOOD prompt #also the first really formally written out thing i've done on here!! #thank you SO MUCH anon #Anonymous

[acuaticamber06]

Undertone, Chapter Nine

What. The. Hell. Tumblr?!? I tried to post this via the mobile app. I really did. I get halfway through the chapter and all of a sudden I start getting these pop-up notices that say I’ve reached the max limit for a post. WHAT?!? >:(

Well, I’m up and awake and DAMMIT, I’m POSTING my damn CHAPTER. (Now on a computer. Grrrrrrrrrrr...)

Let’s see how Grillby handles the “ringer”. Hopefully it’s not a ding dong ditch, eh?

Warnings: Light swearing?

Obvious disclaimer: I don’t own Undertale or any of the characters in it, just my own characters. This story is for fun. ^_^

Undertone, Chapter Nine

Grillby stopped mid-kiss and looked up toward the stairwell. He growled soundlessly. There were only two types of people who actually used his doorbell, and nobody delivered anything at 3 AM. That left only one person.

Rin gave his arms a little squeeze before backing out of his grasp.

"Do you want me to go see who it is?"

He shook his head vigorously and stepped into his room to grab a pair of sweatpants and his phone. He was 99% sure he knew who was up there, but he didn't want to take any chances. People who came knocking at this hour were rarely good news.

Grillby held up a finger as he walked past Rin to show her that he'd be back in a minute. She nodded.

"I'll be here if you need me."

The visitor went from pressing the doorbell every ten seconds to doing it repeatedly, and his annoyance grew with every step he took.

Why tonight? Why now? WHY?!?

Everything had just gotten settled back down. He and Rin had developed a routine. She really seemed like she was comfortable again. And she took the lead and kissed him this time!

This ends now. No more disruptions.

The building was rigged up with two different doorbell systems. One set was mounted in the living room of his apartment. The other was a separate button connected to a set in the kitchen of the bar. As he got closer to the ground floor, he could hear that whomever was outside was alternating between the two buttons. As if they weren't clearly labeled. And lit with a big security light. Grillby fairly ripped open the stairwell door and nearly gave the kitchen door the same treatment.

The night was damp and muggy. It felt like it had rained, even though he knew it hadn't. The moon was just beginning to set over some distant buildings, but he almost couldn't see it due to the security light he had installed next to the door. The high humidity created a weird fog that softened the edges of everything he saw. And what he saw was a familiar lilac-skinned Arachnid leaning against the brick wall next to the doorbells, pressing them like an unchecked kid in an elevator who wants to see all the buttons light up.

She stumbled away from the wall when he appeared, a sly smile on her face.

"My charms must be working..." she slurred. "I've seen you out of uniform, but I didn't expect you'd answer the door half-naked."

Grillby didn't have to look as he typed, but he glanced over what he wrote briefly before turning the phone around. He didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.

*Muffet, this has to stop.

"Aw, just come out with me! Let's walk under the stars or take a drive." She sidled up close to him and ran a finger over his bare abs. "Unless you have something...better in mind, Bii-bii?"

Grillby winced at the nickname and held her out at arm's length.

*You're a sweet girl. You taught me everything I know about tea. You own the nicest cafe I've ever seen. This isn't who you are.

"Yes, it is!" She pushed his arm away and sashayed away a few steps before twirling and coming back. "I can fit into the bar scene! I can be your lady of the night! I can be whatever you need me to be."

She batted her eyelashes and dropped her voice to a husky tone. "Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

Grillby set his jaw.

*I want the old Muffet back.

"What?" She blinked in confusion.

*I miss the Muffet who would visit before the bar opened. I miss the Muffet who would stop at nothing to save her spiders. She knew how to be a good friend.

Muffet's eyes went wide.

"A...friend?"

He nodded.

*Yes. That's all I ever wanted from you: a good friend.

"B-but we can do better than that!” ​Four of her hands gripped at his free arm. “We could be more than friends if you'd just-"

*No, we can't. And we won't. I'm interested in someone else.

"You're...wait, who?"

*Rin.

"The HUMAN?!?" Muffet's voice rose rapidly in pitch and volume. She dropped his arm. "I've been trying for months to work up the courage to tell you how I feel and you're telling me that you're interested in a HUMAN?!?"

She began to pace angrily in front of his door.

"Humans don't like us. We don't belong here, and we certainly don't need to be mixing with them! Bunch of soft-headed, self-centered egomaniacs..." She turned three wagging fingers at him. "I am a better choice in every way! Your ugly little barmaid can't even do magic."

It wasn't very often that Grillby got angry, and there wasn't a lot that got under his skin. But Muffet's nasty description of Rin did the trick.

He felt his temperature grow hotter and the flames on his body leap higher. He knew from experience that the taller his flames became, the more distorted his features seemed, until he looked like a vicious creature snarling through a wall of fire. That was how Sans had described it, at least.

It was lucky that he had used magic to protect his clothes, or he would have burnt them off by now.

*Don't talk about my girlfriend like that.

"Your girlfriend?" Muffet scoffed. Then she seemed to change tactics. She reached out to touch his chest. 

"Dump her and let me take care of you. Six hands are better than two-"

Grillby stopped her hand before it could make contact with his body. A purple glow encased it, holding it in place midair. Muffet's seductive smile faltered

*Let me make something abundantly clear:

When Muffet moved another hand, a glowing orb stopped it.

*Rin is a wonderful person and she's extremely important to me.

She tried to move the rest of her limbs, and the purple energy pinned them back. Muffet's expression began to shift to fear.

*I am not interested in dating you, and until you can remember how to be a decent person, you are not welcome here.

"Not...welcome?" She gasped.

*I suggest you start by pouring out all the alcohol in your house.

Grillby stared her down for a moment before he let the magic go. Muffet stumbled back, cradling her hands together as though she'd been burned.

"Grillby, I-"

He held up his phone and she stepped forward timidly to read it.

*I know you're drunk. I know you aren't yourself. You are not a bad person. But you'll have much better luck finding someone special by being yourself than by trying to change into what you think they want.

When she glanced back up at him, Grillby dropped his arm and turned away, not waiting for her response. He closed and locked the door, leaving Muffet on the doorstep.

***

When Rin heard the door shut, her gut reaction was to run across the room and sit on the sofa, pretending that she hadn't been listening at the foot of the stairs. That reaction didn't feel right, and honestly, there wasn't much that she actually heard.

Instead, she stepped out of the shadows and into the light Grillby cast as he walked down toward her.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded. His flames looked a little more agitated than normal.

"Is Muffet okay?"

Grillby rubbed a hand over his face and let out a deep sigh. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pointed to it, and lifted an eyebrow.

Rin produced her own phone.

"Yeah, it's right here."

He extended a hand and she took it, trailing behind him to the couch. Rin took a moment to fold a leg underneath her as she sat. Grillby didn't really sit down as much as he relaxed all his joints at once and hit the sofa with a soft whump.

The air conditioner kicked on and cool air rushed from the vents. Rin could see the outlines of the furniture thanks to the thin sliver of light coming out from her bedroom and Grillby's flames. They seemed a little calmer now.

She studied the elemental a bit closer. His arms were flung out to either side, with his palms open and facing the ceiling. His closed eyes were underlined by highlighted bags and his head drooped down on his chest. He looked so tired.

"So, do you-"

She didn't even get to finish her sentence. Grillby rolled toward her and pulled her into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder. After a second, she cuddled into the crook of his neck. 

Her phone chimed in her hand, and she lifted it to where she could see it.

G* I wish I could speak.

"Why?” She smiled against his skin. “Are you tired of your tall, handsome, mysterious persona?"

G* No. I'd just like to be able to hold you with both hands while I ask you to be my girlfriend.

Rin's heart jumped into her throat.

"You- you want me to be your girlfriend?"

He nodded into her shoulder.

G* We can wait if you want to. I know this probably feels like we're moving too fast. Monsters get attached to people a lot sooner than humans do. I just...I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time.

Rin hugged him tighter. It was as if something was pulling her to him; as if her heart wanted to be as close to his as possible.

"Grillby, I like you just the way you are." She sat back and smiled at him. "And of course I will."

He cupped her cheek with his hand and she leaned into the touch.

"So...Monsters get attached sooner, huh?" She opened one eye to look at him. "How long have you been attached, then?"

The flames on his cheeks turned a little blue.

G* You'll think it's weird.

"No, I won't."

G* It's downright creepy by human standards.

Rin lifted her head up and out of his hand.

"Try me."

He sighed.

G* I first saw you on the night that the stuck-up girl gave you so much trouble at the pharmacy. I thought you were pretty, but I didn't say anything. But it was when she left you here the day her car broke down that I knew.

Rin tilted her head slightly.

"Knew what?"

The blue shade on his cheeks deepened a bit.

G* That I wanted you.

"Really?"

G* I know, I know... it's creepy. But attraction happens so quickly in Monsters. We know for sure whether or not we should pursue a relationship very early in comparison to humans.

"Wait...for sure?" She pulled the blanket down and draped it over her shoulders. "How do you 'know for sure'?"

G* Its easy to tell. There's a...physical change.

​"You change? How?"

Grillby hesitated for a moment before he continued.

G* I don't know if you felt it, or if humans can feel it at all. But humans are at least aware of the concept of a Soul, right?

"Sure." She nodded. "It's everything inside you that makes you uniquely yourself. It's your hopes, your dreams, your memories, your personality- all of the intangible stuff that makes you who you are."

Grillby nodded in agreement.

G* Well, that's the thing: it isn't intangible. The Soul has a physical manifestation. When two people are attracted to each other, their Souls are drawn to each other, and Monsters can feel them pulling in their chests.

Rin's hand reflexively covered her heart.

Is that what I've been feeling?

G* Anyway, it's easy for Monsters to tell how they feel about someone else because the Soul can only be draw out into its physical form when both people share that connection.

"I...think I have felt it. It was like my heart wanted to be close to yours."

Grillby smiled gently down at her.

G* That's a good way to describe it. I'm glad I'm not alone in the feeling.

Rin sat quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Souls can be...drawn out? You can touch them? What do they look like? How do you-

Her phone chimed.

G* I don't suppose you'll let your boyfriend forgive and forget your debt from the move, will you?

Rin stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"Absolutely not! Just because we're official doesn't make me 'free'! I still cost you money to live here, and now that I'm working, I'm not about to cut into your profit margins any more than I already do."

Grillby laughed and sent another text.

G* I didn't think so.

Rin put her hand on her chest as the feeling returned.

"You know, we humans have a saying: 'The heart wants what the heart wants.'" She glanced up at his glowing orange eyes. "And I believe in following my heart."

It was her turn to take him by surprise. She pushed herself forward, wrapping her arms around his torso, bringing her heart close to his. The momentum was enough to tilt him over until they were laying side by side, facing each other.

Rin felt a blush heat her face. She bit her lower lip.

"Can I make my first girlfriend-request?" She asked.

Grillby lifted an eyebrow.

"Can we just...stay like this? For a while?"

Rin felt him chuckle silently as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her nose in his chest.

"Thank you."

***

Sans ran. He ran as fast as his bony limbs would carry him. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night. It didn't matter that he'd spent several hours on a ropes course at Gerson's mercy and that he was exhausted. He ran until he didn't have any energy left. Then he kicked on the magic and used that to fuel the run.

It’ll be fun, he said. Nothing to free the spirit like swinging through the air, he said. I didn’t know Skeletons could get rope burn, he said.

Running, as he was coming to find, was a form of focused meditation. You focused on your breathing or the burn in your legs and chest. You were aware of the energy as you spent it.

Some people sit on square pillows and hum one note for hours. Me? I run past darkened windows and inspire the nightmares of little children all over town.

It was still 75 degrees outside with the humidity off the scale. He could feel the moisture clinging to his bones as he moved. It was not a pleasant feeling. No, tonight was not a good night to go out, but then he didn't really get to choose when these things happened. Anything could trigger a memory and set off a cascade of reactions and negative thoughts. It was when he got to the negative thoughts that he traded his slippers for a pair of running shoes.

Sans rounded the corner and was mildly surprised to find himself a few blocks away from the bar. His runs usually took him away from the source of his troubles...not towards it.

That's okay. It's like facing a fear or something. I'll just run right past it and keep on going.

He picked up some speed and the magic in his eye flared. A few more paces and he could see someone stumbling up the sidewalk toward him. The figure passed shakily under a streetlight, and he saw a flash of purple reflected for a brief moment.

Muffet?

Sans slowed to a jog as he approached the Spider. She was hugging all six of her arms around her chest, as if she was trying to hold herself together. It took her a second to register that Sans was standing in front of her. When she did, her eyes blinked at him blearily and out of order.

"Muffet..." he huffed, putting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "What are you doing out here? The bar has been closed for hours."

She murmured something and hugged herself tighter.

"What was that?" He looked up from his hunched over position.

"Mm...not welcome." Muffet mumbled.

"Not welcome?" He straightened. "Where?"

"The bar. I'm not...welcome at the bar...anymore."

Sans snorted. "Everybody's welcome at the bar. Where'd you get that idea?"

"Grillby."

Muffet shivered in the silence that followed. No one had ever been banned from the bar. Not a single creature, Monster or otherwise, was unwelcome there. It was an unchanging place; a warm slice of home.

"Grillby banned you from the bar?"

Muffet nodded and started to cry. Tears streamed down her face from her eyes.

"It's that...wicked little...barmaid of his!" She hiccuped. "First she convinced...him to be her...boyfriend...then to...get rid of me!"

Sans' thoughts came to a screeching halt.

"Wait, they're official now?"

He put out a hand as Muffet swayed dangerously to one side.

"Mm...going home."

As she stumbled past him, Sans turned to walk next to her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Here. Let me walk you home."

"DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" She screeched, throwing his hand off in a fury.

"THE ONLY PERSON I WANTED TO BE WITH-" her voice cracked with an angry sob. "...hates me."

"But-"

She spun on her heel to bare her teeth at the Skeleton. 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He was silent as he watched her move away. Once she was a block ahead of him, Sans stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jacket and followed Muffet from a distance. He would make sure she got home safely, even if she didn't want his company. He knew she was only lashing out because she was drunk and heartbroken.

But at the pace she set, Sans had an awfully long time to be alone with his thoughts.

Rin is Grillby’s girlfriend.

Keeping his eyes on Muffet, Sans started counting his steps in his head. He really didn't want to think right now. 

***

FINALLY. Jeez, this chapter took forever, but I’m really pleased with how it turned out. Chapter Eight felt a little rushed to me, and I wanted to make sure this one was better. 

I have a feeling that the rest of this week is shot for my Sunday update schedule, but I’ll still try. Maybe I’ll have a burst of inspiration. Did I mention that I’m writing this chapter by chapter? Oy. 

Hope you guys are having a great week! Stay tuned!

Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten

#undertale #undertonefic #grillby #fanfic

[tipsycad147]

How To Use Psychology To Guide Your Color Magic

SL Bear

When you’re just starting out in witchcraft, correspondences are important. They guide new witches through their first spells, giving them structure. After all, many of us have grown up following endless instructions from parents, teachers, and employers who have a set way of doing things and all you have to do is follow the rules. If you’ve grown up with religion, following steps in rituals will already be second nature and correspondences are the perfect roadmap to follow. You want a banishing spell? Simple, use black pepper, black candles, black cord. A money spell? Green candles, green stones, green herbs. I’m not being critical — I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. You want spells to work and capitalising on tried and true methods seems like the surest bet, not to mention the easiest way to get your feet wet. Just make sure your intentions line up perfectly with your ingredients and ta-da! Magic.

As you grow into your craft, however, you learn that witchcraft isn’t a cookie cutter endeavour like school or a random job, with a one-size-fits-all method for success. You develop your own style, you learn what works for you, and you find new ways to practice. It’s important and second nature for us to evolve and grow into better witches over time. The crutch of online correspondence lists can evolve too. You can create your own personal correspondences based on your experience — not somebody else’s — and in doing this your craft becomes your own.

So where to start? I’ve chosen to focus on colour correspondences because I tend to see the most discrepancies in colour symbolism online and in books. The logic behind some of this symbolism often seems a little shaky. Money is green, so money spells require green. But wait, what if I use the euro? It’s rainbow coloured! Nature is more universally green than money. While herb symbolism is based heavily on tradition, colour symbolism changes at random depending on what source you’re using. Today, I’m going to provide you with information so that YOU can decide what these colours mean to you based on your own personality and life experience, making your magic more personal and therefore more powerful.

What’s your favourite colour?

I’m sure we’ve all asked and answered this innocuous question more times in our lives than we can possibly remember. You asked this question in kindergarten of potential new friends you wanted to get to know. You answered this question when you flirted with a new romantic interest. You posed this question when you were just bored, hanging out with someone you’ve known for years. But why? Is a favourite colour so much more informative than, say, a favourite number? Yes, because colours are evocative. A favourite colour can tell you things about yourself that you never guessed.

Colours capture our minds and hearts. Historically, people have turned to colours to heal, tell stories, and spread messages. In ancient Egypt, healers would place their patients in colour rooms or sit people in the path of light refracted by coloured gemstones, specifically tailored for various ailments. The colour red was a go-to in pre-modern medicine across many eras and cultures. Arab physician Avicenna, born in 980, would cover patients in red to cure them. King Edward II of England was placed in a red room to treat his smallpox. The Chinese wore rubies to ensure a long life. In Japan, sufferers of nightmares turned to red to banish them. The idea of a physician using colours to treat a patient today seems slightly ludicrous until you learn that premature babies are placed under blue “bili lights” to prevent jaundice. Perhaps, the ancient world was more sophisticated than we imagine.

World religions have always ascribed special powers and meanings to colours. Islam is associated with the colour green — the colour of paradise. Buddha and Confucius are both typically associated with yellow and gold, but with slightly different taste in robe colours; Buddha wore red and Confucius, black and white. In Christianity, the Virgin Mother is usually depicted swathed in blue and white robes, symbols of divine purity.  

But what do colours really mean? Common knowledge will tell us that red is the most dominant colour that people perceive. Red catches the eye and energises us to act. Or stop acting, if it’s a stop sign. Red’s power is not just psychological, but physiological. In 1958, scientists found that exposure to red light can actually raise your blood pressure. Never underestimate the power of red — advertisers certainly don’t! Huge corporations like Coca-Cola, Virgin Atlantic, and Nintendo all rely on red to grab the consumer’s eye. McDonald’s arches may be golden, but they’re nestled in a bright red background.

That’s not to say that the rest of ROYGBIV is lacking in some power or psychological umph. All colours on the warmer end of the spectrum inspire an emotional response, even the sometimes maligned yellow. While admittedly the traditional colour of cowardice, yellow is also the colour of the sun, which made it particularly important to ancient cultures the world over. And yellow’s sparkly cousin — gold — needs no explanation. People see everything desirable in gold: Valour, wealth, achievement. It sits on the heads of kings and queens. It rings the fingers of the married, a symbol of fidelity and a lasting oath. Perhaps yellow’s problem isn’t its shade but its brightness. Bright yellow can be difficult on our eyes and brains. However, a nice, muted yellow is pleasing.

Orange can be a tougher sell, at least in western eyes. In Asia, orange is associated with spiritual enlightenment. In the west, at least in certain shades, orange is more garish — the colour of second-rate sodas and children’s TV networks. Perhaps, as one psychologist posited, it’s all about climate. People in warmer climates love orange’s warmth and brightness. It’s all around them, in the sumptuous flora and the delicious fruit. It has similar aesthetic qualities to red, in that it brings out strong positive emotions, but they’re less intense — red’s little sister. Where red denotes passion, orange brings fun and youthful exuberance.

Warm colours, orange in particular, are often indicative of levity on the stage and film, even in the characters themselves. What colour is Peter Pan’s, Pippi Longstocking’s, and Ron Weasley’s hair? It’s believed that warm colours induce such good feelings, that warm lighting can even make you feel like time is slowing down. Warm colours are inviting. Extroverts are even said to prefer warm colours, because of their lively natures. We relate to them; even our skin tones are naturally warm.

But don’t discount the introvert’s preferred palette: Blue, green, indigo and violet. You don’t want to be energised all the time — sometimes you want to cool down. Green is regarded as the most calming colour. The colour of nature, of life’s continual renewal, and probably the only member of the Cool Family we really want to eat.

Blue is also generally interpreted as a peaceful, divine, intellectual or transcendent colour but, as with other cool colours, our perception is deeply dependent on context. We might see ourselves as “red hot,” but nobody wants to be blue (or green), literally or figuratively. Warm lighting makes us feel good (and look good), but cool lighting brings out the flaws and brings on the migraines. Purple generally gets a better psychological rap. It’s an exotic, egomaniacal colour which represents opulence and commands attention. Luxury goods (excepting Taco Bell) and royalty favour the appeal of purple and indigo to set themselves apart. In fact, Julius Cesar declared only the emperor may don purple robes. It’s said that the artist’s favourite colour is usually purple (or artists formerly known as…). While the cool tones heavily depend on context for their appeal, they still manage to claim the world’s favourite colour: Good ‘ol moody blue.

Black and white are special cases. In terms of light waves, white light contains all the colours in the visible spectrum and black is the absence of all light. In a physical form such as paint, it’s just the opposite. Black is all colours mixed together and white is the absence of colour. This duality perfectly mirrors the interpretation of black and white across cultures. Black is visually impactful — a startling absence of colour and vitality. Almost universally, black is associated with heavy, dark emotions. It can express foreboding, authority, formality, and even death. But there are really two sides to black. Black is often the colour of mourning and sorrow, but a little black dress is the epitome of sexiness. Black is the colour of intriguing mystery and the unknown.

White is generally associated with purity, rebirth, and cleanliness. But white is also sterile and empty. Interestingly, China flips the association of black and white with death and life. White is the mourning colour, and black is more commonly associated with life. Black and white together are even more stark and eye-catching. Naturally, the combination of black and white has intense symbolism. Yin and yang, dark and light, life and death. You can’t have one without the other. They are opposites whose visual power is enhanced by the other’s presence.

Personal Rainbow

With this information, we can base our colour choices in magic on logic and psychology instead of arbitrarily assigning associations. Most importantly, you can base these colour choices on your own personality. Are you an introvert who would like to be more outgoing? Turn to warmer colours to boost self-confidence. Do you live in a cooler climate? Icy colours will feel like home and you’ll connect with them more deeply.

Instead of turning to green for money and luck spells, look to violet and gold — the luxury colours worn by rulers — and save the green for calming spells and spells with a strong natural element: Rejuvenation, new beginnings, and spells focused on mothers. I live in colourful Colorado, so while blue is a calming colour to me (the association that pops up over and over), primarily it’s the colour of the Rockies and the sky, powerful entities that loom over my city and seem larger than life. For me, blue in spells means natural wonder, immovability, and majesty. However, for someone living by the sea, blue might mean changeability, harvest (fishing), or peace. Someone living in the city might see blue as elusive — the colour shining between buildings, or only seen on trips away from the city.  Maybe to you city witches, blue is industrial and commercial — the colour of cars and billboards.

Not only will your colour association change based on your location, but your perception. How do certain colours make you feel? How do you connect and react to them because of your own personal experiences? Black is the colour of mourning, but to a witch, black is the colour of mystery, of the wonderfully peaceful night. It’s the colour of cats, of recently burned sigils and ink scribbled into grimoires.  Black is the backbone of our witchin’ aesthetic. It’s the colour of magic at work!

So, witches, for the first time ever I’m giving you homework. Before working any more magic involving colours, sit down, get centred and make a list of colours. Next to each colour, write down exactly how this colour makes you feel, what it reminds you of, and if it’s for “positive” or “negative” magic. Access your psyche! Rely on yourself for your correspondences and watch as this brilliant world of colour magic starts working wonders for your spells!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/how-to-use-psychology-to-guide-your-color-magic