#negative that automatically meant i was fine otherwise.
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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter one
well it's love, make it hurt series
one: sharpen your teeth, sink into me
series masterlist | next chapter
dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader
Word Count: 3.2k
Summary: You touch yourself when the Mandalorian is away, and he punishes you for the first time.
Warnings: BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom!Din Djarin and sub!reader, soft dom!Din, masturbation (f), anal sex, pussy spanking, crying, dacryphilia, no y/n
Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 10: Anal/Crying. Inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list
also on aO3
3 ABY, Summer
You were a little feral. Alone for a very long time, gnawing and clawing for survival. An effective hunter, lethal and quiet, but wound so tight. Always coiled and waiting to run. Not bound or beholden to anything.
He, however, had been beholden to the Creed for as long as he could remember. All the choices he made were in service of his people. He wouldn’t change that, didn’t harbor negative feelings—but it made a particular flavor of power intoxicating. Hunting was an essential part of his life, but also, when he flexed an upper hand and manipulated the situation to his favor? Well, that was everything.
So the way you just… fell together? It made sense.
One day, when he had you pinned against the wall of the Crest, three fingers deep in your pussy, he tilted his head to the side to study you and said, “I’d like to try something.” You were up for almost anything, and so, he had cuffed you and teased you, used you, watched you realize you had nothing, that you had to beg and plead, and—
Well. It was hard to explain. Something had come undone inside you that day, like he had cracked open your ribcage and taken out the rabid mynock that beat against your chest all the time.
It had only escalated from there.
Needless to say, your sex life was leagues better than it had been on Cantonica, you made about 20% more with the bounties you could take now, and best of all—you finally got to see some of the galaxy. Even if most of the planets were seedy at best.
The one thing you missed, though, was some fucking alone time. Mando was always there. And the Crest was not private. You got about five minutes to yourself in the fresher, but otherwise, he could just pop up any time.
And he did.
Silently.
It was unsettling, actually.
So when you landed on Sullust, a planet you had very little interest in exploring after the first five minutes, you skipped the market trip. You didn’t need anything, and Mando was looking for some part for one of the many systems in the Crest held up by hope and frantic welding during an emergency. With more money coming in, he could afford to fix things before they broke (again).
With Mando gone, you sprawl out on your bed and pull out your datapad. You had started a book, months ago, but hadn’t had a chance to continue. Not because you didn’t get time to read, but because Mando had a terrible habit of appearing over your shoulder, and you didn’t want him to see you reading a romance. It would hurt your reputation.
And also, it was mostly sex.
It wasn’t like you meant to break a rule. It was so new and the habit so old that slipping your hand into your leggings and leisurely stroking your clit was automatic. A muscle memory. It had been, for a time, one of your only physical comforts after long days and nights on the hunt.
Far sooner than you expected, the ramp opens with a hiss. You rip your hand out of your pants, breathing ragged and face flushed. You shove the datapad into the crack between your bed-crates and the wall.
How the hell was he done that fast? Oh, kriff, did it smell like pussy in here? Why were you worrying that the man who was fucking you on a near-daily basis would know you had touched yourself?
That’s when you remember the rules.
Fuck.
“Did I wake you up?” he asks as he enters, noting your messy hair and rumpled blanket.
“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say.
He sets down the hunk of metal and a handful of wires—oh, you should really learn more about ship maintenance if you’re ever going to own one, you think, trying to puzzle out their purpose.
You may have been distracted by the parts, but he was distracted by you. The flush spreading down your neck. The faint sheen of sweat on your brow and between your breasts, the soft, utilitarian tanktop doing nothing to conceal them.
“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.
Oh fuck, he knows. He absolutely knows. You look down, away, anywhere but his intense stare.
“Cyar’ika, I expect an answer when I speak to you.”
“I—nothing?”
He puts his hands on his hips. “You want to try that again?”
Getting trampled by a Bantha would be preferable to admitting you were afraid. Maybe nervous was a better word. You're sure he wouldn’t really hurt you. But when you had agreed to this—enthusiastically—you hadn’t asked what happened if you didn’t follow the rules.
There weren’t many, and they were purposefully vague. Not in a way that would trap you into misbehavior but allowed for flexibility. Be respectful. Follow orders. And no pleasure without permission. That was his to enjoy, he explained.
“I forgot.”
“You forgot what?”
“I forgot, you know. Um. I forgot I couldn’t…” Maker, was he really going to make you say it?
He sighs. You were so, so new to this, and while so eager to please, he could see you looking for an exit. An escape.
Should he soothe you? Gift you platitudes and reassurances? Grant you a one-time pass? No, it was too soon. You wouldn't be able to trust him to take care of you if he didn't enforce the rules.
Or should he prey on you, taunt you, and make you beg his forgiveness?
No. As much as he wanted to, no. That would have to be for later, when you had let go of your pride and defensiveness, when you stopped suspecting his attentions were a cruel prank.
“Stand up and bend over the bed,” he says, crossing the room to approach you.
For a second, you hesitate.
He holds a breath, letting you choose what happens next.
You work your jaw from side to side and then grit your teeth, something sharp taking over your eyes. You hop off the bed and bend over it, balling your fists in the sheet.
Relief spreads, tickling goosebumps down his arms. “Good girl,” he murmurs, setting a hand on the small of your back. “You were about to tell me what you did?”
“I touched myself. I forgot about the rules.” You were talking into the mattress.
“Where’d you touch yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, stroking your hair.
You squirm. You don’t want to say it. You aren’t a prude, but the weight of his focus makes you feel raw.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume it was everywhere.”
“No! No, I promise. It was just my pussy, I promise.”
He hums, continuing to pet you while he thinks. “I’m going to give you a few choices. First, obviously, is that you can use your safeword, and nothing happens other than a discussion of what you do and don’t want. Second: it’s late and you’re tired. We can pause this and handle it after we get the bounty. But I won’t fuck you until then, either.”
You whine a little, and he shakes his head.
“Or the third option: I punish you now and fuck you after.”
“That one,” you say after a minute of real consideration. You are a little scared, but the idea of waiting, possibly days, to find out what would happen made you feel a little sick.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “Spread your legs more, baby.”
“Oh, fuck,” you moan into the sheet, sliding your feet apart so he had full access.
One hand still resting above your ass, he brings the other up to cup your mound through your thin, damp leggings. “Why do you need to be punished?”
A whimper. “Because I was bad.”
“Need you to be a little more specific than that.”
You take a deep, trembling breath.
He fights the instinct to demand an answer, a sudden jolt of excitement as your brow furrows. It's been a long time since he met someone who really wanted to do this, truly wanted to submit and not just have rough sex, who wouldn’t just say what they thought he wanted to hear so they could get to the “fun” part.
“I took what was yours,” you say softly after a minute. “I disrespected you by only thinking of myself.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” swept from him on an exhale.
Later, he would recognize the way it hurt for a minute, the way the rush of affection seemed to tighten around his lungs rather than his cock.
For now, he rubs his hand on your back. “I think,” he say slowly, “that since you gave yourself pleasure, I have to take it away.”
“Okay.” You feel like you're shrinking, like your body is folding in. His hands, despite the gloves, burn through your clothes where they molded to your curves. Every contact point between you is alight.
“Ever had your pussy spanked?” he says.
You had suspected that was his intention, but the blunt question has you sucking in a sharp breath. “No, sir.”
“Okay. Then you don’t need to count this time. Just take it.”
Before you can reply, he pulls his hand back from your cunt and brings it down.
“Fuck,” you bite out, momentum lurching you forward, the edge of the crate biting into your stomach.
He gives you a moment, watching as your face contorts. It certainly wasn’t a hard hit, but he hadn’t gone easy on you, either. Couldn’t. Your first punishment had to be memorable.
“Do you need to use your word, cyar’ika?”
“No,” you huff through gritted teeth.
So he hits you again.
You had tried to brace yourself, but it stings, and you yelp.
This time, he doesn’t wait. He smacks you hard, back-to-back, with no reprieve.
You squirm and writhe to get away, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned. It's only ten, but you're shaking when he finishes.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, guiding you to standing with a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into him. You cling onto him, fingers clutching the top of his chest plate, arms pinned between your bodies, and face buried in his cowl.
“Are you crying?” It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because what were quiet tears turn into full sobs. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. You did so well, cyar’ika.”
“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.” He holds you tight and lets you cry it out until you quiet, sniffling a little. “Feel better?”
You nod. And then you shake your head, and his stomach drops.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t even get punished without—without—”
He doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.
You reel back as far as his arms let you.
“No, no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I just should have realized sooner. It felt good, didn’t it?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. It hurt a lot.” You don’t look at him, shame twisting your lips into a scowl. Your streaked, raw cheeks and watery eyes make his dick throb. “It just—I had to try so hard not to cum.”
The Mandalorian’s self control is as strained as his cock. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good to know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that was only half your punishment?”
Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and tears threatening to spill. “Oh.”
“I said I’d fuck you. But I don’t think your greedy little cunt deserves any more pleasure today, do you?”
“No, sir.”
He wonders if you’d hate him if you saw the way he smirked behind the helmet. The way he wanted to grin, wild and teeth bared, and pick you apart just so he could put you back together.
He thinks you’d probably like it.
“You took that so well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you what. You can choose. You want me here…” he brushes a finger across your lips, which part sweetly for him. The tip of your tongue peeks out to greet his glove, and he does grin, then.
“... or do you want me here?” he slides his hand down your back and over the crest of your butt.
“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.
“What’ll it be?”
You take a shuddering breath, another tear falling as you squeeze your eyes tight. “I want whatever will please you most.”
He shakes his head, something fond and soft clawing at his ribcage. “That’s sweet, but if that’s what I wanted from you, I wouldn't have asked. I want you to choose.”
“Okay. Then the second one.”
“Then what? Ask nicely.”
A whimpered moan escapes you. You mumble something.
“Gotta speak up, cyar’ika, or I’ll think you don’t want to be fucked at all.”
“No!” you squeak. “No, please. Um. Please—” Your right leg jitters a little as you chew on the words before spitting them out. “Please fuck my ass, sir.”
“Of course,” he strokes your cheek. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You shake your head and let him turn you back around, pushing down between your shoulder blades until you’re bent flat across the bed.
“Anyone had you here before?” he says as he rolls your leggings down to discover you aren’t wearing any fucking underwear. He helps you step out of them.
“No,” you say, arching a little as he rubs a gloved hand up and down your leg, stopping just below your cheeks.
“You sure you want me to?” He pauses his caresses, weighing his restraint. He’ll have to go slow. Maybe he should just fuck your mouth, where he can take as much as he needs from you.
But then you speak. “Yes, please, sir. I want it to be you.”
He has to ball his hands into fists and release a few times, trying to stay rational and not just give you what you’re so sweetly begging for.
“It doesn’t have to be now. We can wait, and I can make it better for you, when you’re not being punished.”
You turne your head to the side against the mattress, and he can see your bottom lip trembling.
He sighs. “Just tell me first: are you trying to punish yourself more?”
“No, I want it. Please. I’ve wanted it for months. I—please.”
“Okay, cyar’ika. You tell me if it’s too much, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
You hold very still as he peels off his gloves. You won’t be able to see, and there's no way he was doing this with the gloves. Not this time, not with the gift you’re giving him.
When his warm hand rubs over your ass, you gasp. He draws away reluctantly to pour a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it carefully before coating his fingers.
He sinks to his knees. With your legs spread, he brushes a finger over your hole, watching the way it twitches and basking in your quiet moan. He rubs soft circles, working the lube around before gently pressing in. The first finger goes in so slowly, and you keen low, muffled by the sheet. Your thighs shake with the effort of holding still.
“Good girl,” he croons, withdrawing his finger to add a second. He repeats the slow, cautious process, pressing in and out. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Relax.”
Relax? How did he expect you to relax? The sensations were so intense you thought you might shatter.
When he finally adds a third, you cry out. His fingers are so thick, and you are so, so full. You startto doubt you’ll be able to take him.
But Mando is a patient man, even with his cock angry and leaking. He doesn’t stop until he's sure you're ready. When he withdraws his fingers from you and stands up, you whimper.
“Scared?”
“A little,” you tell the sheet.
“I’ve got you, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well for me. Still want to make me feel good?”
He waits until the first “please” before notching himself at your entrance and pushing the very tip in. Anything else you had been trying to say is choked off.
He had prepared you well, but you were still hot and tight enough that he almost loses his composure. Almost shoves hard into you until his hips slam against yours. But instead, he grips them, sure to leave bruises behind.
You hold your breath. The burn is agonizing, but the wait is worse. When he's settled fully in you, he holds himself in place while you squirm.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper. It was the only thought left in your brain other than “Mando” and “full.”
Despite his iron grip, his hips jerk a little. When he speaks, it's around a clenched jaw. “Can I—fuck—can I move?”
“Uh-huh.”
He pulls back, a loud groan in time with the tug of his cock. His hips jerk forward immediately, seeking your soft warmth.
“More,” you grunt through a thrust. “Please, sir.”
That was the end of him. Or at least of the calm, collected Mando. Your sweet voice begging snaps something cerebral, and he snarls, pulling out just to slam back in. He sets a rough, rushed pace.
With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down on your lower back, he takes. He takes and takes until you don’t have anything to give, your hands desperately clutching the edge of the crate just to stay where he had placed you.
Each thrust leaves you raw somewhere behind your sternum. You're crying again, hot tears running sideways across your face to the sheet, scrunched and already soaked with spit.
“You can cum if you can do it like this,” he says between pants. “Don’t touch your clit.”
You couldn’t reach even if you dared to, only able to hold on and accept him. To be used and cared for.
You know you won't be able to. It feels good, but the pain is just on the wrong side of sharp. You don’t want him to stop, you might die if he did, but it wasn’t going to happen like this. It was kind of him, anyway.
And there was something pleasant about just existing there for him to fill. It made you dizzy to think about.
“Want it inside, sweetheart?”
You nod desperately, the rough linen scratching at your raw cheeks.
It only takes a few more thrusts until he grinds his hips against you, pushing as deep as he can, crooning praise.
“So good, cyar’ika, perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, letting me have this. Fuck,” he whimpers as he begins twitching inside you, wet ropes of cum flooding you and leaking out around his cock.
He eases out carefully, scooping you up before sliding to the ground against the crates.
“Hey,” he murmurs, helmet resting gently on top of your head. “Are you okay?”
You tremble but nod against his chestplate. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“All is forgiven, sweet girl. I promise. You took your punishment so well.” He holds you tight and refuses to acknowledge the ferocity gnashing its teeth in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like devotion.
*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday
#din djarin x reader#mando x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin x f!reader#dom din djarin#kinktober 2023#the mandalorian smut#the mandalorian fic#din djarin smut#make it hurt verse
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Dude re: the sex toy post, I absolutely will not let go of my hc that Greg fucking loves anal and dicks himself down with sex toys on the regular, but has never found anyone to do it to him in real life
DUDE have you been reading my mind I was super tempted to make a post about Greg being a huge cockslut not long ago.
He’s an absolute size queen too. Greedy bastard wants it all 😂
I am such sucker for bottom Greg (and sub Greg but that’s not the subject here although they’re kinda related here. Obviously submissiveness and bottoming isn’t automatically synonymous of course but it is for Greg i think)
Like I just can absolutely see him loving it but like you said he’s never really done it with anyone? People tend to expect him to top because he’s a big guy, you know. People assume he’s a top.
And he’s a people pleaser so he doesn’t really push the issue which leads to him not getting fucked into the mattress like he so desperately wants to be.
And he just likes how it feels. He likes feeling full. He’s such a greedy little cockslut when he finally gets it. He wants it all.
So he’s been kind of stuck mostly with his fingers and toys for penetration. Which he uses his..regularly. Admittedly more often than ever before after he meets Tom
And Tom pushes him around both physically and otherwise. Like Nic said he pushes him, pokes him like “I can do whatever I want to your body” and that’s that.
And that’s what Greg wants but in the bedroom. (Or wherever) not in a fight me in the office sense
It’s so easy to imagine Tom fucking him. Manhandling him effortlessly. It drives him insane.
It certainly wasn’t attractive at the time but sometimes he thinks about the time he pushed him down in the snow that one time after telling him about Shiv. How easily he forced him into his back.
And goddd you know Tom’s “I have a dick like a red sequoia and I fuck like a bullet train” has been living rent free in Greg’s mind ever since. It haunts him.
I still can’t get over that scene. How he just loses any sense his usual nervousness and becomes laser focused on cock and goes right into brat mode “prove it”
My dude wants to be dicked down SO bad. I mean look at him. god he has no thoughts about anything but cock in that pretty head of his there
Hmmm…
Also this is just some random thoughts I’m having on the matter regarding Greg bottoming but also internalized homophobia
There’s also this kind of thinking for him where bottoming is like gayer than topping somehow so it’s all wrapped up in a bit of his internalized baggage there.
Like he’s gay and he knows it. He doesn’t want to be. It makes him think of his dad. (I doubt Marianne meant for Greg to hear back handed comments said out of anger about his father and internalize them but..)
There’s this negative connotation there for him because he associates it with the destruction of his family. He doesn’t objectively think being gay is wrong in general but him being gay is because it makes him like his dad
He’s slept with men but he tops. He doesn’t particularly want to. It’s fine but he wants so badly for someone to fuck him. He just can’t bring himself to ask for it.
He can try to fool himself into thinking he’s less gay than he is since he topped at least. Even though that’s not how that works, Greg.
He’s never been deeper in the closet than he is at Waystar though for obvious reasons. The homophobic atmosphere definitely does not help him with his own internalized issues.
The way the phrase “getting fucked” is constantly being used in a derogatory sense by everyone. It kind of reinforces this feeling that it’s wrong to actually want.
He sees it as some kind of embarrassing thing to want, to admit to wanting so badly? Which makes it simultaneously more unnerving and more attractive to him because of this sort of “I’m doing something naughty and wrong” kind of feeling.
And he wants to be called on it almost because he doesn’t like admitting to even himself. He wants Tom to hold him down and make him admit he’s a greedy little cockslut and have him beg for it.
It would be freeing to finally admit it out loud. (And maybe deep down he just wants someone to tell him it’s okay to want. It’s just a preference it’s not a bad thing.)
Alone though he’s fucking himself regularly and he just loves it. It’s easy to forget about shame when he’s alone in his bedroom and he feels so good. He knows he’d love it even more if it was someone else though Tom but..
(Hm..he should homophobically bully himself in the mirror again about wanting to be fucked)
When he finally gets it though he’s gonna be such a needy little slut.
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More Headcanon Stuff
Since everyone likes my post about Permits and shit: Here’s more BNHA World Building I use for fics!
Hero School: The Actual Hardest School to Get Into
UA is not, as mentioned previously, that hard to get into. It’s based on a statistic taken out of context, and also because almost the entire country applies but doesn’t get into the hero course.
The hardest school to get into is actually called Shīrudo Academy and is an intelligence-based heroics school.
The exam is twelve hours long and you must get a ninety percent to be allowed in.
The graduates of this school go on to enter the intelligence-based heroics field. They train for years, learning undercover tactics, code work, information gathering and interrogation techniques.
Shīrudo Academy is one of five hero-based programs that do not just include high school but also university. Meaning, you enter the Academy and then leave Shīrudo Institute before you are considered finished.
Second Chance High School-University
Okay not translated because I can’t find like a good translation for this.
Anyway, SC is a high school/university geared towards potential heroes who have black marks on their records, or have criminal records.
SC does NOT accept those who have: Sold drugs, committed Sexual Assault or committed First Degree Murder.
SC is meant to help those who have potential as heroes but have things holding them back. Like Shirudo they are a combination high school and university program. They operate on a ‘Ten Strike’ program in which you have ten attempts to change your ways before they expel you.
They take extreme cases, or on occasion get transfers due to the Red Flag Protocol.
Red Flag Protocol
I fully believe while most hero schools are allowed to run how they want- UA a prime example- there are some general policies or rules.
One of them I call the ‘Entitled Brat’ rule or as it’s called officially ‘Red Flag Protocol’.
Red Flag Protocol is when a student…
-displays signs of extreme violent behaviour
-acts shocked upon being reprimanded
-refuses to listen to teachers or ignores reprimands, acting like it’s a jok when walking into detention
-being shocked to be actually punished and attempting to argue
-displays Quirkist behaviour to Quirkless individuals or those with ‘weaker Quirks’.
-attempts to establish a hierarchy with them at the top and enable them to bully others.
-displays illegal behaviour
-displays sexual harassment to others
The Red Flag Protocol is used in hero courses as there are multiple cases a year when problematic, disturbing or illegal behaviour is noticed in students who had entered the school.
This is due to the status that is given to middle schools that comes from having someone from their school become a hero. As well, there is a monetary fund given to middle schools when they have a student make it a year in a hero course program for high school.
With an emphasis on strong Quirks and brash personalities, it’s no schock that these have become a protocol to watch out for these behaviours.
The student operates on a five-strike program when placed into the protocol. Five strikes, they’re either removed from the hero course or transferred to SC.
Anti-Cheating Board
The ACB is a board sent out when allegations of cheating are made on any test, or when a complaint is lodged that someone is accused of cheating without proof. It is not just for Hero Schools but also for any schools.
The ACB is made up mostly of people who are able to either detect lies or force people to tell the truth. All possess Job Specific Permits for their Quirks.
The ACB is always working because there are a lot of cheating allegations. In recent history, the Aldera school came under fire for accusing a student of cheating fifteen times and had the ACB called in. Now, they have a member of ACB come in to oversee all testing done to prove no cheating is occuring. The school was fined for their Quirkist views due to the student in question being Quirkless.
Homeschooling Program
According to my research, Japan doesn’t allow homeschooling, however, with Quirks I propose that there are some Quirks that could pose a risk to other students. Such as: Quirks that require equipment that if damaged could cause death, injury or other. Or sentient Quirks that are near impossible to control.
Children with dangerous Quirks as well are allowed to be homeschooled. However once control to a reasonable level has been reached, the child is required to enter regular school.
A small scandal came about when Endeavour, Number Two Hero, attempted to have his youngest classified as someone with a dangerous Quirk that required more training. It was proven to be false and Endeavour fined for false filing.
Dangerous Quirk Regulation Bureau
The DC is responsible for tracking those whose Quirks are regarded as a Class 9 on the Quirk Scale. Any Quirk that can cause death or injury or cannot be turned off that influences others is under their view and they monitor them. They provide funds if needed to help control their Quirk.
Often these people enter into Heroics or Military service due to the fact they are regulated.
Quirk Scale
The Quirk Scale is a scale meant to measure how dangerous a Quirk is. (A lot of this is kinda vague so I use examples)
Class 1: Minor Quirk that only affects the person using it. Does not affect anyone or anything else. Example: Colour Changing Eyes.
-Exceptions are caused for those who while their Quirk does not affect anyone else, it can make them unnoticable. Example: Shapeshifting. Spinner resides here. Nezu resides here to only on a technicality that he loves to debate with the Bureau on. They gave up and just slap him with a ‘Class 1 but Class 9 danger’ label.
Class 2: A Quirk that affects other people or things outside the body. However is low-powered and does not negatively affect others without it being on purpose. Example: a low level teleckentic or someone can make a small flame but barely enough to roast a marshmallow.
-Note: Ojiro actually technically is in this category as his Quirk can affect others but requires it being on purpose.
Class 3: Quirks that affect others or things with greater power. A telekentic able to lift larger weights or a fire user able to produce more fire.
-Hagakure is here because while her Quirk only affects her, it can also enable her to spy on others. Sato is here to, along with Sero, Jiro, Asui, and Shouji. Kirishima and Iida are in this category due to a technicality on the fact they can harm others by using their Quirk in negative ways. Otherwise they would be level 1. Similar with Twice.
Class 4: A quirk that only affects others and not themselves but isn’t considered very powerful.
-Note: Kouda actually is here as Anivoice affects animals. Technically he should be a level 6 but as it is animals he was ranked 4. (This changes when they get older though) Mr. Compress and Magne are here to.
Class 5: A quirk that can affect others or cause harm in a way that is more harmful than a class 4.
-Toga is here. Stain as well. Ochako is to. Bakugou resides here to.
Class 6: A Quirk that affects others in ways that are considered to be removing part of their autonomy.
-Aizawa is here. As is Shinsou.
Class 7: A Quirk that can cause damage to an extreme level to others or can affect someone in a way that is regarded as high level.
-Recovery Girl is here. As is All Might, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Endeavour.
Class 8: A Quirk that can cause extreme damage to others or themselves, or a sentient Quirk that does in fact have a downside.
-Kaminari and Dark Shadow are here. Dabi is to. Overhaul and Eri also are here.
Class 9: A Quirk that either can cause death or grievous bodily harm that either cannot be controlled at all, or requires specialized equipment.
-Present Mic and Thirteen are here along with Shigaraki.
Random Laws
Just a few random laws.
Hero School Law of Custody: A Law that states a hero school is awarded partial custody of any student accepted into the school. This law is in place to prevent a parent from pulling a student from the school recklessly or to prevent any contracts being signed without permission from the student. The Hero School may also pull any student from their parents if it is believed to be in their best interest.
Sidekick Law of Emancipation: If anyone under the age of majority earns a sidekick license they are automatically emancipated.
Law of Accidental Death by Quirk: A law that prevents anyone from being charge with murder if they have accidently caused death by their Quirk. For an example, I have an OC called Gas Attack who breathes out deadly gas. She would be protected under this law if her breathing support item that lets her breath the gas into a container that neutralizes it breaks. Or, if Bakugou as a toddler accidentally killed someone with an explosion. Shigaraki would have also been covered under this law when he killed his family.
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What is a Story?
When Duck Prints Press put out our call for applicants, we asked everyone to submit “a sample of their work (between 1,000 and 2,000 words)… [that] must function as a short story.” When we reviewed the 100+ samples we received, we noticed many areas where writers commonly struggled. Based on what we learned, we’ve planned a number of blog posts to discuss these challenging areas, and we’ve decided to tackle one of the most frequent issues first. Many otherwise strong submissions lost points on our rubric line regarding “plot and events,” and specifically, they scored a 1 or a 2 because “the story has no plot (for example, is a vignette).”
So, this begs the question, what is a story, and, of course, what isn’t a story?
(note that throughout this post, I use the word “narrative” to refer to any amount of text that may or may not be a story, and I use story only in a more narrow, specific sense.)
What is a story?
The answer is deceptively simple: a story is any narrative that has a plot. But...what is a plot? There are many ways to define a plot, but at its most basic, a plot has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and by the ending, something has changed. If, at the end of the story, nothing has changed, then it’s not a story. However, even if something has changed, it’s still not necessarily a story, because characters and time-frame also influence the definition. A narrative without at least one character is not a story. Likewise, a narrative time-frame, if it’s discussing events at a meta-level (“this happened, then this happened, then this happened”) may show that changes occur, but it’s still not a story - it’s an overview or an outline. The lines, of course, can be blurry - and where any given author, reader, or DPP reviewer draws the line between “this is a story” and “this isn’t a story” will vary.
How is a story communicated to the reader?
To function as a story, the narrative must include characters. Now, character doesn’t necessarily have to mean person, or even require sentience, but there must be some point of view being explored, and if the character is an animal or an inanimate object, writing it as a character will require a degree of anthropomorphizing. The key aspect is that the character has some form of agency - some ability to interact with and influence their surroundings. This character will have a point of view and a perspective that affects how they perceive the story’s setting, and by the end of the story this character should have either changed themselves, or changed their surroundings, or changed their relationships. The circumstances around this character must be different by the end of the story than they were at the beginning - or else it’s not a story.
What is change?
As part of the narrative, one or more characters in the story must engage in some form of activity that results in the world around them changing. Writing advice most oftenly calls this “conflict,” but honestly? I hate that word. The classic couching of “person vs. self, person vs. person, person vs. nature, person vs. society, person vs. fate” as the available types of conflict is tired. Defining the only kind of change as conflict and specifically describing it as “x versus y” is to automatically get a potential writer thinking in terms of antagonism. While antagonism is one available type of change, it’s not the only, and while many pieces of writing advice point out that these “versus” constructions don’t mean enmity by nature...why not simply choose a less confusing construction, one that doesn’t require addenda to explain the existence of narratives that clearly are stories but are less “versus” and more “and” - “person and self,” “person and person,” “person and nature,” “person and society,” “person and fate.” I’ve opted to use the word change, because one of the clearest ways to tell if a narrative is a story or not is to look at the nature of the character(s) are at the beginning, and look at the nature of them at the end, and say - what’s different? Maybe they’ve built something. Maybe they’ve reached a new understanding. Maybe they’ve conquered a challenge. Maybe they’ve altered their perspective. Maybe they’ve learned something. Maybe, they’ve changed the world, or maybe, they’ve just changed a light bulb - but something has changed.
Before some writing snob comes at me and says, “okay, fine, we dare you to come up with a plot that doesn’t fit into the classic five conflict types” ...of course we can’t. That model functions because all stories can be shoehorned into it, as long as very loose definition of “conflict” and “versus” are used. But because it’s described in oppositional terms, a lot of writers get distracted by that terminology and think there has to be, well, a conflict, in the narrow definition of the word. And that’s clearly absurd - many of our favorite fanfiction tropes, for example, are fluffy and comforting and soft precisely because they’re not about conflict, they’re about harmony. Yes, “enemies to lovers” is wonderful, but so is “friends to lovers.” Two people going on a date that ends with a marriage proposal is a story: they started out as a couple and ended engaged. Something has changed - their relationship status. But to call that “person versus person,” while perhaps technically correct, is ludicrous. Now, to keep it interesting, there might be some “person versus self” - “I’m not worthy of this love, omg do they really care for me, oh will society give us problems if we say yes?” which is how it can be shoehorned into the “conflict” model. But be it ever so soft, and their love ever so accepted, and their faith in each other ever so steady - if there really is no conflict, just those two people meeting up and having a nice night and ending in a proposal...it’s still a story. To say it’s not a story because there was no conflict, only an advancement of their relationship...yes, a story like that is borderline to being a vignette or “slice of life” narrative. Certainly, if there’s zero sources of tension, it may not be a very interesting story, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a story.
What else does a story need?
Honestly - not much. Don’t get us wrong - a story is stronger if it has a setting so that it doesn’t just take place in endless blankness. A story with multiple characters but no form of dialog (verbal or non-verbal) may be a little flat. A story where something changes but some of the introduced plot elements aren’t resolved will feel incomplete to a reader. A story without any negativity could be boring. Stories lacking these elements may not be good stories...or they could be amazing, and innovative, showing how a tale can be told without elements we usually consider essential! As long as something or someone has changed, and the story is told in a narrative, descriptive format that includes a character - it’s a story.
What isn’t a story?
Things that aren’t stories fall into two broad categories:
Narratives that have description, characters, dialogue, setting, and other story elements, but nothing changes. Examples of this are “slice of life” narratives and what, in fandom-parlance, would be called an episode coda or canon insert - a chunk of narrative deliberately meant to make a bridge between two established events but in which nothing can change because the surrounding events remain established. (A coda or insert might be a story, it varies.)
Narratives that are either entirely “show” (for example, a vignette) or entirely “tell” (for example, a synopsis), These can also be seen as relating to time - either there’s little or no passage of time (usually the case in vignettes) or far too much passage of time (usually the case in synopses). Narratives like this may or may not include a character, but even if they do, they’re still not stories. Why not? Because any story that is entirely “show” and involves minimal passage of time is unlikely to result in change, and instead will be an extended description of a moment. And any story that is entirely “tell” and depicts a large swath are overviews - there’s no element to actually grab a reader and no reason the reader should care about this dry relationship of events. That’s not a story - it’s a history textbook.
Drawing the lines between these categories can be difficult, and to some extent will come down to taste. Anyone who says there’s a hard-and-fast rule in writing is a liar. Just because a synopsis or a “slice of life” narrative isn’t usually a story doesn’t mean they will never be one. But, in general, if you’re looking at a piece of work and you’re trying to determine if it’s a story or not, there are some signs that will strongly suggest it’s not a story:
There are no characters.
There is no setting.
Nothing has changed between the beginning and ending of the narrative.
The entire narrative is an extended description of a single person/object/setting.
The entire narrative could easily be reworded into a sequence of, “thing one happened, then thing two happened, then thing three happened, then thing four happened.”
The narrative feels like a “pause,” or a “bridge” that takes place between two events that aren’t depicted in the narrative.
A central conflict or issue is introduced or described in details, but nothing is done to try to solve the issue.
Now, for the most important part of this discussion of what isn’t a story: writing something that isn’t a story isn’t a bad thing! Especially in fanfiction communities, we live for self-indulgent narratives that make us happy. We love to see those “moments between.” We live for a thought-out thousand-year history for some setting that didn’t originally have that much background. These kinds of narratives are fun to write, and especially when they’re part of an existing franchise, can be a delight to read. We are not saying that there is literally anything wrong with writing a narrative that isn’t a story.
That said, Duck Prints Press’s applicant call specifically asked authors to submit a writing sample that was a story, with the eventual goal of selecting authors to write short stories for an anthology. Which is to say: there’s nothing wrong at all with writing “slice of life” stories, codas, canon inserts, vignettes, or synopses - it’s simply not what we asked people to submit in this specific case, and we’ve come to see that a lot of people submitted non-stories without an apparent understanding of the difference, and we wanted to explain that difference.
But, to everyone reading this: write whatever brings you joy, in as much detail or vagueness as makes you happy, and share it with whoever you want. Just also understand, that for many types of narratives, if you’re asked “is that a story?” it’s not. That’s not to create a hierarchy - they’re all equal as art forms, they’re just not the same.
Okay I kinda understand this in theory but what do these differences actually look like in practice?
In long-form works, it’s usually relatively easy to recognize what is a story and what isn’t. Almost every novel ever published has a plot, and has things change, and is therefore a story. (though there are exceptions - Wikipedia lists a few longer vignettes and, when done thoughtfully, it can be astonishingly effective.) However, in shorter works, it can be difficult to tell the difference - and, as previously mentioned, the lines can blur.
In the interest of giving an idea of what the differences are, here are a few examples I quickly cooked up to try to show you all, since I’ve done a lot of “telling” so far (this blog post: also not a story, ha!) and very little demonstration. These are each around 150 words, to show that even in a tiny word count, any of these narrative structures is a viable choice. (Sorry these aren’t high literature - I just threw them together for this post, so I’d have something that suited.)
(read more)
A story - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where something changes:
The door slammed open. Looking up from her embroidery, Victoria blinked as Margaret strode into the room.There was an air of expectancy that was inexplicable to Victoria; she grew more confused when Margaret approached and dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” Heart pounding, Victoria attempted self-restraint, but she couldn’t rein in her hope, because it almost looked like...it seemed like...but--
“Proposing,” announced Margaret, pulling a velvet-covered box from her pocket and opening to reveal an emerald set in a gold band.
“But you can’t!”
Margaret tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Why not?”
Objections occurred to Victoria, but examining them...she couldn’t think of a one that Margaret wouldn’t demolish with her usual brilliance. “You know what? You’re right. Who’s to stop us? And...I accept.”
And as Margaret slipped the ring onto Victoria’s finger, she knew: there could be no objection. Nothing had ever felt so right in her life.
“Slice of life” - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where nothing changes:
“What a day!” said James, dropping onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.
“I know what you mean,” Tom agreed. He fumbled a hand across the cushion separating them, and James delighted in the simple comfort of threading their fingers together.
A beep, beep, beep sounded in the kitchen, announcing that the microwave had finished nuking their leftovers.
“You getting that?” asked Tom.
“It’s your turn!” James countered.
“But I don’t want to let go of your hand.” Tom gave his hand a squeeze, and a pleased glow suffused James’s chest.
It was Tom’s turn to retrieve their dinner.
But Tom was right - holding hands was wonderful.
“Let’s get it together,” James suggested.
Hesitating, Tom remained still as James sit up and gave a tug on their joined arms, then he broke into a smile and rose at James’s side.
“I love the way you think.”
“I love you, too, darling”
And together - always together - they got their dinner.
“Bridge” scene, episode coda, or canon insert-style fic - a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, where nothing changes:
Arriving home after the battle, Sandy opened the rough-hewn door and shed her damaged armor. Her dented cuirass had left an aching bruise across her chest; she carried it to the smithy out back for repair in the morning. A gash on her thigh throbbed where an arrow had pierced the straps holding her greaves in places; she brought them to her leather-working station. Nicks and fissures marred her once-gleaming sword blade. All Sandy wanted was to collapse in bed, but resisted the pull of relaxation, because blood limned the damaged places red, and repair to the damaged weapon couldn’t wait. Taking a seat, placed her feet on the treadles that set her whet stone to spinning and set about polishing out every imperfection.
Yes, she was exhausted.
But her sword must be cleaned, and smoothed, and honed, and prepared.
Sandy must be prepared.
There would always be another battle to be fought.
Vignette, a narrative without a beginning, a middle, or an end, which may or may not have a character, and nothing changes and in which the emphasis is on showing, rather than telling (but, as in this example, a combination may be used):
The wind blew chill down the narrow mountain pass. All was silent, save for the rush of the breeze. All was still, save where gusts stirred the tall grasses and the branches of trees that reached, claw-like, toward the sky.
Once upon a time, a stream had carved this cut through the cliffs, forcing its way through soft chalk and hard shale, leaving jagged stones that emerged from the steep pass walls like teeth. The stream was long dry, now, only water-smoothed stones strewn across the ground to show where it had ever been.
Once upon a time, travellers had traversed the dried-up rill bed, pounding down the dirt, knocking the rocks aside, leaving scars where their fires burned. They’d lived, and laughed, and explored, and sought...and left, never to return.
Now, there was nothing: nothing but the storm.
And all was silent.
And all was still.
And the wind blew, chill, down the narrow mountain pass.
Synopsis, a narrative with a beginning, a middle and an end, which may or may not have characters, and where something changes, and in which the emphasis is on telling rather showing:
Emperor Xiang Zhen was born in 9884 to Dowager Empress Luo Zexi and the warlord Xiang Yijun. After his birth, there was a long period of strife. Those who supported Xiang Yijun’s claim to the throne battled those who still supported the Dowager Empress’s deceased husband Peng Zhenya. Eventually, the factions found common ground when Xiang Zhen came of age, and he was enthroned in 9902.
With his reign came peace and prosperity. The arts flourished. Scholarship advanced, and many great Dao masters arose, using cultivation to rid the land of evil’s left by the long war. Xiang Zhen longed to join a Night Hunt himself, but he was trapped by his political position. He didn’t dare risk the fragile stability in the Empire. If something happened to him, the results could be catastrophic. So he studied, and ruled, and adjudicated, and endowed, and endured.
Xiang Zhen did as he must.
But, oh...he wished he weren’t alone.
I know this is long, so we’ll leave this discussion at this point. Hopefully you found it helpful, and please do let me know if you have any questions! Duck Prints Press is always here to offer support to writers, and we love getting writing asks!
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devil 007 (prologue)
devil 007 (Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)
summary:
(demon!au)
Turns out Bakugo Katsuki never wanted to eat your soul, rather he just needed someone to play video games with.
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :>
☆ ☆ ☆
𝑖. 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒
“That was a fucking accident.”
“An explosion that big is not an accident!”
You might be wondering how the hell were you hanging on the tallest building in the underworld holding on to a pipeline for your dear life. While your notorious partner-in-crime Bakugo just watched as you dangled ninety feet in the air.
“I swear if I die I will shitting haunt you for all eternity! You’d be fed up with all my shit the moment my soul reaches your territory. Just imagine, me annoying you fore—“
“Jump.” He grumbled.
No. Jump? Hell no. You’d rather die than jump into his arms. Bakugo was more likely to miss, and you’d fall (probably five storeys) before he dare tried to save you.
You wanted to scream. How all this happened in the first place, you hardly remember. No, you did remember.
It was all because of that stupid book.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
It was a mishap, really. The wrong book got delivered to the wrong place at the wrong time, and exactly the wrong thing happened as a consequence.
You were a college student who had just finished the semester, and frankly... a miserable one you were. Failing a quiz was one thing, but you had to mess up your finals so badly a retake wouldn’t suffice. You had to take up the subject all over again.
Sighing, you lay flat on your back. The ceiling had this magical property to suck up all the negativity in your life.
(it didn’t. but you’d like to think so.)
You had all the time in the world to repeat the subject. The problem? Cash. Having a scholarship at a prestigious university wasn’t easy. One measly failure could mean bye-bye free tuition fees and hello student loans that could last centuries + a liver.
Doomed you were, honey. You groaned. At least the treasury board approved the student allowances; which meant? The poor student (you) finally bought the heavy shitass syllabus for your major. The subject you failed.
It could take weeks for the parcel to arrive. What did you expect? You only ordered it days ago. The sooner it gets here, you’d be studying your ass off until 5 A.M. for weeks. Hooray.
A sudden ring of the doorbell awoke you from your senses. Huh, it did arrive earlier than you expected. You scooted towards the door and twisted it open. There lay a box wrapped in tape, a sticker with the words ‘fragile: handle with care’ shone in bright yellow.
You picked it up and shook the item. It was lighter than you expected. How the heck did a 700 page book become as light as a diary? Did they send you the wrong thing? Crap. You scoured the whole box to find neither details about who the recipient nor who the sender was.
Oh, well. Did that mean you could keep whatever was inside? You grinned. Opening up the box, you find out it was a vivid red book entitled:
Ultimatum Wishes: The Ultimate Spellbook for Summoning Demons!
All your wishes will come true! Follow the instructions inside.
Yeah, right. Like you could summon a demon to send you a trillion yen.
(apparently, doubt didn’t stop you from trying.)
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
First of all, what the actual fuck.
Your curiosity got the best of you. The instructions were pretty easy; sugar, salt, dirt, water, a jar of mayonnaise, a drop of blood— basically, the usual ingredients for summoning demons. Like that’s shitting normal? You had to mix them all together and spread them into the circle you drew on earlier.
Second, did you really summon a demon?
You were obviously not in your dorm room. It was bigger, darker, and colder to what you were accustomed to. After saying a stupid chant, you make a wish and boom! demon comes to you. So the instructions said.
It was a joke, really. You never thought the book was actually real! Once you said your wish, a bright light flashed and... you were here. A basement like room devoid of light, making your fingers the only things you could see at the moment.
You were sprawled on your back, staring at your hands. If only your eyes could adjust to the light then you would be on your merry way to finding the exit. Except, that you didn’t really need to adjust. The lights opened with a flash and you were met with red eyes:
“Took you long enough, brat!”
Lastly, who the hell was this?
The moment you and this miniature bomb exchanged looks, and he realized that you weren’t the person he was hoping for, the man grabbed the collar of your shirt lifting you high up to the ceiling.
“How the fuck did you get here stupid human? Pretty gutsy of you to just waltz in like you own the place, hm?” He growled, slightly shaking you with every syllable he uttered.
You barely registered it, you-know before you were lifted up, but this person in front of you was terrifying. He radiated waves of “answer properly or i’ll rip you into shreds” and you didn’t want to die.
(not at least before smacking this crappy brute.)
“Put me down you—you crappy dog! Treat me nicely and I’ll tell you everything,” You choked.
He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re really haggling with me now, maggot? The last time I checked I could easily squeeze the fucking life out of you—”
“T-The book! Shitty book! Followed it and I’m here!”
And with that you were dropped onto the floor. You yelped upon impact, rubbing the area of your neck with your fingers. That hurt. Your eyes hovered to your assailant and saw his frustration building up. Hoo, a little bit more and he’d be on fire.
“...How’d you get it?”
“Sent to my doorstep. D-Didn’t think it was real I thought—”
“You opened it knowing it wasn’t yours?”
“Oh, no you aren’t! Don’t blame me for your shitty mistake in the first place!”
“Watch your tongue, human.”
You sighed. Everyone knew you were someone who wouldn’t back down from a fight, but your senses told you otherwise. There was a fine line between pissing him off and stabbing you in the heart, you knew you were likely closer to the latter part of the scale.
“Fine. Whoever that package was sent to, it came to me instead. Why am I here?”
He contemplated for a while, searching for the right words to spout out. Oh God no. Were you brought here as a sacrifice? You shook your head. Anything but that! Sweat dribbled down your forehead. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
“...to kill...”
Yeaph. And with that, you blacked out.
(imagine, fainting from your own demolition.
oh, you hope you didn’t actually break a bone or two.)
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
You awoke to a strange tapping noise, more like a smack, and groans of infuriation. The vivid colors of black, pink, and yellow caught your attention, making you stare in awe. Was that Mario Kart...?
The clicking sound came from the blonde who sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes drawn to big television screen in front of him. While you were on a black couch around three hands away from the man. Seemingly, he could sense your tiny movements as you sat up, compelling him to chuck a controller at you.
“You gonna play or what?”
Huh? You took the object, feeling the texture in your hands. It’s been a while since you held a controller; even longer since you played a game at all. The game home screen flashed, the cursor hovering over the “new game” button. He clicked it forcing the game to switch into the character screen.
The man picked Bowser. Ah, not surprising. You grinned as you chose Princess Peach.
The game began immediately after and you thought, wow. You sucked at this game! Your cart hit track walls, bounced on boulders, special items that you sent managed to hit you instead. Rigged, this must be rigged! Just because the last time you played the game was ten years ago, doesn’t automatically mean you were shit at it.
Your companion thought differently.
“You’re crappy at this game.” He sneered.
You rolled your eyes. “It’s just the first game! A warm-up, you’ll see.”
And yes, he did see. See you fail round after round, time after time, the twenty games you played seemed to only prove your awful skills at a simple multiplayer game. You groaned. How was it possible to lose this much? Even the computer controlled characters beat you senseless.
Gently placing the controller on the sofa, you wrapped your arms around your knees. Was this a test? A test to see whether if you were worth killing? Oh boy, you would have been slaughtered at the first playthrough.
“Are you going kill me now?” You murmured.
If this was how you were going to go, at least you had fun. Well, you did lose more times than you could count. But hey, it was enjoyable.
“Ha. You think I’d let you go that easily?” He stood up, turned and grabbed the controller. “You made a pact with me, and now you’re gonna run away?”
His other hand reached for your chin and pulled it up, your eyes meeting his.
“What’d you wish for, princess?”
alright. so that’s the prologue! thank you for reading. i’ll have the chapter one ready soon. so pretty much, what happened was: you received a package. bored as you were followed the instructions and summoned a demon. except, you were actually summoned somewhere else to bakugo no less.
the introductions come on to the next chapter!! please leave a like if you like it aaaaa it would mean alot ;;;;
#bakugo katsuki#bnha scenarios#bnha imagines#bnha fanfiction#boku no hero bakugou#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x you#boku no hero imagines#boku no hero scenarios#bnha fics#devil 007
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Storytelling Protagonists and D&D
Tl;dr: Storytelling conventions for protagonists don't necessarily apply to D&D games and should be kept in mind when discussing the direction they're going in and character actions.
So one of the most interesting things about CR that I’ve found is the way in which we as a society view protagonists and how that affects the way we analyse them. When we read or watch a story, especially in fantasy settings, the protagonist is more often than not held up as a hero. As kids we read Harry Potter, the Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings etc. which hold their protagonists as the highest source of morality and good. The villains are inherently bad, as are their lackeys, and must be taken down. Yet because the protagonists are the good guys their morals get in the way and create difficulties for them.
Now as we grow up our analysis becomes more nuanced, but the storytelling tropes we learnt as kids stick with us and will always be a part of it. We expect the protagonist to be the hero and have good morals, otherwise why would we root for them? It’s why people will say the villain should win when the hero does something bad, because it’s hard to see someone who is meant to be a hero do that. Of course, it makes for a more interesting character but for some it makes them less likable (which is fine obviously you do you). However, we also have the knowledge that this ‘bad’ action is part of their arc which the author will resolve, which means we allow for it to happen. When we say it makes them more interesting, a lot of the time we mean it makes their character development towards being that morally virtuous hero more interesting.
These feelings are of course fine. I love reading stories like these, fantasy is my favourite genre. When we try and use this analysis in the context of a D&D game however it falls apart. For the most part when a party is formed no-one sets out to be a hero. In general you’re a bunch of adventurers looking to get paid and then the stakes keep rising. You have no idea where your character or the story is going but you’re having fun and enjoying what happens. You make bad, morally wrong actions but it’s not because you’re using it as part of an arc to become more morally good. It either means your character is an asshole or something has gone tits up and so someone needs to die. I've played in a game where someone killed a random guard because they asked too many questions (which was shocking and made funnier when it turned out we were meant to be playing at this guy's birthday party). Your morality generally isn’t a factor to be considered at the time. However, because CR is very much a story-driven game we automatically perceive them to be heroes. Yet, it’s fundamentally just like any other D&D game in that sometimes you make bad decisions and it’s fun. They don’t know what it will mean in the long-run but they’ll react to it later. Improv is all about reacting to what is placed in front of you, not thinking twelve steps ahead to a foregone conclusion.
There's nothing wrong with saying characters are morally dubious, make poor decisions, and even harmful ones because it's probably true. You can discuss how it impacts the story, other characters and your views (positive or negative) on the matter. However, saying that it contradicts the fact they're heroes and they should be making moral choices all the time kind of misses the point. I get frustrated with character choices sometimes but I know there's a point to them and that I can't expect them to be the heroes I assume they should be. Storytelling is a complicated, diverse media and sometimes the way we analyse it doesn't function in the form it's presented in. If you're going off the idea that they're intended to be heroes then your opinions make sense and are a valid interpretation. I would argue though that it is a misunderstanding of what D&D characters are at their core. They might be the protagonists but they are in no way heroes. They're people who make good and bad choices in their endeavour to stay alive and protect each other. And at the end of the day it's a group of real people mucking about with their friends, making each other laugh and having a ball playing a game they love.
#critical role#i wrote an essay because you know why not?#basically a long-winded way of saying it's a game#but i have nowhere else to say this so here you go guys#i congratulate anyone who finished this tome#you are free to disagree with me#my opinion should in no way be taken as fact
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WIBAR Intermission: Making Adjustments (2)
WIBAR INT chapter 1
if you’re new to this AU, you can find the first story here and the ao3 story here!
warnings: tension, fear, panic attack, mention of blood, and nightmares
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Once he heard the sounds of the others waking, Virgil managed to work up the courage to head out to the common area, mostly to reassure his stupid brain that Patton really was safe.
Predictably, trouble immediately found him in the form of one very large, very pissed-off alien.
Fortunately, he was too tired from staying up panicking all night to flinch at Roman’s approach. He raised an eyebrow in question, watching him for any sign of attack. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?!” Roman echoed angrily, his huge clawed hands twitching. “What’s wrong is that you apparently decided to gallivant around our ship without supervision for the whole night!”
Virgil tensed, his heart rate picking up. Did that mean that Roman really had seen him last night, and just acted otherwise?
Before he could ask, there was an excited trill from the hall.
“Virgil!” A flurry of bright blue feathers darted into the room, launching itself directly at his chest.
He caught the Ampen with a wheeze, ignoring the little black spots in the corners of his vision. Relief filled him at the sight of his friend unharmed, and his shoulders lost some of their stiffness. “Hey, Pat.”
Roman was twitching harder now, his eyes narrowed in a piercing red glare, but Patton didn’t seem to notice. “Where’d you go last night? I went to check on you before bed and you weren’t in your room!”
Virgil felt a strange happy tug in his chest at the knowledge that Patton hadn’t forgotten about him, and his lips twitched up for a second before he processed the rest of his query. “Huh? Yes I was.”
“No, you weren’t,” Roman growled.
Patton leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s just grumpy because he was up patrolling all night even though I told him over and over that you weren’t going to do anything.”
Virgil shrugged, careful not to upset Patton’s balance. “Well, that’s a shame, because I was in my room. I just wasn’t sleeping in the bed.”
Roman said something in another language, but Virgil could recognize being called on his bullshit by the tone alone. He rolled his eyes, and turned to head into the hallway.
“Fine, I’ll prove it.”
They ran into Logan on the way to the bedroom, and he tucked his extra set of arms behind his back and followed them curiously, confirming that he had also believed Virgil had abandoned the room for the night.
He had a lot to say when Virgil showed them the cabinet he’d spent the night curled up in, and then upon further prompting, gave a demonstration of how he “managed to fit” in it.
Roman was speechless for a record-breaking minute and a half, until he noticed the lack of a cabinet door.
Virgil pulled the mangled door out from beneath the egg-bed-hammock thing sheepishly. “It was an accident.”
“You kicked through solid Plylon?” Logan asked, eyes bright with interest.
“You kicked through solid Plylon?” Roman asked, in a much more displeased tone of voice.
“Kiddo, is there something wrong with the bed?” Patton asked, completely unfazed by the destroyed furnishing. Virgil gingerly set the Plylon(?) board down.
“No, I just… slept easier in the small space,” he answered, having no idea what the word for cabinet was in Common.
“Do you require a different room? I’m certain we can arrange a smaller or more contained bed,” Logan offered, something in his voice setting Virgil on edge.
“No, really, this works fine,” he insisted, and then resigned himself to lying. “It’s just like beds at home.”
It wasn’t like he’d be not-sleeping here much longer anyhow. There was no point in making them waste their time on stuff for him.
“Okay, if you’re sure…,” Patton said. Virgil nodded, and let the tiny alien drag him back to the commons. The last glimpse he got of the others were the two of them engaged in quiet conversation, Logan holding the shredded cabinet door out appraisingly.
He shuddered, and didn’t look back again.
“You want anything?” Patton asked, a common phrase from back when they were forced to barter and gather for their food. Virgil forced himself not to automatically answer in the negative. There wasn’t a scarcity of food here, he didn’t have to skimp out so Patton would get a full meal. He was lucky the Ampen hadn’t realized that Virgil had been misleading him about how much humans needed to eat.
“Uh, sure. I’ll eat whatever.” One learned not to be picky when living as a hunted fugitive in space. Plus, apparently most “deathworlders” could eat things that would be considered poisonous to other aliens. He supposed his former caffeine addiction would seem outrageous to these guys.
By the time Patton returned with bowls and silverware, Logan and Roman had returned to the commons, claiming their own spots on the couch built into the floor. Virgil made a note of where they were sitting for future reference of seats to avoid, studiously ignoring the two aliens’ gazes.
Outright questions were more difficult to ignore.
“Virgil, was it?” Logan started, stressing the second vowel for too long. Names didn’t translate too well in Common, so Virgil nodded vaguely, not bothering to correct him. “How often do you eat?”
Oh great, the one question he didn’t want to answer in front of Patton. Virgil stared at him blankly for a moment, and then shoved an oversized piece of fruit into his mouth to stall for time. He immediately regretted the action as he began to gag on the overwhelmingly sweet flavor.
Strangely enough, Logan immediately recoiled, and tucked all four of his arms behind himself. “My apologies,” he offered in a much more reserved tone, eyes averted.
Virgil’s mouth was too occupied with the miscellaneous space fruit he was half-choking on to ask what the hell Logan thought he’d done wrong, so he held up a finger in a gesture of ‘just a second, let me finish inhaling this fruit’.
There was a loud cracking noise a few feet away, and Virgil turned in time to watch Roman shake the splintered remains of his eating utensils from his claws.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced with the dark anger of a wronged anime protagonist, and promptly stomped out of the room. Patton chirped a sound that was the Ampen equivalent of clicking his tongue. Virgil continued to choke on the damn fruit for another few moments.
“What… was that all about?” he managed as his airway finally cleared up. “What’d I do?”
Logan finally looked up at him again, a strange curiosity in his gaze. “You don’t know?”
“Virgil was smuggled fresh off the planet, Lo,” Patton chimed in helpfully. “He hasn’t gotten any sensitivity training. You wouldn’t believe how many times I thought he was going to take a bite out of me just from how he was staring!”
Virgil planted his face in his hands to hide his mortified flush. He spent a lot of time dissociating in that cell- he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the time!
“So, the threat displays are… unintentional, then?” Logan asked, and Patton gave an affirmative whistle.
“What are... threat displays?” Virgil asked, clumsily sounding out the unfamiliar Common. Logan visibly perked up.
“The baring of teeth and extended jaw are signs of aggression in many cultures,” he explained, lifting his arms to gesture. “Beyond the fact that he truly does need sleep after staying up for so long, I believe Roman left because pointing with one digit is a gesture of disrespect in Crav’n sign. They have a language formed solely by hand signals and body gesturing, due to the prevalence of early-onset deafness in some adults.”
“I- hold on.” Virgil turned to Patton. “Baby words for the idiot, please,” he requested, using the English word for idiot.
“I hope you’re not speaking bad about yourself, Virgil!” Patton knew him too well. The Ampen frowned suspiciously at him for a moment longer before repeating what Logan had said in simpler words, with some added English and gesturing for what certain Common phrases meant. Logan watched the byplay with wide, intrigued eyes.
Virgil nodded, wishing he had a manual for alien body language. And a Common-to-English dictionary, while he was at it. And maybe a free spaceship ride home.
“I know about sign language,” he finally offered, fingerspelling his name in example. “Humans have… uh. Hearing-gone?” How had he already forgotten the word, Logan had just said it.
“Deafness?” Logan offered tentatively, and Virgil offered a quirk of his lips in thanks.
“We have deafness also, there are many causes,” Virgil didn’t have the vocabulary to describe the human tradition of gathering together to have performers blast loud music directly at them at close range without sounding like a dumbass, so he left it at that. Who knew if aliens even got tinnitus.
“Interesting,” Logan said, tracing patterns in the air with his lower hands. “I would have presumed- ah, guessed that weaker individuals wouldn’t have persisted- or, lived long enough to form a cultural touchstone like a sign language on a world like yours.”
Logan’s effort to dumb down his vocabulary helped, and Virgil raised an eyebrow once he figured out the implied question. “What, you think we just leave deaf people to get hurt alone?”
He’d meant the question sarcastically, but Logan’s distinct silence was answer enough. He set his fork down despite not having eaten more than a bite of his food. “Oh.”
Logan looked from Virgil to Patton and back, belatedly sensing his misstep. “I didn’t mean offense. I’ve simply been led to believe that human social constructs weren’t so… community-based.”
“It’s fine,” Virgil said, careful not to come off snappish. He’d forgotten his situation, his position as a human for a moment. “Don’t worry about it.”
He pushed back from his chair, and Patton tilted his head, birdlike in his concern. “I’m just still a little tired. I’m going to rest some more.”
“Do you want me to come with?” Patton asked, antennae leaning towards him. Virgil shook his head. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of scene would occur if Roman woke up and found them. He was supposed to be avoiding putting tension on Patton’s relationships, not increasing it.
“No, you finish eating. I’ll probably be out later.” He didn’t meet Patton’s eyes as he turned away. Lying again. At least he knew that was what they really expected of him, being human and all.
“Is this amount of sleep normal for a human?” Virgil heard Logan ask in a not-quiet-enough tone as he left. He was out of range before he could hear Patton’s answer.
He spent the rest of the light cycle sitting in the corner of his room behind the bed, not answering whenever Patton knocked gently on the sliding door. He couldn’t hang out, he was too busy staring blankly at the wall with only the barest perception of time passing. By the time he snapped out of his dissociative fugue, the hall lights had been dimmed and the ship was quiet once more.
Taking a spare moment to stretch away his body’s stiffness, he crawled back into the cupboard space. Sleep attempt two: electric boogaloo. He could feel exhaustion weighing on him, making his eyelids droop heavily with every blink. Surely he was tired enough to just get a dreamless coma-nap? Please?
Barely an hour later, he jerked up and slammed his head into the roof of the compartment, breathing so stifled that he had to crawl out of the confining space before the band around his lungs loosened slightly.
He could barely even remember what the nightmare had been about. The only things that lingered after he woke were snapshot sensations- flesh under his teeth, the feeling of being chased, Patton’s rust-orange blood too much they’ll find him run run run- and a sense of terrified dread settling deep into his bones. Probably for the best that he didn’t remember the specifics. He shuddered, pulling himself to his feet.
As long as he avoided the part of the ship where the others slept, it wouldn’t hurt to walk around the ship a little, ease his nerves. He hoped. It wasn’t like he was going to touch anything important, just… maybe try to figure out how the kitchen worked around here.
He was struck with a feeling of deja vu as he crept through the corridors, and snorted at realizing that he was sneaking around to get a snack like he’d done back when he was ten. Everything always seemed louder in the quiet of the night when everyone else was asleep, though it was offset slightly by the way the walls hummed. Side effect of being in a spaceship, he supposed.
When he reached the kitchen, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d thought to rummage around for a snack. Logan was there, humming one of Patton’s melodies softly as he leaned over whatever he was fixing himself. His arms were more extended than Virgil had seen since their first encounter, three of them busy with making food while the fourth one traced squiggles into the air. He tilted his head curiously, and then rapped his knuckles against the wall quietly to announce his presence.
All of Logan’s hands spasmed in surprise, but his turn to face Virgil was slow and measured, not fearful. The moment he recognized him, his extra arms were tucked away behind him, and he stared at Virgil with those translucent eyes.
“Are you nocturnal?” he asked, and Virgil blinked. It was better than being interrogated on what he was doing out of his room, he supposed.
“Nah, just got up because I was hungry,” he answered. He couldn’t really be nocturnal if he wasn’t sleeping during the day. He wasn’t sleeping at night, either, but that was beside the point. “What are you eating?”
Logan glanced behind himself. “Are you asking simply out of curiosity? A desire to know?”
“Uh, yeah. Just wondering.” At his response, Logan relaxed slightly and shifted aside.
“I am eating a staple food made from ground meal and water, with a preserve- a sort of sweet topping made from fruits of my home planet.”
It looked kind of like jam on untoasted bread, though the textures appeared slightly different. “Huh. Nice,” Virgil offered him a thumbs up, and then, at Logan’s intrigued gaze, remembered that he’d only ever explained that gesture to Patton. “It’s a hand-sign meaning ‘good’ or approval.”
“I see!” Logan mimicked the gesture curiously with both hands, and Virgil noticed how his fingers, while similar to a human’s, tapered to a distinctly thinner point at the end. Probably pretty useful for finer, more detailed craftwork or repairs.
“Would you like to try some?” Logan’s voice cut smoothly into his thoughts.
“What?” Virgil looked up to see the alien holding up a piece of bread. Was this out of fear, like when Patton had always let Virgil eat first back in the cell? “Oh, uh, I don’t want to take your food.”
“I’m offering it. Sharing food is a show of community and trust in many cultures.” Logan recited the fact neutrally, but something about the way his hands tensed and untensed behind his back made Virgil think he was taking this conversation seriously regardless.
He reached forward to take the bread, careful not to get the jam all over his hands. “Thank you.”
Logan inclined his head slightly, long ears twitching. Virgil did his best to ignore the way he was openly staring as he bit into the bread. The crust was much softer than he’d expected, but the taste of the bread was distinctly less sweet than most white breads, almost savory. The jam on top did more than enough to provide the sugar, though, and Virgil hummed in appreciation. At least if he was going to have an allergic reaction and die from space food, it would be tasty space food.
“Is that a sign of enjoyment?” Logan asked, clearly invested in Virgil’s opinion for whatever reason, and he nodded.
“Yeah, it tastes really good.” His gaze trailed down to where Logan’s lower arms were drawing patterns in the air again. “Hey, why do you do that?” The arms were immediately stowed away again. “And that. Am I not supposed to look at them?”
Logan slowly drew his arms back out, ears tilted up curiously. “No, it is okay for you to view them. I was simply trying not to startle or otherwise upset you... When the three of us first began to travel together, I had to learn how to mind my arms to avoid causing Roman undue stress.”
“Roman got nervous because of your arms?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. The huge alien didn’t seem the type to be twitchy around friends.
“For a Crav’on, spreading one’s arms is an imminent sign of an attack. Roman hadn’t been around any Ulgorii before, so it took him a while to adjust and be able to view my gesturing without believing that I was upset or about to lunge at him,” he explained. “Do humans not feel threatened by such motions?”
“Uh… maybe if I didn’t realize you were there at first? As long as you don’t, like, hit me, I don’t really mind if you do your little,” he wiggled his fingers in an imitation of Logan’s gestures, “thing with all your hands.”
“I would not hit you,” Logan hurried to reassure him. “My mind-weaving is very contained even when it looks… haphazard, or messy.”
“Mind-weaving?” Virgil asked, and then watched as Logan brought his hands forward to show him the air-patterns he was tracing. “Oh, is that what that is?”
“Yes. It’s a method of physical memory integration for my people, to keep a record of important thoughts or data.” Logan twisted his wrist slightly. “It makes it significantly easier to recall information, as well.”
“Huh,” Virgil said, reminded of notetaking. “Why are you always doing it around me? I’m not that interesting.”
Logan’s ears angled downwards in disagreement. “To the contrary, I’ve nearly cramped my hands recording all the information I can about you! It’s been quite the trial to keep track of all of your mannerisms and what they imply about life on your planet.”
A trickle of unease dripped down Virgil’s spine, making goosebumps rise on his skin. “Uh, why are you doing it then?”
The alien looked as though Virgil had asked why the sky was blue. “I have to make sure I don’t forget anything, of course. There’s never been scientific records of a human from direct contact and engagement like my conversations with you. There’s so much to learn, so many misconceptions to dispel and correct! I’d be a particularly poor scientist if I didn’t keep records of it all for the future.”
Scientist. Virgil dropped the remnants of his bread, stumbling back as adrenaline surged through him. He clutched as his heart, furious at his own physiology for making it all the easier for Logan to take more from him. Patton had said he trusted him but did Patton know? Was Patton in on it? Had all this- befriending him, speaking with him, bringing him into their home- been some insane ploy from the beginning? For what? A willing lab rat?
Movement in the corner of his eye made his head snap up, and he bared his teeth ferally at the sight of Logan trying to reach towards him, to take. “No! Don’t- Get away from me!”
The alien jerked away like he’d touched a hot stove, eyes big and afraid because Virgil was human and humans were monsters and they were going to get rid of him-
“Lo?” Roman’s low voice overlapped with Logan’s terrified nonsense words, Virgil’s own shallow breaths, and the sight of the Crav’on in the room was enough to snap him out of his frozen state and into flight. He shoved a chair to skid across the floor in Roman’s direction and bolted, halfway to his room before realizing that that was the first place they’d look.
He cursed. He’d leave, get off this stupid ship and save them the trouble of booting him, but all there was outside was the cold vacuum of space, and he didn’t know how to work the stupid doors anyways. There were calls of his name from the side of the ship he’d left behind.
Virgil found the tallest appliance he could and scaled to the top of it easily, shoving himself into the furthest shadowy corner and pretending that he was back on that ship, alone in that tiny, dark cell. At least there he knew who was going to hurt him, and when.
#sanders sides#g/t#ts virgil#ts logan#ts roman#ts patton#space au#wibar#watch it burn and rust#wibar int: ma#wibar intermission#writing#my writing#man this one got long!#ive been out all day sorry if i missed any notifs ill get on that soon :)#taglist following soon
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Sightseeing
Chapter 1
Pairing: Siane x Nanu
Fandom: Pokemon
Rating: T
Read on AO3
My writing commission info!
Summary: Siane hadn't meant to wind up in Alola, under Nanu's care, while she recovered from a mysterious illness that left her prone to weakness and collapsing. But now that she's here and getting stronger, she wants to see more of Ula'ula than just the rainy skies and the Po Town wall by Nanu's police station. And who could be better suited to give her a tour than the Kahuna of the island himself?
Notes: Siane is the wonderful HybridDragoness’ OC and she is amazing! This fic is a commission for Hybrid and I’m honestly so honored to have been able to write for Siane and Nanu bc I love them so much! Hybrid is a really talented artist and you can find her art of Siane here! You can also find Hybrid on Twitter and AO3 under the same handle as on Tumblr!
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“Is every day like this here?” Siane asks, gesturing vaguely out the window at the grey and looming clouds. It’s already started to drizzle, and she’s sure that by the afternoon, it’ll be pouring. Because here, on Route 17, where she’s staying with Nanu in his police department-slash-home, that just seems to be what the weather always does.
She’s hoping that Nanu will just say that it’s been an unusually bad stretch of monsoon season weather for the last….four weeks? Five? Siane’s a little foggy on exactly how long it had been, and she has the sudden feeling that time has been getting away from her while she’s been so weak.
But Nanu smirks, sipping at his coffee - black - and lowering the newspaper he’s reading, his shocking crimson eyes meeting hers from across the small kitchen table.
“Pretty much,” he responds easily. For a moment, Siane is sure he’s watching her for a reaction, but all she does is blink and look at him closely in return. He’s an odd one to figure out, in some regards - he reminds Siane, oddly, of some of the Pokemon she’s worked with as a conservator, back home. More specifically, he reminds her of the ones that don’t like humans very much.
Except…there’s that light in his eyes, that light that he thinks he conceals. He thinks he’s so surly - and sometimes he is - and he thinks he’s negative in a way that puts her off. But Siane notices the little gleam of curiosity about him, and she knows exactly what it means. She’s seen it before, and she’s seen all the Pokemon with it come around, in the end.
“So,” Siane says, finishing her breakfast and sitting back. “The whole island’s like this?”
Nanu, who had been about to return to his newspaper, sets it down and sighs. A Meowth cries, brushing against his leg, and he automatically reaches down to pet it. Siane’s lips curl into a slight smile at the sight.
“No, of course not,” Nanu returns. “There’s a lot of variety on Ula’ula.”
Siane raises her eyebrows encouragingly.
“Like?” She prompts.
“There’s Malie City, of course, where the weather is typically nicer. We’ve got Hokulani Observatory - they picked their site on Mount Hokulani because it’s above the city lights and it’s almost always clear there. There’s the Haina Desert, too, and the Ula’Ula Meadow just off this Route, which is covered in flowers,” Nanu says, ticking things off on his fingers as he goes.
“Wait - an actual desert? On this island?” Siane says, gesturing again out the window vaguely with a little snicker. It’s nearly impossible to imagine that there can be a place on this same landmass that isn’t absolutely smothered in rain and puddles. “You’re sure you’ve got that right?”
“I better,” Nanu grumbles, picking up the Meowth and setting it in his lap. “I’m Kahuna of ‘this island’, after all.” He does little finger quotes as he speaks, and Siane can’t resist the way her smile grows on her face at his unintentional antics. Nanu notices, though, and frowns at her. “What?”
“Well,” she says, careful to deflect. She’s learning that being too directly friendly with Nanu often puts him off, and she really doesn’t want to put him off just now. “I was just kind of thinking…I’m feeling better these days.”
“You nearly passed out before your shower yesterday,” Nanu says sardonically.
“Yeah, but that was like, the only time I had an issue all day,” Siane says, waving his concern off. Sure, he’d had to catch her, but still - she was doing better, and she hated feeling - or admitting to being - weak. “Don’t give me that look. I know I need to get more of my strength back. But I also need a change of scenery. I’m pretty sure I’m going to wind up with a Vitamin D deficiency here otherwise.”
To her surprise, Nanu actually makes a little snort through his nose that she thinks is supposed to be laughter.
“Vitamin D deficiency or not, you’re in no shape to be going galavanting around the island alone,” Nanu returns, his voice holding a little of that biting edge that he seems to think is so off-putting.
“I know,” Siane shrugs easily. “That’s why I was hoping you’d come with me.”
Siane watches as Nanu takes a sharp breath in, his crimson eyes flashing.
“I have - things to do,” he mumbles, suddenly deflating and looking away.
“I thought it was your day off today,” Siane prods. She knows she’s being a little pushy - there were plenty of friends back home who would be quick to point that out in a moment like this - but she also knows it’s the only way she stands a chance at getting her way. And she needs to get her way. She needs to be stronger - not only for herself, but for all Aedis, too, and she won’t get that if she stays inside this police station forever.
The Meowth in Nanu’s lap jumps off and scampers away, interested in something across the room.
“Yeah. It’s my day off. Doesn’t mean I don’t have things to do around here,” Nanu returns, though the biting edge to his voice is gone.
“I can help you with whatever needs to be done tomorrow,” Siane offers.
“Oh? Then we could just as easily tour the island tomorrow,” Nanu quips, his eyes narrowing.
“I guess we could,” Siane acquiesces. “No reason why it’s gotta happen today, right?” Somehow, the ready admission seems to put Nanu off a little, though he covers it quickly and well, years of his police training likely kicking in at a moment’s notice.
A long silence stretches out between the two of them, and Nanu takes a sip of his coffee, his red eyes drilling into her. Siane tears her eyes away from the Kahuna, instead looking out the window again. The rain had picked up a little, and she traces one particularly fat raindrop as it rolls down the window, gathering other droplets in its path. As easily as she’d admitted that tomorrow worked just as well as today, spending another day doing nothing feels intolerable to her spirit, which is just bursting to be free.
“We can go today,” Nanu finally speaks up, setting his drained coffee cup down on the table.
“We can?” Siane says, her head whipping around to allow her gaze to refocus on Nanu. She could swear that the edges of his lips are turned up just the slightest bit - though it’s hard to see for sure at this distance.
“Yeah. You got me, girl. No reason I can’t do my stuff tomorrow, either, I guess,” the grey-haired man says. Siane’s foot bounces just a little in excitement, and her chest feels like it could explode at the thought of sightseeing and adventure.
“Well - thank you,” Siane says, a grin spreading across her features. She stands to clean her dishes and get ready to go, but immediately, a wave of dizziness hits her. She’d stood a little too fast, though she’s able to conceal this from Nanu by putting her hands flat on the table to brace herself. With the eagerness written all across her face, she’s pretty sure the move just comes across as excitement. “I promise you won’t regret this - we’ll get through everything you need done tomorrow. I’m actually really excited about this, you know. I finally get to see Ula’Ula, and my tour guide is going to be the island’s own Kahuna!”
A crooked smile flashes across Nanu’s face for a moment.
“Finally get to see the island, huh? Didn’t know you’d been wanting to go for so long,” he comments, arching one eyebrow.
“I’ve mentioned it, like, three or four times before now,” Siane laughs, standing up straight now that the dizziness had passed. She gathers up her dishes and sets off for the sink, flashing a teasing smile over her shoulder at Nanu. The man gathers his dishes and hovers close to her as she walks; he clearly doesn’t trust her on her feet just yet, which Siane figures is just as well at this juncture.
“Didn’t really think you were serious when you were saying that stuff, since you couldn’t make it to the door if you’d tried,” Nanu returns dryly.
“Well, I was,” Siane says. “Serious, that is. And I really am excited about this. So thank you again.” She affixes the Kahuna with her best smile, and this time, she definitely sees the way his fingers fidget just a little on his coffee cup.
“Hm,” Nanu says. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
As Siane moves off to the side to put her rinsed dishes in the dishwasher, he scrubs at his coffee cup with a sponge, trying to get the ring of black out of the bottom and trying even more desperately to convince himself that he had agreeing to this just because he didn’t want her to keep bothering him about it. It had nothing to do with the fact that he felt a twinge of pride when he thought of all the radiant locations across the island - his island - or that he wanted to see the look on this young woman’s face as she took them all in.
You could have let her go alone, a small voice insists in the back of his mind. Send Honchkrow with her. She’d be fine, and Honchkrow could fly her home if she were to have a problem.
But the thought of Siane, crumpled on the ground and hurt, alone, in a strange place, makes his heart clench a little. And why shouldn’t it? His job - both as a cop and a Kahuna - was to protect people. Whether Nanu liked it or not, he was a protector, and the young woman currently telling him she was going to go find some shoes for going out in had landed herself squarely in his protection.
“You’re going to want to change your clothes, too,” he calls after her, putting his coffee cup in the dishwasher. “The rest of Ula’ula is a lot sunnier and hotter than it is here.”
“Okay!” Siane calls back, and Nanu allows himself to smile a little to himself as he scratches the ear of a Meowth who’d come up to nuzzle at him on the counter.
Whatever the reason he had agreed to play tour guide for the day, he has to admit that he feels a little excited about it, too.
***
“So, Kahuna,” Siane grins, standing under the eaves of the police station to stay out of the rain. Nanu glances up from the device he’s trying to operate - apparently called a ride pager - and affixes Siane with what should be a withering gaze, except that she’s in too good of a mood to find it anything other than amusing. “Where to first?”
“If I can get a Charizard to come, we’ll be going to Malie City first,” Nanu grumbles, turning to frown down at the device again. “Pretty sure I just - there we go.”
“You use that thing often, huh?” Siane asks coyly, and Nanu’s eyes flit back up to her, a sharp expression in their red depths - but it vanishes quickly, as soon as Nanu realizes Siane’s teasing is harmless, playful, even.
“Usually I just fly on Honchkrow if I’m going any distance, but I can’t ask him to carry both of us,” Nanu explains.
“Makes sense,” Siane says, shifting on her feet a little. Nanu’s surprised to find himself taking a step closer to her, just in case that little weight shift was a sign of any impending wooziness. But no - she seems steady on her feet, and he’s just worrying too much. “You know, I am a flying-type specialist. I’m sure Fearow could carry me.”
Nanu frowns at this.
“No. I’d feel better if you were on the Ride Pager Charizard. They come with this, kind of a saddle thing,” Nanu explains, trying to gesture with his hands to indicate what he was talking about. “You’ll be safer on that.”
The unspoken implication of the hazards of Siane’s unpredictable weakness hangs between them for a moment.
“So what’s in Malie City?” Siane finally asks.
“Well, there’s the Malie Garden, and the architecture is pretty spectacular in the city. It’s right on the ocean, too, so you’ll get to see that. Plus I figured we could pick up some takeout to have for lunch later,” Nanu shrugs.
“Yeah? Like, a picnic?” Siane asks, sounding a little excited. A lopsided smile pulls at Nanu’s lips, but he smooths it over in a flash.
“Something like that. Mount Hokulani isn’t far from the city, so we can take a bus to the observatory if you’d like,” Nanu continues, thinking through his last-minute plans for the day out loud.
“I wanna see this desert you claim exists here, too,” Siane says, giving Nanu another teasing grin. Nanu only frowns at her words.
“The desert is halfway across the island, Siane,” he says. “And the conditions there are harsh. Neither of us are really sure how much you’ll be up to…”
Siane’s face falls, and to Nanu’s surprise, he actually trails off instead of hammering his point home, like he usually would. He grimaces and glances away, scanning the cloudy skies for any sign of the Charizard he’d called. Nothing yet, of course.
“We’ll see how the day goes,” Nanu concludes. Even as he continues to look away from the young woman by his side, he’s surprised to hear himself softening his own words for her.
Must be getting soft in my old age, he thinks to himself, grimacing again.
A long silence stretches out between the two of them, but Nanu can sense the way she continues to shift her weight a little, clearly regaining her sense of anticipation for the day ahead. Nanu is happy to stay quiet and listen to the rain, which pours off the eaves over them and trickles to the ground in great drops.
Finally, he sees a winged figure approaching through the clouds - Charizard. He puts one hand up to wave it down, though he knows it’s likely unnecessary - all Ride Pager Charizards know the Island exceptionally well. Siane looks to him, then back to the approaching Pokemon, and decides to mimic him, waving it down as well.
Hmm. Cute.
Nanu’s eyes widen at the thought. Had he - had he just thought she was cute? No. Acerola was cute. Meowth was cute. A grown young woman relying on him for safety and protection could absolutely not, under any circumstances, be cute.
Charizard lands with a happy roar of greeting, and Siane’s eyes light up at the sight. She glances over to Nanu, a brilliant smile on her face, and exclaims,
“Are you seeing this? He’s got a saddle! And I’ve never seen a Charizard so orange before! Their faces are different in Aedis, too!”
Before Nanu can reply, she hustles over to the Charizard, approaching him politely and letting him sniff her while she continues to coo over him. Nanu rolls his eyes, but ultimately smiles to himself. If she thinks this is exciting, she’s gonna have an amazing day ahead.
#nanu#kahuna nanu#officer nanu#nanu x oc#siane#siane oc#pokemon#pokemon sun and moon#commission#aph writes
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Jac & Jesse
Jac: [Okay, so it's year 2, so she would be just 18 and Jesse would be just 17, it's their last year of school and exams are looming etc etc, all the behaviour has become business as usual so everyone would've just stopped freaking out as hard because you'd wear yourself out otherwise it isn't sustainable, I'm vibing that this is around Christmas time, just because I'm cruel and then we can use the worried Xmas picture LMAO] Jesse: [I like that because then it's not that far into school year 2 aka close to uni looming but it has been ages since her and Amelia started their whole fwb bs so a mood] Jac: [I think it makes sense because it's like, a year since everything started really so it's as raw in a weird way 'cos it's like a shit anniversary lol] Jesse: [agreed, soz boy that I haven't fleshed you out enough to know what's been going in your life for this year besides fame] Jac: [you can be vague, at least, because this convo will not be about you, fill in the blanks later, not all of us are wilding all the time] Jesse: [and not all of us are oversharers like Savannah lol he'd be keeping shit to himself even if it was all kicking off] Jac: [true tea, anyway, I will start this] Jac: Hey, where are you? Jesse: [somewhere he likes to go to write and generally have privacy] Jac: Oh, okay Jac: never mind, it's cool Jesse: ? Jac: I just was gonna ask Jac: well, I don't know what I was gonna ask actually so yeah, ignore this Jesse: What's wrong? Jac: I looked and I couldn't find it Jac: but it was kind of a hole so maybe I just missed it Jac: but I was sick loads and loads I had to get off the bus so I know that's gone Jesse: hang on, what? Jac: You know Jac: I'm not a total mess Jac: I always make sure, after Jac: even if I'm super gone, I've never forgot Jesse: alright Jesse: stop talking in riddles for a sec, I dunno what you're going on about Jac: I went to this party, a week ago Jac: no Jac: more like two, fuck, three? Jac: I don't know, but anyway Jac: I remember looking for a condom in the bin on the floor in the sheets whatever Jac: and I remember because I didn't find one so it got through the haze Jac: and then when I was coming home I was sick and I'd literally just dry-swallowed my pill 'cos I keep them in my bag or my bra or whatever I've got on me Jesse: Fuck Jesse: alright, we can sort this Jac: Where do I go? is it the GP or do I have to go to one of those clinics? Jesse: I'm having a look Jesse: where are you now? Jac: I don't want to go to the doctors Jac: can they tell mum and dad Jac: it's meant to be patient confidentiality but literally everyone found out when Millie H got crabs Jesse: you don't have to do nowt you don't want Jesse: I'll figure something out Jac: I don't have no one else to ask Jac: sorry Jesse: shut up Jesse: you don't need to ask anyone else, I'll sort it Jac: I don't know why I didn't get the morning after Jac: well I do but it's so fucking stupid to say it now Jesse: you never said where you were Jac: just got out of work Jesse: I'll be there as soon as Jesse: get a ☕ Jac: I feel like all of my insides are gonna come out Jac: this is bad Jac: what the fuck am I gonna do, Jess Jesse: don't start, you'll do your own head in before owt's even happened Jac: how the fuck does this even happen Jac: it's ridiculous Jesse: [sends her whatever he's been working on like distract yourself with telling me how crap this is etc] Jac: What are you doing Jesse: what kind of question is that? Jesse: just sent you it Jac: why Jac: I don't have the time or desire to listen to that right now Jesse: are you waiting for me or what? Jac: I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know if you got the general vibe of my messages Jesse: sit down for a bit Jac: fine Jesse: It'll be alright Jesse: I know where we're going Jac: that's the first step in this marathon shitshow, I suppose Jesse: 👍 Jac: your downplay isn't really helping, just so you know Jesse: we can't both lose it, dickhead Jac: if there's a time for it, it's now Jesse: might be in a bit, not now Jac: so you're waiting for your moment, okay Jesse: that alright with you? Jac: not really Jac: but whatever, it's the least of my problems now Jesse: you're 18, they can't say nowt to ma and da that's one less Jac: oh, true Jac: thank god I waited 'til after September to ruin my life then Jac: as long as the receptionists don't catch wind Jesse: they won't give it me, as a lad case I were forcing it down some lass's throat against her will Jac: what do you mean Jesse: if I could just leg it in there for you I would Jac: obviously you can't Jac: we don't know if it's even happened Jac: or what I'm gonna do if it has Jesse: yeah Jac: you're thinking of morning after Jac: but they don't give that to blokes now either Jesse: about as much I know about this, that Jac: have much experience then Jesse: not really Jac: you'd know if you had Jac: probably wait 'til you've earnt more money to rinse you of it Jesse: sounds about right Jac: not worth the negatives at this stage Jesse: tah Jac: not me doing you a favour by not getting pregnant Jesse: obviously Jac: 🙄 Jesse: 🙄 Jac: shut up Jac: you're so annoying Jesse: 🤐 Jac: ugh Jac: you say nothing yet you still say the wrong thing Jac: it'd be a skill if it wasn't clearly the opposite Jesse: what's the right thing? Jac: If I knew that there'd be no need for you or the conversation Jesse: come on Jac: what? Jesse: you reckon I'm getting it wrong, you must have some clue what ain't Jac: I don't Jac: you're just Jac: I don't know Jesse: say it Jesse: might make you feel less shit Jac: ha Jac: wouldn't that be nice Jac: miraculous, even Jesse: 🎄🎅 Jac: I wasn't looking to be the next Mary, tah Jesse: that were Jude's role in the nativity, not yours Jac: her years seriously lacking in talent Jesse: Dunno how top we can say ours is for having me stick a tea towel on my head Jac: it's not a musical Jac: the shit film was made Jesse: could've been if they'd let me have any lines instead of that 🐑 to chuck about Jac: as damning as this glimpse into your psyche is Jac: you really think you chatting about 4 year olds singing silent night is the thing I need right now Jesse: alright, kids ain't the ideal subject Jesse: I get it Jac: no shit Jac: you all do my head in with this shit Jac: honestly, peaking at vaguely racial costuming is the saddest thing I've ever heard Jac: and my life is currently in the toilet Jesse: piss off have I peaked at owt Jesse: ain't even properly packed for my gig yet, like Jac: it's you who's bitter at being snubbed for joseph Jac: no need to read between the lines, dickhead Jesse: never said that Jesse: he was well fit and had 🥇 line delivery Jac: don't be disgusting Jac: I don't know why you even remember these things, any of you Jesse: leave it out Jac: you Jesse: it's bollocks that you're saying you don't Jac: I don't Jac: and I don't care either Jac: and if I have to spend one more minute around you chuntering on about this shit that doesn't matter and never did Jac: I'm actually going to scream Jesse: go for it Jesse: I'm here now, you can properly aim it at me Jac: [just staring him down to make a point of looking at him like #unphased 'you got an appointment?'] Jesse: [we just nodding like yep let's go but not moving because we're rushing no bitch especially not for something like this] Jac: [obviously walking in whatever direction we need to] Jesse: [love a silence that should be awkward but is actually comfortable] Jac: [for you anyway but us losing our mind be happening regardless so yeah] Jesse: [we know he is too but shh because now is not the time for you to be scared sir] Jac: [get this appointment done so you can go away and think about what you're doing] Jesse: [hit her with the feelsy JJ lean while you're waiting so she knows you care though thank you] Jac: [just getting out of there like 'I wanna go to work but I've only just left and they're shut' no place to go casually] Jesse: [he should take her somewhere feelsy even if it is because it's not, if that makes sense, like for it's normality] Jesse: [I'd suggest his work but that's unlikely to be shut unless they had that appointment at a really weird hour lol] Jesse: [somewhere she'd actually appreciate being rn is the point anyway] Jac: [we'll just go anywhere rn 'cos truly nowhere else to go] Jesse: [even if he's just driving/walking you around aimlessly, we're giving you time to think gal] Jac: [we're just scrolling furiously through our phone right now to the socials/texts from said night] Jesse: [meanwhile he's ignoring his because we blatantly have shit that we're supposed to be doing that we're obviously not] Jac: [thrusting the phone in his face casually with a picture of this dude like it means anything 'do I call him now?'] Jesse: [a look like do you want to because we don't know this dude and even if we did it's up to her if she wants to have that convo with him or not] Jac: [when you do that pause like well, elaborate please] Jesse: ['it don't need to be now' cos it really doesn't like you literally just found out and are probably in shock] Jac: [nods like okay 'so what am I doing now?' we literally just wanna be told what to do] Jesse: [we're taking her to get sugary tea and some food even if she doesn't eat or drink it, leading her there like she is a bub] Jac: [probably automatically eating and drinking without complaint we are that out of it] Jesse: [it's okay he's got enough wits about him to go somewhere where they won't run into millions of people they know because not rn thank you] Jac: [just a ball of energy because we need to do something but what can you right now] Jesse: [such a bobbing lil leg under that table, both of y'all] Jac: ['this is not-' shakes head] Jesse: [just looking at her like what because not the time either to put words in her mouth] Jac: ['this was not in my plan'] Jesse: ['do you wanna stick to the one you had or have a different crack at it?'] Jac: ['if it were that easy-' face like it'd be done and we wouldn't be sat here] Jesse: [nods and drinks that tea] Jac: ['this changes it regardless' letting that sit there and sink in] Jesse: [let it hit him how big of a deal this actually is because up until now we haven't let ourselves think about it/have been focused on the minute by minute actions of all this] Jac: ['no matter what I do'] Jesse: ['I'll be about no matter what' like love you babe always gonna be here for you 'dead comforting that, yeah?'] Jac: [scoffs 'yeah, condemning everyone to the same life sentence of an unwanted child about or the gnawing guilt of murdering it is exactly what I wanted'] Jesse: ['murder's a bit strong'] Jac: [shrugs 'not really'] Jesse: [shrugs back like if that's what you reckon] Jac: ['I know what you reckon I should do, alright'] Jesse: [a look like yeah obviously because I think you should do what's right for you] Jac: ['well it isn't that fucking simple, Jesse, so just' the hand mime that's like closing your fingers like sh] Jesse: [mimes the 🤐] Jac: ['you might not say much but you're loud with it, I know you, remember'] Jesse: [a look back like and I know you too] Jac: ['he already has some'] Jesse: [😒 because how old is this man tbh and who is he we don't stan] Jac: ['not like I knew at the time, but I've checked him out since, obviously'] Jesse: [gestures like gimme your phone so I can look] Jac: [does, he can easily be in his 20s and my vibe is a kid when he was like 17/18 and then one a few years later] Jesse: [just stalking this dude and drinking our tea, looks fun and casual but isn't] Jac: ['he has a right to know, right?' like genuinely ?] Jesse: ['Probably, but I ain't gonna force you to tell him if you don't want to'] Jac: ['you aren't going to force me to do anything, or anyone else; but morally...' shrugs 'it'd be better not to know, in loads of ways'] Jesse: ['Did he say owt to you after?' because there is that condom uncertainty so like did he wanna follow up is our question or was he not bothered] Jac: ['no, I don't know him' like duh 'I had to ask Darla his name'] Jesse: [a look like there you go then, don't worry too much about him rn because clearly he ain't worried about if he got your pregnant or not] Jac: [🙄 'obviously it's not a concern until it happens, that's kind of the point'] Jesse: [🙄 back because it is a concern before it happens for loads of people but whatever] Jac: ['is this helpful? he didn't wear a condom, that doesn't mean he doesn't wanna be or deserve to be contacted, by that rhetoric the only people who would would be the ones you didn't need to'] Jesse: ['never said it did, and I never said don't bother contacting him'] Jac: ['just because you don't vocalize it, doesn't get you out of any responsibility for implying it with what you don't, for fuck's sake, when are you gonna grow a backbone?'] Jesse: 'what I vocalised were it don't have to happen right the fuck now and it don't, take a sec for fuck's sake'] Jac: ['no because we're on a fucking timeline here, we don't have a sec!' raising our voice assumedly higher than the hushed tones we've been keeping] Jesse: [putting a hand on her arm like calm down but not a patronising calm down just like the equivalent of the JJ soft hey but not in words] Jac: ['no' and pushing his hand away but in a more calm manner not aggressively so 'the longer you delay this the worse it gets, it has to be dealt with now'] Jesse: [eye contact because we will not be fobbed off hen 'I get that but you only found out about an hour ago, like'] Jac: ['I fail to see the point in meditating on it, like' looking back obvs 'and anyway, the fact remains I still DON'T know what I'm going to do so you've got what you want there anyway'] Jesse: [a look like don't be a dickhead 'you don't reckon you might be in a bit of shock or whatever, nah?' but it's not a question cos we know you are and then a look like you can piss right off if you think this is what I want] Jac: ['and what? if I sleep on it this will be any less of a life-changing, earth-shattering shock?' shakes head like don't be stupid] Jesse: [a sigh because we don't know what to do or what to say] Jac: ['it's very sweet of you to want to fix this-' our tone suggests we think otherwise lol '-but that ain't why I called you'] Jesse: [a look like yeah no shit because we know she didn't have anyone else to call] Jac: ['I literally just need you to help me make the decision and then be there, not make me fucking okay with it, that isn't what this is'] Jesse: ['alright' genuinely we do mean it] Jac: ['thank you' big sigh] Jesse: [getting more tea for you both, it won't fix it but it is our love language] Jac: [just be having a google about all the possible things you could ever need to know for every available option] Jesse: [you too boy while you're waiting for that tea because why not] Jac: [casually terrifying ourselves lol but necessary evil 'cos yeah, can't not do this shit 'I hope you feel fucking lucky not to have a uterus'] Jesse: [nodding because we do after all this googling if we didn't before] Jac: [ah the biological unfairness of being born a girl lol] Jesse: [I hate it and all I've had to deal with are periods so] Jac: [literally being a straight girl/girl who has sex with men is lowkey mental torture like constant worry and if it does happen any outcome is bad like] Jesse: [agreed and y'all are gonna have to go home eventually and that upsets me to think about] Jac: [let us say that's hit you rn bitch 'what are we gonna...am I gonna say? I don't-' we mean speak 'cos literally tis the season lol] Jesse: [when that hits you then because again there's no right answer to this 'if you owt to be said, I can'] Jesse: [*want] Jac: ['I don't want it but-' a massive pause whilst we try to get our voice back to how it usually sounds and not straining 'cos you're about to cry 'cos we don't want that, then when you speak again it's barely audible '- how many more secrets am I expected to carry'] Jesse: [scoots his chair as close to her as he physically can because it's time for another feelsy lean that means 1. I love you 2. you can tell me anything 3. most importantly you can tell this whole fam literally anything even Jude who is a lot] Jac: [shakes head like clearly not but we don't move away] Jesse: [letting this moment happen because it's been so long for you both] Jac: [literally a year in all the senses lol] Jesse: [soz that we've done this to you lads] Jac: ['I don't think I can do any of this'] Jesse: ['you ain't got a choice, not to sit back and do nowt, I mean'] Jac: ['I know'] Jesse: [pushes her tea towards her like drink up because again it's our love language and they can't stay forever] Jac: [at least there's an excuse to go to the bathroom and filmically have a moment] Jesse: [and at least when they get home she's in the basement so he can be doing music shit lowkey all night without it being blatant that he's checking on her] Jac: [we can skipperoo to that] Jesse: [agreed] Jac: [say that she was out of work 5 ish, say that took an hour at the least two at the most, they get home 7 ish, this is like late/early AM] Jac: Are you awake? Jesse: 👍 Jesse: [strums a note on the guitar or presses one on the keyboard like hello] Jac: I thought you were meant to be talented Jesse: where'd you hear that? Jesse: sounds like a load of bollocks Jac: Probably Jac: isn't everything on the 'gram Jesse: ✔ Jac: you'll have to come with me Jesse: Alright Jac: I just need to decide how to do it Jac: obviously I can't have it Jesse: did you work out how many weeks ago it were? Jac: three Jesse: I can give 'em a ring in a few hours, see how long you'll have to wait to get an appointment Jac: it can be up to 2 weeks Jac: that's what it says Jesse: I'll take the first one they offer us Jac: maybe that's to get it done Jac: it's all confusing Jac: and you can get the pills online and they won't prosecute you now but I still don't know how safe or fast that'll be either Jesse: soon as I can speak to someone, I'll ask whatever we ain't worked out Jac: pills have to be faster, even if they have to order them in, that's only a day or two Jac: two weeks is too long Jac: but the operation might be less scary Jac: I don't know Jesse: [sends her whatever he can find about people's actual experiences even though it's probably terrifying because the only way to really decide] Jac: I don't want to do this Jesse: I know Jac: this is why everyone does it Jac: has the kids Jac: I can't do this Jesse: can you do that though? Jac: I can't do any of this Jesse: not to be a dickhead, but you have to Jac: I know that Jesse: [playing some kind of song from their childhood whether that's a JJ or grandma Ali mood like this will comfort us while we ponder] Jesse: I dunno about waiting times for it but if you want it over and done sooner, the operation takes less time Jesse: couple of hours and you'll be back home Jac: yeah Jac: the pills can take days Jac: and you have to make sure it all comes away what if it doesn't Jac: how would I know what's too much blood Jesse: you'd have to call 'em or I would Jac: I wish they'd knock you out for the operation Jac: that's all Jesse: yeah, I get that Jac: it's punishment anyway Jac: there's no lesser it's just picking one and sticking to it Jesse: are you gonna tell anyone else, other than me and him? Jac: I don't know Jac: there's no point, I guess Jesse: might be a bit of a headfuck doing the 2nd pill at home if ma and da don't know, all I were thinking Jesse: but we could go somewhere else Jac: I don't want them to know Jac: I wish I didn't know Jesse: Alright Jac: when it's over forget you ever did Jesse: come on Jac: keep it to yourself then Jac: I don't want to talk about it Jesse: you might and I'll be about if you do Jesse: don't mean I'll be shouting about it Jac: nah Jesse: up to you, that Jac: just leave it Jesse: I heard you Jesse: I'll leave it out Jac: Good Jesse: ☕? Jac: no thanks Jac: I don't need stained teeth as well as a ruined womb Jesse: I'll pick you up a whitening kit when I go work in a bit Jac: 🙄 Jac: can't really drink tea through a straw like you can your coffee Jesse: if you're willing to look like a twat you can do owt Jesse: nobody's about to 👀 any road Jesse: I've had customers cracking on with all sorts Jac: I'd sooner be found dead in a ditch than be one of your customers Jesse: charming Jac: like it weren't obvious Jesse: never said it weren't Jesse: still a bit rude Jac: what, that I'm not a pretentious hipster that likes to pretend shit music is amazing and everyone else is too stupid to get it Jesse: that you'd rather 💀 than have a ☕ off me Jac: I don't know why you'd expect different Jesse: I never said that either Jac: then why say anything at all Jesse: 🤐 Jac: about right Jesse: 🤏 Jac: what does that even mean Jesse: it'll do Jac: whatever Jac: not as if there's any choice in the matter Jesse: what does that mean? Jac: you're annoying and you've got nothing to say Jac: that's just how it is Jesse: alright then Jac: yeah, case in point Jesse: suits you often enough that it's the case Jac: yeah, love that I hate you all Jac: it's a right laugh Jesse: for us an' all Jac: as I said, no choice in the matter Jac: just get on with it Jesse: 👍 Jac: I'll do the pills Jesse: I'll be about Jac: whatever Jesse: you've gotta have somebody with you Jac: I'm sure plenty didn't and don't Jac: if it gets to much, call an ambulance Jesse: you heard, I'll be here Jac: and I said, whatever Jesse: let me know when then Jac: 👍 Jesse: 👌 Jac: no, it's not Jesse: no shit Jac: so quit with this shit and acting like it is Jesse: you Jac: I'm not Jac: I just wanna face my time and do it Jesse: I'm getting my head round it Jac: why? Jac: what's to get, it won't be here Jesse: that's to get if nowt else Jesse: you've gotta do this Jac: so, that has nothing to do with you Jac: it's my mistake my problem Jesse: all that shit I've read ain't just going in one 👂 and out the other Jesse: and it don't have to be my mistake or problem for me to be bothered Jac: then don't get someone pregnant Jac: really welcome for the cautionary tale Jesse: tah Jac: just go away and go to bed Jesse: I ain't finished, there'll be sod all point going to bed when I am Jac: great Jesse: I'll live Jac: I don't care about you Jac: I'm trying to sleep Jesse: crack on then Jesse: I won't stop you Jac: I can't sleep when you're down here Jesse: alright, I'll piss off Jac: thank you Jesse: night Jac: yep Jac: [the next day/day after potentially] Jac: I got the pills Jac: if you're still interested Jesse: they give you the 1st one at the clinic or what? Jesse: how I read it Jac: then you know Jac: I'm gonna fake an abortion for your attention? Jac: obviously not Jesse: piss off Jac: I'm not in the mood Jesse: I'd have gone with you Jac: no need Jesse: do you need picking up now? Jac: I had a cab Jac: they make sure you aren't gonna get off in a car and crash or whatever Jesse: you home? Jac: where else Jesse: is anyone else about or what? Jac: yeah, if you didn't want to do this Jac: you should've said from the start Jac: then I wouldn't have bothered with any of this Jesse: if you'd have said you were doing it I'd be there waiting for you Jac: forget it Jac: you're more of a hindrance than a help Jesse: for not being a 🧠📖 yeah alright Jac: no, for making this remotely about you Jac: and being such a fucking pushover Jac: sometimes, you don't take no for an answer Jac: I was fucking terrified last night and you just left Jac: so fuck you, I don't need you now Jesse: you told me to leave Jac: and? Jac: I can't do this right now, Jesse Jac: I'm literally fucking killing my baby as we speak and you still wanna say you were just doing what I said, anything for an easy life Jac: you're not my problem now, I shouldn't have picked you, simple as Jesse: well you fucking did pick me Jesse: and you know why Jesse: that's about you, not me Jac: because at one point you could be fucking relied upon Jac: my mistake you're actually useless now, well great, thank you SO much Jesse: I got it wrong Jesse: I'm sorry Jac: I needed you to break through Jac: at least try, my God Jesse: I thought you needed space Jesse: I don't know Jac: I don't have enough of that Jac: it's convenient for you to all leave me alone now Jac: you don't like me, whatever Jac: I just needed you to put that aside for this Jesse: piss off, I've fucking tried for a year Jesse: I don't know how to do this with you any more, I don't know you Jac: this isn't run of the mill Jac: it's pretty special circumstances Jac: it is to me Jesse: tah for that, I hadn't realised Jesse: fucking hell Jac: can you just stop Jesse: yeah Jac: Are you gonna come home or what? Jesse: I'm on my way Jac: okay Jesse: is anyone else there or what? Jac: I think Cammie and Jameson were but I just came straight down so they didn't try to talk to me Jac: they might've gone by now Jesse: I'll come in that way Jac: I wasn't just being a bitch, by the way Jac: I bled through the pad I put on Jesse: it don't matter if you were, they'll live Jesse: do you need me to get you anything? Jac: they're used to it too Jac: I've got the painkillers Jesse: I'll just hurry up then Jac: won't be going anywhere Jesse: [we're not saying anything because we're hurrying lol] Jac: [fairplay hen] Jesse: [is gonna bring her loads of things that she could possibly want though obvs to a laughable degree] Jac: [a hot water bottle is a good idea so say you thought of that lol] Jesse: [yeah, cue montage of him giving her a comical amount of things that she lowkey doesn't want or need but there will be some useful shit in there too] Jac: [okay so just watched a quick video, and the worst is infection, sepsis as very worst, it not all coming away, or the tablets not working and this is worked out by going through more than 2 pads an hour with blood, a bad smell down there, a really high fever and the pain not being helped like at all by pain relief methods; we'll let that not happen because it is enough lol, so the basics are severe pain, cramps and blood, nausea, vomiting, diarhea, being shivery hot, you pass tissue and clots and this is meant to take 1-2 days but can last TIL YOUR NEXT PERIOD, the cramps also last about TWO WEEKS, pregnancy symptoms should ease after a couple of days, like being sick, but you can still have tender breasts for several weeks, you can't take the test to confirm the pregnancy is terminated 'til THREE WEEKS later, because the hormones stay around, you aren't allowed sex for 2 weeks BUT IF YOU DO YOU CAN GET PREGNANT IMMEDIATELY AFTER AN ABORTION but like we won't be, you're also not allowed to bath for 2 days and if you have a shower you have to have someone there in case you faint] Jac: [thought we should have this v basic rundown] Jesse: [thank god he is there and not leaving her for a bloody second because I can't even] Jac: [this is what we say when nobody WANTS an abortion hun, this is brutal, we're so rude] Jesse: [worst christmas ever] Jac: [yeah this tops last year and yours before that Amelia, not that we having a competition but hey ho] Jesse: [also thank god that we said that birthday flower drama happened and they broke up so Amelia isn't there casually like oh hey] Jac: [I was thinking if we do want her to know/be real drama, she could try to hit her up, it is Christmas lol] Jesse: [yeah that's always an option because she'll never get you pregnant hun] Jac: [oops, I meant that the other way around, did not write that properly, like Amelia tryna be a bit casual like hey don't be mad it's Xmas and then Jac could flip and it'll obviously be more than the flowers] Jesse: [well that makes sense because it's Amelia she's probably bought her a christmas gift yet again lol] Jac: [that was my vibe lol, god knows how my boo will be feelsy/rude with that] Jesse: [I was thinking she should get her another gay book that relates to their life like she did last year but like folded up inside is a portrait cos she hasn't done one of her since that one when they were like tweens] Jac: [you can find a list I bet, at least you don't know about the gay baby there isn't, that would be too close to the nose] Jesse: [blatantly like a chanel lipstick because we got the lip balm a year before, a theme so yeah leave that for the bae like you did last year] Jac: [a vibey vibe tbh, soz you do not know what you're coming into] Jac: [but yes, this is gonna be a bonding moment for you two, because it'll stop being like let's talk about it and you'll just have to do it, at least 2 days of the worst, you'll have to distract and comfort anywhich ways you can think of, probably lots of old movies and eating comforting junk, I'm just deciding if we tell JJ ourself or make Jesse rn hmm] Jesse: [I love that for you two even though it has to be in such horrible circumstances, I think he should do it because they'll blatantly still speak to her but at least she won't have to start the convo herself] Jac: [yeah, that makes sense as a moment 'cos we aren't stupid and this is gonna be suspish to all of us but at least then we can keep the other kids mainly Jude from being like HEWWO] Jesse: [yeah because Jude is the last thing we need rn no offense hen but he's literally not leaving her and even he isn't the music bit THAT much plus we said he had a show that he's just skipping which Jude would probably know so she'd be like ??! if not] Jac: [like, I'm down for mentioning that is a thing or having her come into the inbox but we don't need it to get to deathcon 5 levels, like we don't have the energy so she'd just be ignored and I won't make you self-RP] Jesse: [we know it's a thing and we know the vibe] Jac: [mhmm, like at the minute we've probably simply forgotten but we will circle back 'round when we're not quite so in traumatic shock] Jesse: [poor Jude just like why is everyone ignoring me, god bless] Jac: [lmao GIMME THAT ATTENTION, truly JJ I dunno how you tell someone to stop without giving up the info but you've gotta somehow] Jesse: [distract her somehow lads, it's nearly christmas there is shit you can do] Jac: [just going on a suspish amount of Christmas activities haha i live] Jesse: [I feel bad for you hen but like all will become clear one day] Jac: [sadly how it's gonna be]
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58 and 44 for the prompts. With Sanders Sides,, maybe with Logan and Virgil?
58- Trapped/Held Captive
44- Psychological Horror
Thanks Anon, I hope I did this justice. Prompt from here
CW- Along with the above, there’s also some self-worth issues and animal death mentioned once. Let me know if I need to tag anything else
--
It was an overall pleasant room, with stripped wallpaper, gray carpeted floor, and solid corner to curl up in. Technically it was his room- dark lighting, nicely knit spiderweb hanging from the ceiling, a poster with some classic Disney villains on it, the works.
There also wasn’t a door.
There probably wasn’t a door.
As long as Virgil stayed laying on his side, facing the wall, he had no way of knowing whether or not there was a door. Frankly, he was fine with not knowing- even if there was no way out for him, there was no way in for anyone or anything else.
Of course, it also meant that if there was already something else in the room with him, he was essentially trapped with them. His hood was up, shielding his ears. He felt something heavy hanging in the air, inches from the back of his neck.
Pulling his jacket sleeves over his palms, Virgil traced a strip on the wall with his finger tip. He held his breath and told him to ignore everything else.
-
Logan had been walking down the hallway for approximately thirty-four minutes, or about the average amount of time it takes their group to work through the issue of the month. He had yet to encounter any doors, just a long stretch of hallway. He kept passing clocks shaped like black cats, each one ticking out of sync with each other and telling different times, so he’s had to rely on his own internal sense of time.
No one had seen Virgil all day. While this wasn’t unusual, between the unpleasant pair of “Dark Sides” that had been popping up more and more lately, seemingly intent on proving some illogical point, and Virgil’s own still very recent coming out about his own past with them, Logan, Patton, and Roman had been keeping an eye on him.
It would be ridiculous to expect Virgil to not catastrophize a little bit, given his very function was to account every possible negative outcome possible. It would be like expecting Patton to not be stubborn or overly sentimental, or Roman to not be Roman.
Of course, given that Patton was Patton and Roman were Roman, and both had a tendency for getting side tracked, Logan had concluded that he should be the one to check on Virgil, see how he was doing, and check to see if he needed anything.
Just a quick, professional pop in and pop out.
Or so he thought.
He did not want to punch something. His legs were not tired, his shoulders were not tense, and he did not feel a scream building in the back of his throat, suffocating him, waiting to leap out and once he started screaming he might not stop-
He did not feel like screaming, because he was not afraid. He was strained somewhat, he would admit, because he was in Virgil’s space. Entering another Side’s room was always a risk, because of how they heightened everything that Side embodied became.
He passed by a silly poster of what seemed to be Disney villains, though he didn’t bother to look close enough to see who they were.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and kept walking, every now and then straightening his tie. Not because he needed something to do with his hands, of course. He didn’t.
The ticking was starting to annoy him.
-
There was definitely something in the room with Virgil. Or maybe there wasn’t. He could feel it, a hand hovering over his shoulder, a claw hanging above his head. It was like something was holding their breath with him.
It was like that cat Logan mentioned once or twice- or at least Virgil thinks Logan mentioned it, since it seemed like a very Logan thing to care about- the one in a box that was both dead and not dead since you couldn’t know for sure which it was.
Schrödinger's thing.
Schröthinger, Patton might have said, but Patton would have probably been too upset at a thought experiment that had to do with possibly dead cats to make puns.
There was a tear in the wallpaper. Virgil dug his fingernails in, feeling the unpleasant flaking of the wall gather under his fingernail. He was still holding his breath.
He wasn’t sure he could breathe even if he wanted to. His heart was pounding an unsteady rhythm in his throat, loud enough that the thing in there with him- if there was a thing in there with him- could surely hear it.
Just turn your head, he told himself, and you’ll know for sure.
And what happens if there is something in here? What then?
He had an answer for himself, of course, but he blocked it off.
-
Logan began walking faster, though he wasn’t running. It would be foolish to run- he couldn’t see very fair ahead of the darkly lit hallway, and if he were to look behind himself- which he did sparingly, since he had no need to- it would be the same darkness. If he ran, he might trip over something. Virgil was hardly the most organized Side, after all, and even though the hall had thusfar been mostly barren- unusually so, Logan had to admit- there was no way of knowing if that would continue to be the case.
Logically, since there hadn’t been anything to trip over yet, there probably wouldn’t be later on, but this place did not run on logic.
He had to admit it was starting to get to him- maybe he was a little tense, and his face had an uncomfortable greasy feeling to it, as if he hadn’t slept a healthy and routine amount the last month. This likely meant Virgil wasn’t feeling so well himself. The sooner Logan found the other Side, the sooner they could step away from this place.
Logan passed another poster for those Disney villains. They seemed to be mocking him with their grins- and for all he knew, they were. His steps mingled with the off sync ticking as he sped up farther.
-
Virgil was trapped in there with a thing- himself.
He mentally chuckled the the self-deprecating joke.The others wouldn’t like it. The Others would probably agree.
He had dug a small groove into the wall at this point, a little imperfection in an otherwise lovely room. How fitting, if a bit on the nose.
He could practically feel the other thing in the room leaning in, could almost taste the sour breath they were holding in, could feel it in his own burning chest.
He mentally assessed the outcomes to his options:
Close his eyes- Pros: his eyes were starting to burn from staring at the stripes and poster’s corner, so closing them might help; if the thing- if there was a thing- decided to attack, he didn’t have to see it coming. Cons- he wouldn’t see it coming.
Keep staring at the wall, holding his breath- Pros: if- if if if ifififIFIFIF- there was a thing there, it might not want to make the first move, meaning he couldn’t be attacked. Cons- he might never move again.
Turn around- Pros: he’ll know if he’s alone or not. Cons: He’ll have to go from there.
He might find he’s alone.
He might find he’s completely alone.
-
It can’t be the same poster, Logan thought, running past it.
It was the third poster he had passed since he started running.
He could no longer hear the clocks over the sound of his own feet and the pounding in his head.
Logan ran past another one, and a groan of frustration- it was frustration, not fear, not fear- torn through his sore throat. It felt like he had been screaming for hours, but that wasn’t possible. Even if he had been making verbal sounds, he had only been here thirty-five minutes. Right?!
Logan ran past another one, but it couldn’t be the same one, he was walking straight he would have known if he had been walking in a circle even if the curb was a subtle one he was Logic he had to be logical-
But this place did not run on logic, he realized.
Logan forced himself to stop. Breath. His legs ached.
Calmly, Logan approached the poster- it had a ragged tear middle, something he was sure it didn’t have before. It seemed, however, to be hanging at the same height and at the same distance between two cat clocks, but that might mean nothing.
It also, he realized- not bitterly, he did not get bitter- might mean everything.
Logan placed a hand by the poster, sucked in a deep breath, and calmly screamed at the top of his lungs, “VIRGIL WHERE ARE YOU?”
-
“Virgil!”
Something was calling his name. Or someone.
“Virgil?!”
Or maybe he was playing tricks on himself. Or something was playing a trick on him.
“Virgil answer me please!”
He would never know if he never looked. Something about the “please”- it sounded afraid and raw and awful and- slightly graveling? Not like his own voice, which he automatically pitched low and soft, but as if the person speaking often kept it in a monotone and only added inflection on occasion.
It sounded like “Falsehood” he realized.
But- Lo-
Bracing his arm against the carpet, Virgil sucked in a sweet, sweet breath and forced him to turn around.
Logan collapsed on the floor in front of him, falling through the open doorway.
This entire time he was alone, he realized this entire time he could leave, and he didn’t, he was afraid of nothing-
Logan scrambled to his knees and grabbed Virgil’s shoulder, his face pale, tie wrinkled, and eyes surrounded by smudged, bruised black.
“Virgil, thank god! Do you have any-” Logan cut himself off. Softer, though still not his usual authoritative, even tone, he said, “Do you have any idea how long we have been here? Or at least yourself?”
Virgil shook his head.
Logan signed, hung his head, and Virgil knew he must done something to cause Logan to be in this state. He screwed up. He was always screwing up and miscalculating and the others payed for it.
Logan straightened up. “We should leave this place. It’s... clearly affecting us both negatively. The other’s are probably going to come after us soon, and I... They might have some overwhelming sentimental feelings when they do.”
Despite himself, Virgil snorted at that.
He pulled himself and Logan up with some difficulty- he was feeling stiff and Logan still had him in a vice grip, seeming almost unable to support himself due to exhaustion.
Then, he stiffened and with a sudden bought of energy, Logan pulled away and tore Virgil’s poster from the wall.
“Hey!”
“I-” Logan ripped it in two- “never-” now four- “want to see-” eight, sixteen, leave it to Logan to wreck something in such a uniform manner- “this stupid poster again!”
He threw it on the floor, huffing. Then, turning on his heel, he seemed almost embarrassed. “Apologizes. I was... caught in a loop of sorts, and I repeatedly encountered a similar looking poster.”
“Caught in a Logic loop?” Virgil offered weakly, mainly because it felt like a joke someone needed to make, and since Patton and Roman weren’t there, that someone was him.
Logan, somehow, looked even more worn out.
This was Virgil's fault, he just knew it. The others would know it as well, he realized- his room, his territory- all it did was wear and tear and break.
It should be sealed off completely.
But he couldn’t spend all his time in the main area of the mind, either- nothing good came from his absence, but nothing good came from his presence either.
Maybe, as long as he didn’t go to deep, maybe-
He tried to cut the thought off. Logan was leaning against him again, something that made him worry- not that it took much to make him worry, since it was his job- since Logan wasn’t really one for physical contact.
“I am fine,” Logan said, as if reading his thoughts. Virgil doubted that.
He doubted a lot of things, actually.
When they turned towards the door, they both froze.
There was no door.
Just a single clock, shaped like a black cat, ticking in beat with their hearts.
#logan sanders#virgil sanders#sanders sides#horror#self worth issues#animal death#mentioned once but just in case#ask to tag#cy writing#cy fanfic#Why don't they just sink down? Idk mate Logic is a little tired cut them some slack
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Sugar is Sweet (and So Are You) ch. 2
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[Read on AO3] [Support me on Ko-fi]
Rating: T
Summary: Plagued by jealousy toward the men Angel sleeps with, Alastor comes up with a plan to keep Angel from having to work the streets. He wasn't planning on becoming an actual client, but having Angel all to himself might prove too sweet to give up--for as long as he can afford it, that is.
— — —
Alastor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself after his conversation with Angel, but he felt he should be doing something. After some time of pacing around his own room, running his mind in circles trying to figure out what was expected of him here, he was forced to concede that he simply didn’t have the information necessary to make that determination. So he would have to seek someone who did. He went down to the lobby to sit at the bar with a visibly-hungover Husk and asked for his usual—gin and tonic, hold the gin.
“Husker,” he ventured carefully, swirling the tonic water in his glass. His friend (though he used the term loosely) grunted in response. “Would I be right to assume you’ve had some experience with. Er. Filles de joie?”
“First of all, dial down the volume,” Husk grumbled flatly, squeezing his head between his hands as if that might alleviate his headache. “And second, speak English.”
“You know. Working girls. Ladies of the night. Cocettes? Streetwalkers?” How many ways could he say it gently?
“Hookers.”
“…yes.”
“Sure,” Husk agreed with a shrug, resting heavily against the bar. “But what’s it to you? Since when d’you care about that kinda shit?”
“Oh, I don’t. In so many words. But I’ve always been a curious sort, and since I don’t have any personal experience of my own, I figure a secondhand account is better than none,” Alastor explained. The two had known each other long enough that inquiries like this weren’t entirely out of the ordinary, as there were plenty of things about society—mortal or demon—that Alastor had only seen at a distance. Husk, on the other hand, had seen and done quite a lot in his years and could be very helpful when he chose to be.
“Don’t know what you’re gonna do with it, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whaddaya wanna know?” He groped absently along the bar for the tumbler of gin he’d withheld from Alastor’s drink and tossed it back all at once, then immediately got dizzy and regretted the sudden motion. “Just. Keep it down.”
“It’s my understanding that escorts, like many other professionals, have regular clients,” Alastor answered, lowering his voice slightly, more because he didn’t want to be overheard having this particular discussion than for the sake of his friend’s comfort. “But I’m not sure what sort of relationship that constitutes.”
“Like you said, a professional one,” Husk told him. “It’s a job, and a client’s a client. No matter how many times ya see ‘em, that doesn’t change.”
“I see. So…that dynamic isn’t likely to develop into something else?”
He let out a dry laugh. “Somethin’ else like what? A gal doesn’t date a john if that’s what you’re askin’.” He was answering almost automatically, not bothering to question where this curiosity had come from. “I hear when a guy starts gettin’ ideas like that, most ‘workin’ girls’ are pretty quick to cut him off.”
Which was exactly what Alastor was afraid of, considering what he knew of Angel Dust. But then, maybe there was a difference if the escort in question had only one patron. Maybe whatever he was getting into with Angel didn’t have exactly the same rules. “In a slightly different vein, then, what about…” Even saying the word felt like an admission, like an embarrassment. But he truly needed some sort of reference point before he got into this, so he had no choice. “Sugaring. The sort of arrangement where—”
“Yeah, I know how it works,” Husk said, waving him off. “Not my thing, though. Too much commitment.”
Well. That was a positive thing, wasn’t it? In terms of what Alastor actually wanted from his interactions with Angel? Commitment, as far as he was concerned, meant exclusivity, which his jealous tendencies certainly appreciated. “Commitment. On the part of the client, you mean?”
“Sure. Once you tell ‘em they can rely on you, they’re gonna. And that means you hafta be able to deliver. Money. Presents. Dates. Whatever she wants, you hand it over.”
None of that sounded bad to Alastor, not if it was Angel he was spoiling; if his previously-idle money could provide enjoyment or satisfaction for the object of his affections, why not let it do so? ‘Dates’ would even mean they were enjoying time together. How could that be negative? “And in return…?”
Husk shrugged again. “She sleeps with you and pretends she likes you. Ain’t worth it if ya ask me.”
Alastor’s eager smile faded slightly. ‘Pretends’? That could be an issue. Even if he hadn’t yet expressed it, the attention and affection he wanted from Angel was the genuine sort, not something motivated purely by money. Maybe he was being greedy in hoping for something like that, when the point of this plan had simply been to stop Angel sleeping with other men. But after the spider’s welcoming attitude and that kiss earlier, he was now starting to hope (a four-letter word if ever there was one) that more might come of it.
As he was trying to decide how to word his next question, the lobby elevator dinged, and Charlie marched out of it, dragging a fully-clothed but obviously reluctant Angel Dust by his wrist. “Don’tcha have night classes or somethin’ I could take? You two givin’ out drinks at this thing?” he grumbled, trudging along behind Charlie without otherwise protesting. When he caught sight of Alastor, his expression shifted from annoyance to a sweet smile. “Hey, boys. Room for one more?”
“Come on, Angel, it’s bad enough that we’re late already,” Charlie scolded.
“What she said,” Husk muttered, his ears turning back and downward at the voices ringing through the lobby. “Get to your fuckin’ meeting already.”
As they walked past on their way to the conference room, where Vaggie and several of their other patrons were already gathered, Angel paused to steal another kiss to Alastor’s cheek, causing Charlie’s eyes to open wide even as he casually strolled past her. The Radio Demon refused to look anywhere near their proprietor, grasping his glass tighter and trying to pretend he didn’t notice her eyes boring into him. She must have taken the hint eventually, as she disappeared into the conference room and shut the doors to begin their meeting, allowing the tension in Alastor’s body to dissipate, at least somewhat.
“Y’know, no one could blame you if ya smacked him when he does that shit,” Husk pointed out, still dispassionate, illustrating with a swipe of his own dangerous claws. “After a couple times, he’ll get the picture, trust me.”
Now this was unusual. Alastor couldn’t recall ever having felt so violently vengeful on the behalf of another person before. He’d never borne Husk any ill will in the past. That said, the thought that he had at some point struck Angel instilled in Alastor a powerful urge to tear out his feathers one by one and then stab them all back in.
“I’m sure violence isn’t necessary,” he said instead, forcibly shoving those images to the back of his mind and reminding himself that Angel had proven more than once already that he could take care of himself. “Maybe he just needs a proper focus for his energy…”
“Hey, if you wanna volunteer, be my guest,” Husk snickered without smiling.
Their conversation was interrupted by an unfamiliar demon nervously slinking into the lobby, looking to check himself in. Alastor quickly shifted into salesman mode to secure another patron and get him set up in his own room. After a whirlwind tour of the establishment, which put him back in his element and did wonders to take his mind off any other concerns he might have at the moment, they made their way back down to the lobby.
“And if I’m not much mistaken, Charlie and the others should be finishing up another session just now,” he crowed, still leading the new arrival with an arm around his shoulders and gesturing to the conference room doors. “She’ll want to welcome you personally, of course, and discuss your goals and expectations for your stay.”
His prediction didn’t come a moment too soon, as the double doors swung open to release the handful of lesser demons who had been gathered for Charlie’s group counseling session. Alastor led the newest member of their merry band of misfits to the princess to call her attention. “Charlie, this fine fellow is—remind us of your name, my good man.”
“Knix,” the burly gent answered, apparently having some trouble with looking anyone in the eye.
“A new arrival!” Alastor concluded, and Charlie beamed at the thought, as always.
“Welcome to the Hazbin! I’m Charlie, and that’s Vaggie”—she indicated her partner, who was straightening up the conference room on her own—“and we run the group meetings. How did you hear about us? What inspired you to come in? Tell me everything there is to know about you.” While she was haranguing the poor fellow to within an inch of his life, Alastor conceded that his work was done and took a step back to watch Charlie’s protégés disperse to their own rooms.
He recognized one self-involved feline named Davronius, a rabbitlike misanthrope simply called Io, an elegant and aloof owlish demon who went by Donatella—but no spiders. Odd, considering how often Charlie held Angel Dust up as her ‘star pupil,’ the exemplar of the hotel’s efficacy. And he typically basked in the attention it got him. Maybe he was still talking with one of his fellow recovering sinners? What a ridiculous thing for Alastor to be jealous of. And yet…
A flash of color darted between the guests and into the conference room, then back out only a moment later. Niffty stood to one side of the doors, her face screwed up into a pout, her eye darting around the room to seek out imperfections. She must have been in a mood, further evidenced by her scurrying over to the stairs to fuss at a guest who was leaning against the banister. Once he had backed off, intimidated despite her tiny stature, she whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and started to polish his fingerprints off the otherwise-pristine wood.
“You know,” Alastor said, strolling in her direction, “the banister can’t serve its purpose if you won’t let anyone touch it.”
“Well maybe if they washed their hands once in a while, it wouldn’t bother me,” she answered testily. “Besides, Vaggie already cleaned up after the meeting, so I don’t have anything else to do. I have to do something.” That was a fair point; there was too much energy in her little form to stand still for long. If she tried, she might spontaneously combust.
“And the entire hotel is already spick-and-span from top to bottom?”
She shot him what he had come to recognize as her version of a glare. “What d’you think I was doing during the meeting? We only have sixteen occupied rooms, and all the empty ones don’t get messy. You don’t even let me go in your room, so it might as well be fifteen. The new guy just got here, so it’s basically fourteen! And now Angel’s not here leaving dirty dishes in the lobby or doing target practice in the common area—”
“N҉o҉t҉ ҉h҉e҉r҉e҉?” There was a scratch of static in Alastor’s voice that he tried to will away as he asked casually, “A҉ng҉el ҉isn’t here? Where is he?” There were only so many reasons he would leave, and considering his recent track record, Alastor was quick to assume the worst.
“He left with some lady while you were upstairs with the new guy,” Niffty explained, flicking her handkerchief briefly in the direction of Knix, who was still in mostly one-sided conversation with Charlie. “His manager, I think.”
That statement was confusing for a few reasons. First, the only person Alastor knew of who could be called Angel’s ‘manager’ was a fellow Overlord named Valentino—a man. Furthermore, Angel had mentioned some time ago that he and Valentino were no longer working together, and Alastor had noted the improvement in his mood since.
But most importantly, the manager issue shouldn’t have applied at all, considering what they had agreed upon earlier in the day. His time shouldn’t need to be managed. Or if anyone is managing it, it should be me. He realized immediately how possessive and controlling that idea was and chastised himself for it. Yet it didn’t change how he felt. This day had come to involve entirely too many feelings, the way he saw it, and he was beginning to get exhausted. Since Angel wasn’t there to explain himself at the moment, Alastor was sure to drive himself up a wall fixating on the problem—unless he had something else to do.
“Do you know what always lifts my spirits when I’m distraught, dear?” he mused, glancing in Niffty’s direction again.
A delighted smile lit up her face and banished any lingering frustration. “A good meal?”
“That’s exactly right. In fact—Charlie!” he called, striding across the room to meet his co-manager with Niffty on his heels. “I hate to interrupt your onboarding discussion, but would you be so kind as to let all our guests know that I’ll be serving dinner this evening?”
“You’re cooking? That’s great! I’ll make sure everyone’s there,” she assured him. With a sly smile, she pointed out, “You sure seem like you’re in a good mood today. Any particular reason for that?”
“When am I ever not in a good mood? Especially when we have a new guest to welcome.” He gave a brief pat to her head, refusing to acknowledge what she was implying, and swept off to the kitchen with Niffty to occupy himself with something he knew how to control.
#RadioDust#can never tell when my stuff's going to turn up in the tag or not...#Angel Dust x Alastor#Alastor x Angel Dust#Sugar is Sweet#Hazbin Angel Dust#Hazbin Alastor
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If you don't mind answer (Since I'm loving you digging into other answers you give!) What do you think about the show's seemingly Anti-Adoption standpoint? Even when it's for the best interest of the child, or the mother's insistent on it, they seem to do everything they can to convince the mother otherwise. Even when the mother couldn't afford the child at all, and had a home lined up for them, they talked her out of it.
Thank you for the question! Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to, I wanted to attempt a thorough answer but I had a lot going on, so it got a tad forgotten in the drafts.
Your ask is quite a toughie. I don’t know that I’d actually characterize the show as having an anti-adoption viewpoint, I think the show is often trying to be conscious of the way class and other social structures interacted with the adoption system at the time, while also trying to deal with other issues adoption raises. I think sometimes they do well with that, but sometimes, while trying to shine a light on one thing, they manage to fall into other biases. I’ll put the rest under a ‘read more’ as this did get a biiiit long.
Class had (and has, really) a big role in adoption, and views of who “deserved” to be a parent often had harmful impacts. It’s a complicated and difficult subject, and there are lots of factors that can come into play in each case, but shame and other pressures were often usedto essentially force poor and/or single mothers to give up children. Some children were outright taken from the biological mother (or couple, in some cases, though overwhelmingly judgement landed on single women) that wanted them and were trying to keep them. The choice wasn’t really a free choice as they often weren’t given the support they would need in order to make keeping the child a viable option for them, nor were they given support in thoroughly thinking through all of their options and deciding what they truly want. Also, young, single, working-class women were generally condemned for becoming pregnant and were often pressured to give the child up so that they could be given to a ‘better’ family (i.e. middle-class straight couple. Having a British background & being Christian did also come into it).
Another aspect of portraying adoption is contending with the bias that a ‘real’ family is biological; that there’s some kind of innate bond between people who are biologically linked that is not present between those who aren’t (I’m going to call this the ‘biology bias’ for convenience’s sake). The elements of classism and biology bias (and bias against single parents, homophobia, racism, etc.) can interact in complex ways. Trying to realistically portray negative aspects of the adoption system that aren’t often talked about can result inseemingly playing into the ‘child should stay with their real family’ prejudice. Or it can both critique the class bias and buy into the biology bias. The latter case often takes the form of ‘well I guess the adoptive couple is providing a promising future for the child, it’s just a shame that it comes at the cost of a deeper/truer love, as the child would have had with the bio family’ in media portrayals. Or sometimes the inverse can happen (undercutting the biology bias but accepting the class bias) and you get an attribution of blame instead of an examination of how people are constrained by their situations in a way that couldbe resolved with good social supports, à la ‘those (lower-income) people were just bad parents who don’t deserve a child, the child should be given to a good (middle-class) couple.’ And plenty of other complex issues arise when the axes of race & nationality, physical & mental differences, gender, etc. come into play. It’s really a hard thing to navigate and communicate all of the elements that are wrapped up in adoption, and I’d say portrayals are often in the grey zone.
To disentangle the elements in CtM’s portrayals of adoption, I’m going togo ahead and take a little look at all of the examples of adoption in the show and try to examine what they’re aiming for and what I think they convey. Please feel free to point out if I’ve missed one or if you think I’ve missed elements of one portrayal or have misconstrued things. Strap in guys, this is hecking long. Or jump down to the Tl;dr, that’s fine too.
First, in 1x02, we have Mary, the Irish girl who came to London, was taken advantage of and pressured into prostitution and became pregnant. Jenny tries to help her, but as she is single, poor, still a child herself, and a prostitute, the child is removed from Mary (and in episode 4 we discover that that has seriously mentally scarred her, resulting in her taking someone else’s child in an attempt to regain what was taken from her.) Here we see pretty much exactly what I was talking about above. Society saw Mary as morally unfit (as being poor, a prostitute, and single & pregnant were judged to be personal failures/sins, and there was additional prejudice against Irish people), so there was no safety net for her, no public services provided so that she, even as poor and young as she was, could realistically raise the child if she wanted to. You could say it might be unjust to leave the child with Mary, given her circumstances, but I think CtM is showing that her circumstances didn’t have to be what they were. If she wasn’t judged so on a moral basis, she wouldn’t be condemned to continue in those circumstances and she wouldn’t have had her child taken from her against her will. If she had been given a free choice and support in making it and carrying it out, she may have kept the child or she may have given it up, but either way, the outcome for Mary wouldn’t have been as terrible as it was.
The second case we see is Doris Aston, in 3x02. Doris is married and has a few children already, and reveals that her current pregnancy is likely the result of an affair with a black man. Obviously, her husband (who is white) will know she was unfaithful when the child is born, and she and the child will be at risk as her husband is abusive (it’s revealed throughout the episode that he is controlling and aggressive, even prior to learning of his wife’s infidelity.) In the end, the child (who Doris names Carole) is taken out of the house, with the husband threatening to kill Carole if she remains. Carole is taken to the Turners’ to foster and then sent on to her middle-class adoptive family.This episode is meant to shine a light on another pressure that results in women not having a free choice in life, particularly around sexuality and children. Divorce was heavily stigmatizedat the time, and it wasn’t easy for a woman to get a divorce from her husband if he didn’t agree to it, especially if the couple already had children together. Therefore, if a woman was unhappy in a marriage, or even suffering abuse, there wasn’t much recourse for her. Yes, in this situation Doris did cheat, but the circumstances of that are complicated. What’s more, as a result of it, she doesn’t really have a free choice in whether to keep her daughter (and sons) and leave her husband (which she wanted) or stay and work it out either with or without Carole. The only real choice she has is to give the child up and hope her husband a) doesn’t find and hurt the baby, b) isn’t violent towards her as a result of him learning about her infidelity, and c) that she can bury her emotions around Carole and essentially pretend she never existed/died at birth. So the episode is seeking to portray the way women, especially working-class women, were unjustly constrained; forced into choices they would not freely have made. Race is touched on only briefly, in that it’s the element that renders Doris’ infidelity evident, and also a mixed-race child is more difficult to place within the adoption system. This isn’t really explored much, as Carole is quickly adopted and we don’t actually really see how her being mixed affects this.An element of this episode that I think they mishandled was buying into the ‘true family is bio family’ prejudice via their attempt to portray the injustice Doris faced and sympathize with her. This mainly comes in near the end of the episode, where they reinforce the idea that Doris is Carole’s ‘real’ mother. Doris herself worries that Carole “won’t know I’m her mother,” and Sister Julienne says “If Carole searches for her mother one day, hopefully records will bring her to us,” Here I think the norm of just saying “mother” as though the adoptive mother Carole will have isn’t really her mother, is partially just because they’re showing that Doris does feel she is Carole’s mother and doesn’t actually want to give her up, however it does play into the biology bias. This is deeply reinforced when Vanessa Redgrave chimes in with a “[Doris] trusted in God that Carole would have a good life with good people who would give her the future she couldn’t. More than anything, she wished she could have kept her because whatever anyone else might feel, it couldn’t be what Doris felt. Her daughter was of and from her. They were a part of each other and always would be.” That could generously be interpreted as Mature Jenny just conveying what Doris believed, but even so, there’s a heavy narrative buy-in to that message, and the message is clearly ‘Doris wanted to keep her daughter and ought not to have been forced to give her up. Biology and gestation result in an inherent, unbreakable bond that cannot be replicated and it is therefore regrettable that Carole had to be given to a family that - though financially secure, potentially kind, and distant from the threat of violence - lack that bond.’ That message again seeks to convey the injustice of Doris’s situation and sympathize with her pain, but in doing so, it implies that adoptive families lack this deep, automatic bond forged via biology and are therefore inherently weaker. They may provide a more materially promising future for the child, but unfortunately, they aren’t as ‘true’ a family as a biologically linked one.Furthermore, Jenny says “[The adoption agency worker] spoke as though Doris had no link at all with her baby,” and notes that the adoptive parents requested no ongoing contact. These elements reinforce the portrayal of the adoption as cold and insufficiently recognizant of how the baby is ‘actually’ the biological mother’s. This bit is difficult, as Carole is not not Doris’s, and it’s totally fair for Doris to grieve for the loss of her daughter. Also, cutting off contact, not allowing any connection at all to the child’s birth family was commonly done and can be a very harmful practice. The adoption agency (and society at large) certainly thought Doris had no moral right to see Carole, as she chose to have an affair and is therefore a Bad Woman and a Bad Mother, and that is justly critiqued by the show. But I think, in this episode, the show is rather clumsy in its portrayal of this complex situation, and manages to imply that the adoptive family (and mother in particular) are kind of interlopers who are only a solution to a problem as opposed to being a potentially very loving family that is just as true of a family as a biological one. Where this reading is a bit shaken is that this is the start of the foreshadowing that the Turners will end up adopting a child, and their fostering of Carole for the night before she is adopted is shown in a very positive light. The whole scene is loving and sweet, and positive comments are made about Carole’s adoption (though sympathy is also extended to Doris.) So it’s a bit of a mixed bag, this episode. Overall I think that it does a good job with the class and sexism elements, but a poor job with handling the biology bias.
The third time adoption is portrayed (3x06), it’s more of a subplot that serves to introduce Shelagh and Patrick to the idea that adoption could be the answer to their desire to expand their family. Colin Monk, Tim’s friend, is revealed to be adopted. Learning this immediately prompts Shelagh to propose that she & Patrick pursue adoption to continue building their family. She comments: “I really don’t believe I’d have to carry a child inside my body for it to feel like ours. If I felt that, it would mean that loving Timothy has taught me nothing.” This is a firm rebuttal of the biology bias and it nicely links step and adoptive families, explicitly espousing a positive perspective on both.The episode does touch on the class & religious aspects too. Shelagh says that the adoption charity she went to was the Church of England Childrens’ Society, and notes: “I think they quite like the idea of us, a GP and a retired midwife. (…) As the lady [at the adoption agency] said, the children have already got off to a sorry start in life, they need the very best parents the agency can find them.” So, again, the show is bringing up the normative judgements around parenting, and the idea that a (straight) professional couple where the mother stays home is deemed morally deserving of children.The end of this episode also sees Patrick getting antsy about the conditions of adoption, correctly foreseeing that (in 3x07) his mental health struggles will cause the agency to deem him less deserving of a child (so here’s ableism coming in to play too.)Overall, I think these episodes did a good job with the adoption plot. They push back against the biology bias while also subtly highlighting who is deemed socially worthy of children in terms of class and health.
Fourth there’s 3x08, wherein the Turners adopt Angela. Here, the portrayal is overwhelmingly positive, with pretty much all of our excitement and sympathies going to the Turners, who are meeting their daughter for the first time. They’re excited about the news that they’re going to become parents in much the same way we see people on the show excited about an impending birth. Holding Angela for the first time (particularly with respect to Shelagh) is treated as having as much weight and love as any parent being handed their biological baby. Particularly, In The Mirror plays, a musical theme that has been used to score previous momentous transformations in Shelagh’s life (and Patrick’s, as those changes are often linked), Patrick says “here’s your mummy,” and Shelagh says “we have a daughter.” For me, that is slightly undercut by Shelagh saying “This is the closest I’m ever going to get to giving birth.” This implies that the experience is kind of a consolation prize, as close as they can get to what they’d ideally want; for Shelagh to carry and give birth to a child that is biologically theirs. I don’t think that’s necessarily what they meant to imply - especially given all the talk before and in later episodes about loving Angela as much as if she were biologically theirs - but that’s how that line read to me. But again, that is largely overwhelmed by the positive tone and emotions portrayed in that scene.Switching into the consideration of the other end of the equation, the biological mother, we have a very interesting choice to comment on the deeply uncomfortable situation that led to Angela becoming a Turner. When Patrick asks what she knows about the situation, Shelagh says: “Hardly anything, just that the mother is only 16 and she was meant to be taking the baby home with her, but at the last minute her parents changed their minds.” Timothy, always involved in the family building (another strong element of the portrayal) says “That’s terrible,” and Patrick reprimands him with a slightly curt “Tim.” Shelagh says, “That’s why they want a speedy settlement, to spare further trauma for those involved.” We, the viewers, are excited and happy about the Turners adopting, and then we’re hit with this slight insight into the other side of the equation. Though “our” family is getting its happy outcome, that results from a terrible thing having happened to a young, single girl (‘Miss Jones’.) We don’t know the class differential here, so there’s not much to work with, analysis-wise, on that front. Here, it’s more that Miss Jones doesn’t really have the option to contradict her parents in this society, which results in her being forced to give up the child she wanted to keep. So again the show highlights the lack of choice women (and girls) had, and hints at the moral judgements around who is worthy of being supported in their parenting project. Interestingly, this actually puts Shelagh (and Patrick, to some degree, though the whole plot really focusses more on Shelagh’s motherhood, which is a whole other discussion) a bit in the moral grey, as her (their) desire to have a child causes them to kind of callously brush past the injustice their daughter’s biological mother faced. Though that is slightly tempered by Shelagh noting that it’s felt that doing this all quickly is the least traumatic option, having her convey this information as they’re all rushing to pick up Angela really gets across how the injustices on the bio mother’s side of the picture just kind of get glossed over in the focus on joy of the adoptive family. We don’t take that bit more time to consider what actually results in the best outcome for all involved. That’s an interesting counterpoint to 3x02, where the adoptive family’s love and joy is glossed over by our focus on the sorrow and pain of Doris Aston. I would say though that 3x08 does a bit better at integrating all these elements, as the hurried discussion of the bio mother is, I think, clearly meant to bring us up short and make us consider that there are elements of injustice in this situation, whereas 3x02 doesn’t really give us much positive about the adoptive family. The following episode does give us some balance too, showing the Turners worrying about Angela’s biological mother while still clearly maintaining that Angela is as loved as she would be if she was biologically theirs. Shelagh and Patrick reflect on this together and with Timothy, and the ensemble decision is to send a letter to Angela’s biological mother (though administrative structures make it uncertain that the letter will reach her), giving her some closure as to what happened to the child she gave up. This serves to send the message that communication in the process of family-building is important, while also remaining grounded in a time where it was generally held that the best thing to do in an emotionally difficult situation was to not talk about it.
In the following episode, the Christmas special, we get the mother and baby home, which switches gear firmly into focussing on the judgement placed on unmarried women who become pregnant (especially young women) and the abuses these women (and girls) faced in the institutions they were sent to. First, there’s the fact that these institutions existed, largely tucked away to reinforce that falling pregnant outside of marriage is shameful and needs to be hidden. Then there’s the medical neglect within the home, the only staff being the Nonnatus volunteers and the drunken matron who runs the place. We see one case briefly where a baby is basically ripped from a young woman/girl who was not yet ready to say goodbye. Of our two main cases, we have one woman who decided to keep the baby though she was initially aloof and uncaring, and one who was totally comfortable giving the baby up and does so. I think a strong point of the episode was pointing out that whole Mother & Baby Home system is a result of and in many ways a reinforcement of the shaming and punishment of young, often poor, unmarried mothers for what was deemed a personal failing. We see this explicitly with Tim’s comment about “moral contagion,” wherein he’s voicing/testing out/subtly criticizing the mainstream view of the time. In England at the time, society operated on the idea that treating these women like any other pregnant women would be endorsing their sin/personal failing, and that would lead to a whole epidemic of this sort of thing, which would obviously be bad. So the episode as a whole is bringing that to light and critiquing it and the actions that resulted from it.On to the two main cases. One is a young woman/girl who decides to give her bio son up for adoption, saying that she’s happy to think that he’ll have a good life with people who love and want him and it’s the right choice for both of them. She is shown to have a supportive mother, indicating that sometimes, the choice was freer. The narrative is telling us that there were cases where - in spite of wider social prejudice against unmarried mothers - keeping the child would have been a viable option, but the bio mother decided that wasn’t what she wanted/what she judged to be the best outcome of the situation, and this is a perfectly fine choice to make.My feelings on the portrayal of the other young woman/girl are a bit more mixed. On the one hand, yes sometimes someone is totally set on giving up a child but their mind changes when confronted by the reality of the newborn. However, this storyline is a bit of an iffy trope and I think using it requires some delicacy. It’s very easy to fall into the ‘it’s your child and you will and ought to have a unique, automatic bond with it,’ which places a judgement on women who don’t automatically feel that bond, whether or not they want that child and whether or not they ultimately decide to keep that child. That normative view of bonding downplays the work that goes into bonding with a child and implicitly judges those whose bond is not automatic, as well as implying that there is a sort of bond that is exclusive to the person who gives birth to the child. On the plus side, that storyline directly contradicts the idea that these young women/girls don’t deserve to be mothers, and that is a point in its favour.On the whole, though I disagree with the ‘automatic bond’ portion of the one storyline, the episode benefits from having multiple storylines highlighting different elements within the overall focus on pregnant, unmarried young women/girls and the injustices they suffered as a result of sexism.
Sixth, we get the case of Marnie Wallace and Dot (and Eugene) Spenlow. Marnie and Dot are cousins, the former is poor, the latter is more middle-class. Marnie is pregnant and her husband has died fairly recently. She’s struggling with how she’s going to provide for this child as well as the children she already has. The main option is to give the child to Dot and her husband, who very much want a child but cannot have one biologically. This gets uncomfortable as Dot offers Marnie financial support on the condition that Marnie gives them the baby when it’s born. Marnie does this but is clearly unhappy about it. When we see Dot and Eugene with the baby, they seem fairly uncomfortable with caring for it/aren’t going about it as Marnie would, though they are happy. Marnie decides she can’t live with this and takes the baby back, and though Dot and Eugene are upset, they come to accept this and give her all the stuff they bought for the baby. I’m not entirely sure what the episode was going for. There’s the theme of poor women being forced to give up children out of financial necessity (lack of resources & support made available to them), and there’s the theme of family pressuring a woman to make certain decisions about her children. I think they were trying to highlight class dynamics, and that resulted in the episode portraying a more middle-class part of a family directly preying on a poorer family member and taking her child. My discomfort with that (and I think it’s a discomfort that many viewers had) is not around Marnie not deserving to have the support she needs to raise a child that she truly wants. Portraying class struggles has always been an important element of this show and a praiseworthy one. The reason this episode drew some criticism (at least, on tumblr), I think, is that the portrayal of the couple who cannot biologically have children feels malicious. It feels like the message being sent is that there’s something virtuous about being able to have children even when you “have nothing but love,” whereas the barren couple is materialistic, not naturally good at parenting like someone who can bear children and inherently unable to provide the love that the bio mum could give the baby. That Dot practically bribes Marnie to give her the baby borders on a caricature and makes me question why it was written this way, as opposed to, say, having Dot and Eugene being portrayed more sympathetically (i.e. not bribing Marnie, offering her help) and perhaps having Marnie struggle to communicate with them that she feels pressured into a choice that she’s not comfortable with. While the situation that was portrayed isn’t wildly out there in terms of things that could and probably do happen within families, the predatory portrayal of the Spenlows seems to condemn them for being unable to have children that are biologically theirs. And that’s not a super great message to send.Oh yeah, and Tom has some feelings about the fact that he was adopted. That part of the episode felt quite tacked on. I think they were trying to communicate that a person who was adopted may have complicated feelings about the circumstances leading to their adoption when they grow up. How do you process a situation in which your biological mother was forced to give you up, but you love and were & are very happy with your adoptive family? What if you just don’t know the circumstances in which you were given up but fear they were traumatic for your biological mother/family? I think those are all very good questions to explore and I would love to see the show do a good job of exploring them. This episode wasn’t it. Putting Tom questioning those things against the backdrop of Marnie and Dot, the negative message of their story casts a shadow over those questions such that, instead of really exploring them, you’re left with the feeling that the show is saying ‘yeah, that was probably a bad thing that you weren’t raised in your biological family.’ I think they tried to provide balance to this by having Tom maintain that he loved his family and had a very normal childhood and he didn’t even think about the fact of his adoption, but I don’t think it worked. I also think that positioning ‘I didn’t even question that I was adopted and never thought about the circumstances of my birth & bio parents’ as the sign of a positive outcome of adoption is problematic. A person can be curious about and care about their bio family and the circumstances that led to their adoption without that being a slap in the face of their adoptive family or a sign that they were/are unhappy/unsatisfied with their adoptive family. Overall, though there were a few good elements to this episode… it was a bit of a trainwreck.
Seventh, there’s the 2018 Christmas Special. In this episode, we get the case of Anthea (Tillerson) Sweeting, who was abused by her father throughout her life and was then turned out by her family when she became pregnant as a result of the abuse. She subsequently formed a family of her own composed of some children who are biologically hers, as well as some who are adopted and some who she (and her husband) are fostering. There is also the case of Linda & Selwyn, a couple living in a caravan who are preparing for the birth of a baby who is not biologically Selwyn’s. Their arc largely involves Linda escaping the cycle of self-blame and accepting that the man she loves and who loves her is fully committed accepting the child as his and continuing forward as a family. With both of these cases, the biology bias is directly contradicted. With the Tillerson/Sweeting situations, we compare a family where the biological father was abusive and the biological family as a whole failed to protect the children (though there are nuances as to the mother’s responsibility in a situation where she too was suffering abuse) to a strong, loving family where the degree of biological relatedness varies. Then with Linda & Selwyn, you have a family where the biological father is not in the picture and the non-biological father is shown to be loving and supportive and very likely a good father. The episode as a whole strongly communicates that it is the choice to love and the continued commitment to one another that makes a healthy family.
Eighth and finally, we have the 2018 Christmas Special. I’m not going to go into the whole of May’s situation and its portrayal because there’s much to go into about fostering and, while fostering is related to adoption, it’s really a whole topic of its own. There’s also a discussion that could be had about religious institutions and their role in adoption, but that would really go into the role they have in childbirth as well and that is just a whole big other conversation we could have about the show. Also, frankly this reply is long as heck already and a million high fives to you if you’ve stuck with me this far. In this episode, we go to the Nonnatus Mother Ship House and learn that apparently, they run an orphanage. Sister Winifred has a nice storyline with a boy who has disabilities and is therefore unlikely to be adopted. It is shown that children like this were often pushed to the sides and not given the care they needed to flourish. They were also far less likely to be adopted because they have different needs from children without disabilities, so they’re not what people seek when adopting (or hope for when giving birth.) This was a strong point of the episode, as it highlights the ableism in society more generally and specifically within family-building and childcare. Then we have May, who is part of a group of orphans from Hong Kong whose adoptive parents do not show up to pick her up because the prospective father gets TB, so the Turners decide to take her to live with them as a foster child. We learn that May’s biological mother was a prostitute and struggled with addiction and that though she tried to keep May, in the end she couldn’t manage to care for her in the situation she was in. There’s lots going on here in terms of class, addiction, sex work, and international adoption (especially, in this case, the power differential between Hong Kong (a British colony) and the UK (the colonial power in this equation.)) Later in the episode (or possibly in the series), it’s mentioned that May isn’t fluently anglophone and the Turners will have to work on her English with her, but other than that, questions of race, culture, etc… aren’t really touched on. I hold out some hope that these will come up in the upcoming series but I think they could have been introduced a bit in this episode/series. Also on the subject of international adoption, we have the sad (and sadly mishandled) story of the Australian home children. These children were sent to Australia (and other Commonwealth countries) for adoption, but were actually treated more as a source of free labour on farms. We actually did see this mentioned at the end of a much earlier episode (4x01), where four children were left mostly alone in conditions of abject squalor due to a neglectful mother (that was pretty much played straight, we don’t really gain much insight as to what her story was) and after Nonnatus helps them, they’re sent off to Australia where they suffer further abuse. And this is repeated here, the pregnant woman in question loitering around the Mother House trying to gain the courage to enter the last place she was happy as a child and talk about the abuse she suffered when she was sent out from the orphanage within this program. I think there’s a positive to this, in that it’s shedding light on a dark aspect of history, but it seems like there may have been a larger point/concern they were trying to make about international adoption programs and the positives and negatives therein that just didn’t land.So overall, there was a lot going on in this episode, some positive elements around tackling ableism in adoption and orphanage care, and some missed elements in relation to international adoption programs.
Tl;dr (and it’s perfectly fine if you jump down here bctbh I wrote a whole freaking tome up there): Dismantling the notion that someone isn’t a “true” parent or isn’t “truly” a person’s child because there’s no biological link is massively important, as is dismantling the notion that you have this instant “natural” connection with your biological child (in terms of what that implies about non-genetic families, the judgement it holds about people who don’t bond instantly with their biological child, and that it erases the work of bonding.) Dismantling the biases about biological connections is helpful in pushing back against a variety of harmful views both within the context of families and family-building, and more broadly. (I’ve actually done some research into essentialist biases around genetics/”blood” and have some interesting papers on it, so please message me if you’re curious and would maybe like to nerd out about it.)
That being said, it’s also important to remember that not all of the choices around adoption are made freely. As with any form of family building, the social structures surrounding it shouldn’t be ignored. At the time, and even now, class, what is considered morally acceptable in a society, and family structure ideals all play into why children are removed from birth families, and which adoptive families they are placed with. They play a large role in who is given support in making, growing and sustaining a family, and who isn’t. Those structures largely favour(ed) straight, Christian, middle-class couples of British backgrounds and judged as worse or less deserving (or completely undeserving) gay, single, non-Christian and/or working-class people of non-British backgrounds.
It’s a really tricky subject, and trying to communicate that biology isn’t what makes you a parent while also showing how harmful the adoption process could be and how rooted it was (is) in unjust social norms & structures is important. I don’t think CtM always nails it, but I think the show benefits from tackling the subject multiple times, from some variety of perspectives, and with efforts at nuance.
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Foresight is 20/20 Chapter 6
I stuck my hands in my pockets and licked my lips as I looked up at the cloudy sky. "So you said that we're going to meet with a friend of yours?" I asked. It was about a month after I "summoned" Kurama.
"Yes," Father said. "Inuzuka Tsume. She was one of my teammates back when we were genin, and currently the head of the Inuzuka clan." He ruffled Hinata's hair. "Considering their ages and how well the Inuzuka and Hyuuga can work together, it's most likely that Hinata-chan and her youngest child will also be in the same genin team."
"I-I'll do my best!" Hinata said.
I smiled. "I'm sure you'll do fine," I contributed. "You're way better than you think you are." I brushed my bangs out of my eye. They were getting to the point where they weren't entirely curving away from my eye, though that didn't really bother me that much. I like my hair long. Plus, there are a looot of characters in Naruto with hair over one eye, so who am I to go against that trend? I closed my eyes and started humming a happy tune (All dead, all dead, all the dreams we had), when... something brushed on my burgeoning negativity senses, though I couldn't really tell much about it because I wasn't trying to sense anything. For me to sense it automatically probably meant something bad, though.
"Two women raising a child?" I overheard. "You make me sick." I opened my eyes and sighed. I looked over to where I heard and felt the evil and saw three women. One of them, who was the source of the hate and presumably the hateful comment, was looking at the other two with a scornful look in her eyes and holding... was that a young Tenten?
Huh, guess that's what author me decided to do about Tenten having about zero background information aside from idolizing Tsunade and liking weaponry.
The lady was gripping maybe young Tenten by the wrist and I could see that she looked really afraid. Stranger danger, kids. The other two women, who I assumed were probably Tenten's mothers, began to give off the appropriate amount of hate that one would expect from a pair of mothers whose four-or-so-year-old daughter was snatched by a homophobe, and it showed. Mom number one looked like an older version of Tenten in everything but clothing and the fact that she only had one bun and mom letter A was a shorter orange-haired woman who wore the same sort of Chinese-style clothes that Tenten wore. "Give her back," mom letter A snarled, cracking her knuckles. Mom number one echoed the sentiment. At this point, my training consisting entirely of my Sociology teacher showing the class a bunch of episodes of What Would You Do? and having us write a small assignment each time instead of doing actual work kicked in and I swiftly-but-silently walked over to the homophobic woman and grabbed her wrist with a red chakra-enhanced vice grip.
"No," I said, growling at her with red eyes. She recoiled in fear, letting go of young Tenten's wrist. As one might expect, Tenten immediately retreated to and began hiding behind her mothers. I relaxed my face, but kept my eyes the same. "Why exactly do you think what you just did was right? Especially the attempted child abduction?" I asked the lady.
She tried to yank her wrist away, but I slowly licked my lips and let her struggle for a bit before letting go. She haughtily scoffed like I, a small child, hadn't just vice-gripped her hard enough to leave a red mark. "It's unnatural and no child should be subjected to that. She should be sent back to the orphanage."
I used a neato trick that Kurama taught me to send hate at her with what little I knew of biju telepathy. "First, I don't believe it's something 'unnatural' or 'wrong.' Second, I've been to the orphanage. It's not something I'd send someone to because I don't agree with who the parents are unless the parents are abusive or something." I took another "look" at the family's chakra. "Third, I would like to say that from the feel of their chakra, I think that the daughter is somehow related to both of them, so I think she might have never been in the orphanage to begin with." It was just a suspicion I had, but considering the feel of Tenten's and mom letter A's chakras weren't quite as close as Tenten's and mom number one's, I decided that mom letter A was a relative of Tenten's biological father. Maybe a sister or close cousin? At any rate, something about their similarities in chakra felt... familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on it... "So the only bad person here is you," I continued. "Leave."
Evil woman clearly didn't like my tone of voice. Or my logical argument as to why she was a horrible person. "You little brat! I'll kill you!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Father said with an edge to his voice. He'd come over at some time during the argument, with Hinata hiding behind him. "I don't like the tone you've taken with my son."
She winced and tugged at her collar. "At least you'd agree with me when I say that those two women are deviants for being... together?"
"I honestly don't know why you might think that," Father mused. "I suppose we seem traditional most of the time, but the Hyuuga have had a long history of supporting LGBT rights and love in general." He gave a small smirk that had all of the energy of a Cheshire Cat smile. "In fact, I'd like to say that I am not at all ashamed to admit that, when we were both genin, I had feelings for Namikaze Minato." The woman that I was now memorizing the face and chakra signature of for the specific purpose of giving her a hard time were I to ever see her again scoffed and stomped off. "Are you four okay?" he asked.
"That was fun," I said, then realized how that could be insensitive that could be to the little girl who was almost abducted and her parents. "Sorry, are you three okay?"
Mom number one (I really needed to learn their names) smiled. "That was nice of you, kid. What's your name?"
"Hyuuga Kouki," I said. "He's my father and the little one is my sister, Hinata." Before I was about to make any more witty remarks, I was surprise-glomped by a four-year-old.
"That was so cool!" Tenten exclaimed. "You totally saved me!" I noticed that up close, her otherwise dark brown-looking hair had a red glint with the right lighting like mine. Just in case, I compared her chakra to mine to see if that was what the familiar bit to her chakra was. I was glad at myself to see that what little similarity between our chakras was minimal, a bit like the similarity I noticed between Naruto and an Uchiha that I'd seen. Like we were descendants of two siblings from Otsutsuki Hagoromo's ti-
"Wait a minute," I thought. I used my chakra sensing on Tenten and mom letter A. Prodigious chakra capacity, disproportionate physical energy, and a bit of a sunny feel to it. For both of them. I thought about what I knew about how Tenten fights from canon. Seals all of her weapons in scrolls and has the stamina to keep up with Neji the prodigy, Lee the genius of hard work, and Maito Guy. Plus, mom number A had orange hair. "They're Uzumaki, aren't they?" I thought even as mom letter A started talking.
"My name's Uzumaki Ai." I fricking called it. "My..." she blushed slightly and tittered like a schoolgirl with her first crush, "girlfriend here is named Tenko."
"And the girl hugging Kouki-kun is my little daughter, Tenten," Tenko said.
"Potentially touchy question," I said flatly, acting like there wasn't a little girl who was a little taller than me still hugging me. I gave Tenten a look and she let go.
Tenko sighed. It was more of a sad sigh and not a some-rude-kid-is-about-to-ask-me-a-potentially-touchy-question sigh. "Her father was... severely injured in the Kyuubi attack. He died and Ai and I mourned him together. She decided to help me raise her brother's child and well," she blushed, "things... happened eventually." I nodded. Yeah, that seemed like something I'd write. Tenko looked thoughtful for a moment. "If you don't mind me asking a potentially touchy question," she said, "why were you so willing to jump in? Not that it's bad to do that, but I wouldn't have thought that a little kid would be like that."
I grunted and licked my lips. "I hate people who judge others without getting to know them at all, just basing their entire opinion on something that has no bearing on their character or that they have no control over." I closed my eyes and shrugged. "I don't know exactly where it comes from, but I think that the fact that over half the village hating my best friend for something that happened on the day of his birth and was masterminded by someone else had something to do with it." I gave Tenko and Ai a piercing stare and noticed that Tenten had completely stopped following the conversation. "I don't suppose you two realize that Naruto-chan is totally innocent of the attack that happened mere minutes after his birth, do you?" I gave Ai a bitter smile and tilted my head to the side. "'Course, given the fact that I'm pretty sure that the two of you are the only remnants of the Uzumaki clan in the village but I haven't even sensed you anywhere near him makes that seem unlikely."
She sighed and stood there for a minute. "You're... you're right. I should have taken him in. My brother died in the attack, but that doesn't change the fact that I turned my back on a kid who had nowhere else to go and is actually family." She looked at Tenko and smiled. "Honey, do you think Tenten-chan would like a little brother?" I could tell what the answer was when Tenten turned to her mother and stared at her with puppy dog eyes. Not Puppy Dog Eyes(TM), but close.
Tenko chuckled. "I think I'd like to have a son." Tenten squeed and jumped up and down in happiness. Then she grabbed me and Hinata in a big hug. "Well, we should probably get going with that. I don't even know where to start..."
"Go to the Hokage," Father suggested. "Considering his importance, Hokage-sama would get involved anyway."
I raised my hand. "And if you really want to speed it up, tell the secretary to tell Sarutobi-san that the Seer of Time sent you." Ai, Tenko, and Tenten looked at me quizzically. "I think that we might have go to soon. Good luck."
Father stiffened slightly. "Right, I was taking Hinata-chan and Kouki-kun to meet a friend of mine and we really should be going. I hope that we will get to know each other in the future, considering the fact that my son is friends with the boy you're hoping to adopt, but if you will excuse us, we must be leaving now." He looked at Tenten. "If you could release my children, please?" Tenten stopped hugging us and we parted ways.
A few minutes later Father said, "You planned that, didn't you."
I covered my mouth with a hand as I grinned and did my weird snicker that sounds like I'm hissing and I decided to mess with him. "However do you suggest I did that, Father?" I asked in a voice that made it sound like I totally did plan it, even though in this one case I totally hadn't. "Such a feat would require me to have some way to know that they were going to be there beforehand." He gave me a flat look. "Sometimes, when you do good things purely out of the kindness of your heart," I continued, "events line up so nicely that people think that you planned it." He raised an eyebrow. I shrugged and pulled out the small, featureless puppet that I'd bought to test a certain jutsu I was trying to make and started playing around with it using chakra threads. What? Just because I don't plan on using puppet ninjutsu in battle doesn't mean that I should never learn it. "Yeah, I like being all puppetmaster-y, but I really can't take credit for this one. It's just luck."
"That's so cool, Kouki-niisan!" Hinata said as she looked at my puppet. I grinned and made it bow before putting it away.
"Thaaaank you," I said. "Let's go see Father's friend now."
kukukuku~
Tsume guffawed as she looked at me. "So this is the little ankle-biter you saddled yourself with, eh Hiashi?" she said with a grin.
To his credit, I was only able to bend my spine an acute angle to the side before Father said, "Please don't bite my ankle, Kouki-kun."
This naturally made Tsume howl with laughter and then smile at me. "You're alright, kid!"
"Thank you, Inuzuka-san," I said with a small grin. "You seem nice too. Should I go introduce myself to your son?" I asked.
"Go ahead, kid." She grabbed Kiba by the head and lightly shoved him at me, then looked at the nine-year-old Hana. "You should talk to them too, kiddo. I heard Kouki's got some sort of healing jutsu, so you could talk to him about that."
"Hello," I said as she walked over. "Can I pet your puppies," I asked, pointing at the three husky puppies that were trailing behind her.
"Sure," she said with a smile. I bent down and rubbed two of them behind the ears, cooing in a totally not weird way. "Their names are Hashirama, Tobirama, and Hiruzen. We call them the Haimaru triplets."
"After the first three Hokage," I assumed.
"Umm..." Hinata said quietly. "C-can I..." Hana picked up the puppy I wasn't petting and gave him to Hinata. "Thanks..." Kiba walked up to her and started chatting to her about... something. I stopped paying attention, so I'm not sure what.
Hana crouched down next to me and began petting... I think he was Tobirama? "So what was my mom saying about you knowing a healing jutsu?" she asked me.
I shrugged. "Unfortunately it's not the sort of jutsu just anyone can use, if that's what you were hoping for. You have to have a certain special chakra that you don't have, sorry."
She sighed. "Can't be helped. I want to learn medical ninjutsu so I can be a veterinarian. I like animals, so I thought it'd be a nice goal."
I nodded as I started scratching Hiruzen's tummy. "Being any kind of healer is a worthy aspiration," I muttered. "And animals are nice, though I suppose I shouldn't have to say that to an Inuzuka, should I?" She laughed. "I want to learn medical ninjutsu too, but really, mine is just for curiosity." I closed my eyes and chuckled as Hiruzen started licking my fingers. Then I rubbed my fingers on the "skirt" my shirt when he was done. "Mine must seem petty compared to yours, huh?"
She shrugged. "I still think that it's nice to want to learn stuff like that." She chuckled. "Even if it's just curiosity. So what exactly is that healing jutsu of yours?"
I grinned and lit the tip of my finger with a bit of red chakra. "It's a bit of a long story, but I think it's an interesting one..." We chatted for a while. I think I actually made a friend! Plus, it looked like Hinata was having fun with Kiba, so that's good.
kukukuku~
Ai and Tenko walked into that one meeting room of the Hokage's. "You wanted to see us again?" Tenko asked.
"Yes," he said. "Please, sit down." The couple sat down on one of the sofas, with Ai resting her head on Tenko's shoulder, which was really adorable. "There are a few more things that I'd like to discuss with the two of you before you adopt Naruto-kun. It's very important."
"Let's hear it," Ai said as she got a little more comfortable nuzzling Tenko.
"For one, I think you should learn who his father was before you take him in," I said as I sauntered out of the shadows and dropped my very-horrible-but-still-at-least-somewhat-usable Transparency Jutsu. It really only made me a little translucent, really more like stained glass than glass, and there was still an unfortunate amount of disturbance when I moved, but with my dark clothes, the partial tan that I had from actually spending time in the sun, and the shadows, the ability of standing so incredibly still that I become invisible to the eye was easy and attainable, even if I still couldn't eat any zargnuts while doing it... "His name was Namikaze Minato, maybe you've heard of him." I flopped down on the other sofa and sprawled out on the entire thing.
Everyone was silent for a moment as Tenko and Ai looked at me incredulously. After a few seconds, Ai broke the silence by saying, "Not that I'm mad or anything because you're a nice kid, but what the hell are you doing here?"
Sarutobi cleared his throat. "To cut a long story short, I made young Kouki here my advisor because he has the ability to see the future. This is an S-rank secret that should be even more strongly guarded than Naruto's status as a jinchuriki and his heritage." I winked and flashed my open eye at them.
"Okay, so what was that about Naruto's father being the fourth Hokage?" Tenko asked. I took the pictures of Minato and Naruto that I'd prepared for that particular reason and waved them so that the corners hit each other a few times and raised my eyebrows slightly. Seriously who else in Konoha had spiky blonde hair like that? "No, I see that now." She paused. "Actually I'm surprised that not more people have made that connection..."
"People see what they want to see," I stated with a scowl and red eyes. "Any relation to the heroic Fourth aside from 'murderer of' would get in the way of the idea that most of the villagers seem to have built up of how Naruto is a monstrous demon and not a young boy hated by over half the village for the monster sealed inside him to save said village." I scoffed. "Ingrates."
After a few minutes of utter silence, Tenko said, "I'd like to ask why nobody's ever tried to inform the village about his father, then."
I shrugged. "This guy," I pointed at Hiruzen, "decided that Naruto's parents have made some enemies and they aren't around to protect him anymore, so why not just cover up who his parents were, and not even tell him 'til he's either chuunin or sixteen. I begrudgingly accepted his reasoning on the condition that we make sure that Naruto's life isn't completely horrible and he doesn't learn about the Kyuubi or his parentage in completely traumatic circumstances."
"I would have preferred it if you didn't phrase it like that," Hiruzen said, "but that's about it. There's another matter, this one something that Kouki-kun was rather insistent on telling you."
Aiko nodded. "Spill, kid."
I sat up. Kinda. I didn't actually sit like a proper young lady, but at least I wasn't lying down on the sofa, right? "Something you guys should probably know looong before it actually becomes relevant." I tossed them the picture of Obito from when he had to have his ID photo taken. "His name is Uchiha Obito. Pronounced KIA in the Third Ninja War after a cave-in. In actuality, he was abducted by Uchiha Madara, implanted with the genetic material of the First to repair the damage from the cave-in, and groomed to take on Madara's mission. Part of this mission was apparently to attack the village using his Sharingan to control Kyuubi about three-and-a-half years ago."
Tenko sighed. "I suppose it's a little hard to swallow, but so is a young boy with the ability to see the future, so I'm willing to believe you. Why did you want us to know this?"
I lazily bobbed my head. "First, there's the fact that, even if you have the best intentions, the two of you lost a loved one in the Obito attack, so it might've been hard for you to fully put aside the feelings from that if you believed that the thing responsible for that was sitting under your roof inside the boy you adopted. And that would be bad. Second, I plan on eventually getting Naruto-chan and Kurama-chan to make friends with each other, so you two thinking Kurama-chan is a mindless beast might interfere with that." Ai raised her hand. "Kurama's the Kyuubi and yes we are friends," I answered. "Third, you two really should know all the facts."
"Thanks for that, then, kid," Ai said. "Is there anything else we should know?"
I grumbled. "I was gonna tell you two about Jiraiya, but someone," I looked at Hiruzen, "already told you."
"How did you..." Tenko started to say, but then trailed off. "Right, future vision. I'm starting to realize that 'getting to know each other' wasn't the only reason Hyuuga-san had for wanting to get some drinks with us after this." I smiled at the compliment.
"Where is young Tenten, anyway?" Hiruzen asked. "I figured she was waiting outside, but if you're going out for drinks..."
"I love shadow clones," Ai said blissfully. "They're just... so useful."
He nodded. "I agree. If I'm not mistaken, I'm getting done twice the amount of paperwork that I used to, and I'm not even in my office."
"Though, should we be drinking after learning such sensitive information?" Tenko asked. "I love you, Ai, but you can't really hold your alcohol very well."
Ai blushed. "N-no I don't! You can't hold your alcohol very well!"
I looked into the future a bit, hiss-chuckled at Ai's drunken shenanigans, and said, "Ai-san should be fine, though you should keep your guard up just in case. I believe we're done here, you two should go unless you have anything else to ask or declare." As I expected, they didn't, and so summarily left, thanking the two of us as they did.
I slouched into the sofa some more and tossed Hiruzen a scroll. "Suna agreed to let me take a crack at Gaara, right? And about the issue of payment, tell the Kazekage that I'm doing it half out of the kindness of my heart and half to hone my skills with fuinjutsu, so I'm fine if he can't pay me too much relative to the skill level of the job." I shrugged. "Though I would like it if he had any scrolls on jutsu, preferably Wind Release, that he'd be willing to give me." He opened the scroll and made to say something, but I cut him off by saying, "You've probably noticed by now, but I screen any meeting where we discuss sensitive information beforehand. Might need to take a nap tomorrow, even though I slept last night."
"Did you already find a seal to fix Gaara?" Hiruzen asked incredulously as he stared at the scroll.
"Nein," I sighed. "As great as that would've been, we both know that I need more information on his seal to even attempt anything more than a temporary countermeasure. That's just something I whipped up with Kurama-chan's help to deal with the situation for now."
"You really like preparing for everything, don't you?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Just the things that I can think of. Besides, I doubt I'll hear you complaining when I know what to do if Danzo challenges you to a dance-off with the winner becoming Hokage, will I?"
He gave me a flat look. "Kouki-kun, did you get into my secret stash of brownies? Because you really shouldn't eat those."
I blinked. "No I did not. Just going to pretend you never said that."
"If anyone asks, it's for my back."
"Just make sure it doesn't interfere with your work," I advised. "The solution to that problem," I said like he hadn't said anything hinting at drug use, "is to just laugh him out of the office because the Hokage is not chosen based solely on one's ability to get down and boogie, but at the same time make sure that you could theoretically beat him in a dance-off. And try to engineer events so that, if Danzo has his... modifications... at the time of the dance-off, those modifications get unveiled in public and in front of a captive audience, thus casting suspicion onto his character."
He grunted. "A sensible answer to a nonsensical problem. What about the current problem of Gaara, by the way?"
I nodded and slipped into Serious Mode (yes, I have one of those), and then actually did sit up like a proper young lady. "Write this down. That scroll contains instructions to make and an example of the Inner Demon Calming Seal, a one-use seal of my and Kurama's invention that forcibly suppresses red chakra in any being with red chakra that is not a Biju - i.e. me or a jinchuriki - by way of using some of their own red chakra as fuel to cause the rest to return to the chakra coils. Tell the Kazekage to have at least three copies of it made and ready at all times, preferably more. One copy will be given to Gaara himself, who will be instructed to use it at any time when he feels like Shukaku might be trying to rise up while he's awake. The other two are to be given to shinobi of appropriate skill who are to follow Gaara around in shifts and intervene if they feel Gaara is having a problem but can't deal with it himself for whatever reason.
"Any seals that have been used will enter a state where they cannot be used again but give diagnostic information on Gaara at the time of usage, so they are to be sent to me with time used for analysis. Note that the way the seals are set up, an error in writing will most likely cause one of three problems. The first two are that it will not suppress the chakra, which is the reason why there are to be three, and complete failure in the data recording. These two are hopefully trivial matters, though there might be some inconvenience. The third is to be taken more seriously, however. Should the mechanism that regulates the reaction fail, unfortunately, the seal will continue to siphon some of Shukaku's red chakra even after it's been suppressed, as evidenced by the red glow persisting after Gaara's back to normal. It isn't nearly enough to put Gaara in danger of dying by all of Shukaku's chakra being extracted, but it will create a miniature Biju Dama should it reach critical mass. Before this happens, the seal must be removed from Gaara and sent at least ten meters from him, which will cause the seal to stop and the built-up chakra to disperse. Send the scroll and those instructions as soon as possible with further instructions to gather any and all information on Gaara's seal plus any information on Gaara himself that they think might be relevant, like medical records and chakra composition, as well as any questions and statements they might have." He looked at me incredulously, and then I slouched back down, sighed, and said, "The annoying thing about Serious Mode is that I can only do it for so long..."
Hiruzen sighed, closed his eyes, and said, "That seems about right. Are you leaving soon?" This was answered when he opened his eyes and saw a note in my place with the word "yup" on it. "How did he do that?" the Hokage muttered.
kukukuku~
The couple met another couple in front of the... I guess it was a bar? Anyway, Ai told Tenko that she saw Hiashi and someone who she guessed was probably his wife. "Hey, Hyuuga-san!" Ai said as she walked up to him. She elbowed him and said, "Is that your wife? She's hot!"
Hyuuga Hizashi looked over at his wife with puzzlement. "Do we know her?" he mouthed at aunt Hikaru.
"No," she mouthed back, shaking her head slightly.
At this exact moment, the real Hiashi and Hikari showed up. "Ah, good," Hiashi said. "I see you two have met." Ai slowly looked at Hizashi, then at Hiashi, then back to Hizashi.
"I haven't even touched the alcohol and I'm already seeing double," Ai groused. "What the heck?"
Tenko chuckled and planted a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek. "I think that those two might be his brother and sister-in-law, sweetie. Hiashi-san said that they would be here too."
Ai glared at Father. "You could have warned us that they're your clones," she complained.
"Identical twins and he did," Tenko reminded her.
Father chuckled. "Ai-san and Tenko-san, this is my darling wife Hikari," he gave her a small kiss, "and you seem to have already acquainted yourself with my brother Hizashi and his wife, Hikaru." He pointed at them. "Shall we enter, then?" They entered and were escorted to a private room by the staff.
"What, exactly, is with the private rooms?" Tenko asked as they sat down and ordered some drinks.
"This establishment is often used for meetings between clans as a sort of neutral ground," Father explained. "The owner takes the privacy of the clients who make use of the private rooms very seriously. They're soundproofed, the staff regularly check for any kind of bugs, they knock before coming in, and there are even seals placed on the rooms that make them unseeable by chakra-sensing or even the Byakugan."
"Actually, what about the Shoraigan?" Hikaru asked. As soon as she did, there was a knock on the door. When the staff member was let in, he said that a young boy had given him a note to get to his aunt, Hikaru. After the guy left, everyone else looked at aunt Hikaru. She opened the note and read, "What do you think? ~Love Kouki."
There was some awkward silence followed by Tenko clearing her throat. "So when are our drinks arriving, do you think?"
"Probably about now," Hizashi guessed. There was another knock on the door. "I swear I didn't plan that," he quickly added.
"Kouki-kun has had an impact on you, hasn't he?" Tenko asked.
Mother sighed. "He's not bad or anything, if that's what you're implying, but it's that he seems to like to play around with people and show off with his future vision and other unique powers, which can be... not exactly annoying, but... odd... at times." She then actually managed to almost look into my eyes and say, "And I'm not just saying that because you may or may not be watching, Kouki-kun."
Heh. I could show more of their conversation, but this chapter's probably getting long enough and that was about all that I wanted to show anyway. So to sum it all up, Ai got really drunk and kept hitting on Tenko. Ah, young love.
kukukuku~
I think I should make note of a few things I'd asked Hiruzen about earlier. Tenten's father, Uzumaki Shigechi, was actually the Uzumaki clan head before he died, with his younger sister having become clan head after his death. Funnily enough this meant that Tenten kinda had two separate claims to being the Uzumaki heiress, being the only daughter of the previous clan head and basically the adopted daughter of the current clan head. Though really Shigechi only became the clan head after the destruction of Uzushiogakure on account of being one of only a few Uzumaki actually being left over. As for why Kushina wasn't clan head? It actually wasn't because she was a jinchuriki. Instead, it was because she was actually Hashirama's granddaughter (apparently she was actually Tsunade's cousin, which I suppose fit with all the other times jinchuriki were related to a Kage) and she and some other people had concerns about the head of the much smaller Uzumaki clan being in line to become the Senju clan head. The same went for why Tsunade or her dad didn't become the Uzumaki clan head, though apparently her dad wasn't as cool with the decision. Not that anyone even listened to him.
But that was in the past. Currently, I was talking jutsu with Kurama.
"Demon Infusion?" I offered, playing around the puppet and some red chakra. "Maybe if I make the yin chakra and yang chakra separately?" I thought.
Kurama gave a thoughtful hum. "It sounds fine, I guess, but why does it need to sound demonic?"
I shrugged. "I've heard of biju referred to as demons before, and giving myself a demonic motif just sounds cool."
"I suppose that that's as good a reason as any when dealing with you," he sighed. There was a bright flash from the window, illuminating the dark, dusky sky, and a crash of thunder followed a moment later. "Eeep!" Kurama... shrieked? That felt weird to say... So he... shrieked... and jumped into my arms.
I looked down at him flatly. "You do realize I'm working, right?"
He scoffed haughtily and turned his head away. "I was just... startled, is all."
I looked out the window, specifically at the heavily pouring rain. "You do realize that it's been overcast the whole day, right? And now it's pouring buckets."
"Shut up," he said as he jumped out of my arms and onto my desk.
"I can't do that, but I can change the subject," I offered. Kurama muttered something that could have been a "fine." "So do you think that I could get Six Paths Sage Mode if I got some chakra from all nine biju?"
He stared at me for a few moments. "Maybe? You do realize that the problem with this theory is that you need to get the chakra of all nine for this to work, yes?"
I shrugged. "True, but at the same time, I have yours and I'm hoping to get some of Shukaku's when I go over to Suna, so I'm almost one third of the way there already!"
He flicked his tail. "Perhaps you should think of an easier jutsu to obtain?"
I sighed. "You're probably right." I thought for a moment, then snapped my fingers. "Do you think I could make a Gudo Dama if I were to get all five chakra natures in red chakra?" I asked.
This took him a bit of thought as I fiddled with the puppet some more. "I... don't know. Maybe. If you count Shukaku's magnet release that you're hoping to obtain, you then have fire release and wind release from me and earth release and wind release from him. Assuming your theory works, you'll need water release from Isobu, Kokuo, Saiken, or Gyuki and lightning release from Chomei or Gyuki."
I nodded. "It seems that I'll have to engineer events so that I meet B if I don't want to wait like thirteen years for when I know Fuu is going to finally be out of Taki."
"That does seem like the most efficient way to find out, doesn't it?" He then somehow gave off the aura of a Cheshire cat smile despite having his face permanently stuck in a regular cat smile. "Too bad there's still so much animosity between Konoha and Kumo, huh?"
I gave a smile. An evil smile. "Oh, I know. I plan on using it." Okay, so I didn't really have any plans, but I have an image to keep up, y'know? Anyway, lightning struck at that moment, as if on cue. Yet again, Kurama shrieked and jumped into my arms. "You're sending mixed messages, you know? Do you want to stay in my arms or not?"
"Shut. It."
I smiled. "It's okay if you don't like lightning. I imagine that you used to get hit all the time, with how big you are..."
He grunted. "Guess that's one perk of being so fucking tiny..." I blinked. Oops. Probably shouldn't have pressed that particular button...
I was frantically thinking of which random topic to use to distract him with when the door suddenly burst open. "Nii-san!" Hinata tackle-hugged me.
I lightly chuckled as I closed the door with chakra threads. To keep up with the ruse that I was Hinata's bodyguard, my bedroom was placed close to hers, which was probably why she came to me. "You don't like lightning either, do you Hina-chan?" She shook her head slightly and buried her face deeper into my shoulder. "Don't worry, Kurama's afraid of it too." I idly remembered a funny video my dad showed me one day from this one movie called... Ted, I think it was. "Hey, you two could be thunder buddies!" I backed out of Hinata's hug and deposited Kurama in her hands. He glared at me for a moment before another flash of lightning caused the two to flinch into each other. "Well, I think our parents are done now and none of them brought an umbrella, so I'll be going now." I left, taking the umbrella that I'd bought some time ago with me.
kukukuku~
I decided that I rather like the rain, assuming I have an umbrella, at least. Having waterproof boots and not open-toed shoes probably helped a bit too. It felt calming seeing all of the water falling, plus with how high the water was I could practice water-walking! Speaking of practicing jutsu, I was also using puppetry jutsu on my little puppet to manipulate it into screwing around with a ball of my red chakra for me. I'd managed to make it luminesce even as I tried to prime it for the jutsu I was actually trying to make, which I was using like a lantern. "I probably need to put in the yin first..." I muttered as I got closer to their chakra signatures. I rounded a corner and saw all four of them standing under a awning. "Father, Mother, Uncle, Aunt," I greeted as they stared at me. "It's been cloudy all day, I didn't need my eyes to know it'd rain. At least one of you should have brought an umbrella."
"Thank you for coming to get us, Kouki-kun," Mother said. "But I don't think your umbrella will fit the five of us." I grinned, made a half ram seal with the hand holding the umbrella, and handed it to Father.
"Channel some chakra into it," I told him. I could tell he did what I asked when seals flared up on the umbrella and a chakra shield extended enough to fit everyone comfortably. "Rather simple chakra form change seals," I explained. "The final version's gonna have more options than just that." We started walking home under the cover of my umbrella. While the others were talking, I continued to mess with the puppet. After a while, something... clicked and I was finally able to combine the yin and yang without it canceling out and becoming normal red chakra. The altered red chakra was absorbed into the puppet, so I let the strings dissipate and dropped it onto my palm. Despite it being an inanimate object, it landed on its feet and stayed standing. With a mental command from me, the puppet started punching the air, but stopped after a bit and shrugged at me. I sighed.
"What's wrong, Kouki-kun?" aunt Hikaru asked.
"I just finished a jutsu I was working on, but to actually use it in battle, I'd need a lot more chakra than I have at the moment," I muttered.
She smiled. "I'm sure you'll be able to use it eventually."
I sighed. "Yeah, but..." I had a flash of inspiration and actually had to check that I hadn't accidentally activated my eyes from the sudden mental rush. I grinned. "Nyahahaha~ NYEEHAHAHAHAHA!~" Lightning crashed during my maniacal laugh, which was just great.
"That's probably not a good sign," uncle Hizashi noted.
kukukuku~
Kurama woke up feeling rather refreshed, so much so that he wasn't really that annoyed by the little girl snuggling up to him and trapping him. Stupid tiny toy body with almost no strength... The first thing he saw upon waking was the back of my office chair. "You know... you two are lucky I didn't need to sleep tonight, or I would've had you leave my room," my voice said from the other side of the chair.
"What do you want, Kouki?" Kurama asked.
I turned my chair around, revealing me stroking the puppet on my lap like it was a cat with a grin. What? My actual cat-shaped thing was occupied at the moment. "What do you know about... Pause for dramatic effect... Natural energy?"
"U-um, Kurama-san?" Hinata asked as she sat up. "Should I be worried about that?"
"Knowing Kouki, probably."
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Reply to @prurientpuddlejumper on this ask:
I’m sorry you’re frustrated or if I offended you somehow, but to be frank I don’t appreciate the tone you’re using here. However, to answer you anyway:
> they def meant the links to these alleged "online generators," because I am in the same boat as anon
First of all, unless you ARE that anon, I don’t think you can say they “def” meant anything, since they never came back to clarify, and I did try my best to answer them the first time, and I seemed to have helped since they didn’t come back to report any problems with my answer.
Second of all, “alleged”? That’s very rude. Just because you cannot see them on tumblr mobile, does not mean they do not exist. Plenty of other people have used them just fine, as evidenced by the many posts submitted to this blog. And as the last two people who’ve asked about mobile access before never came back with problems, I can only assume they simply went on the desktop site to use the generators instead of accusing me that it’s not accessible at all.
> post after post about how you updated the UI or whatnot with no link to the thing you updated
It was only two posts (so far anyway), and if you read them closely, you may have noticed I said I was only working on new updates, that they weren’t done, and that they aren’t out yet. And also that “the current generators are still up” so that people have a fully functional version of the generator to use, even if it’s not as pretty as the update is going to be. So no, there is no “link to the thing I updated”, because it’s not done yet. And as the point of the post was about the updates-to-come, I saw no need to promote a link to the generators that are currently available. Seeing as you want that though, I shall go correct those posts and link it, for your and future readers’ convenience.
I apologize for the misunderstanding, if I wasn’t clear enough about the updates being a work-in-progress. I was just trying to update my actual followers (of which I noticed that you are not one) that I was working on stuff, since this blog is usually pretty quiet.
> I REALLY wanna see it, and am growing increasingly frustrated about how much work you're pouring into this *thing* without giving mobile users any way to *access it*.
Again, I’m sorry this is frustrating to you, and you do bring up some legitimate feedback about the mobile accessibility. As I mentioned, I’ve answered at least two asks about this issue before, but since it’s been a few years and phones have definitely gotten more powerful I can look into developing a proper mobile version. But a lot of issues come up with making a mobile version, namely UI and responsive design (because I’d have to account for both vertical and horizontal orientation, and again I reiterate that UI design is hard), dynamic coding/image generation/data input/font importing and styling/etc., and how to save the actual generated image or at the very least the export/import save data for later use on a desktop browser. It takes a lot of work (more than most people realize, I imagine), so if you would like to help with that, let me know, otherwise you have no right to shame me for not making a mobile version, taking my time, or doing any of this.
As it is, you can actually still access the generator on mobile, just not tumblr mobile. You just have to go to a browser on your phone (there’s a reason my URL is so simple). However, as mentioned above, the template was not designed with mobile in mind, so all the fonts and effects and arrangement on the template itself just looks... not like it’s supposed to. Which, again, is part of the issue with the design, but at least you can access it on mobile, against your claims that you cannot.
Also, I mainly made this a desktop site because of how large the dimensions of the template are, in order to make sure the text is visible/legible even in the downsized preview image. Even when I view the template on my phone, I have to zoom in a lot, and with the current live version of the online generators, it would have made scrolling around to input data annoying. The PSDs, as well, would be inaccessible on mobile as far as I know (if Photoshop Mobile has improved enough to handle all the layers, masks, and effects, I’m unaware) so it was a conscious decision to make this whole thing desktop-only when I first started this blog several years ago.
> Even the "downloads" link you just shared just redirects back to this same page. Which is probably because you've hidden all the links away in "pages" which are completely invisible and inaccessible on the mobile app
It’s very much tumblr’s fault, and I really should have thought of that at first, but again, it was a conscious decision to make this a desktop site. Even if I made rebloggable/viewable posts with the links in them (which I plan to do soon, if only to satisfy mobile users like you), only the PSD download links would work (but again, not sure how well downloading PSDs work on mobile devices), as the tumblr app will still loop back to the blog, since the online generator is still one of those blog “pages”. And that is not changing for as long as I don’t have the time or money to host it on its own domain.
I can’t change the fact that tumblr mobile doesn’t automatically open blog pages in an external browser, so the only solution I can offer you is to take the extra step to copy the url and go into your mobile device’s actual internet browser, or just go to your browser and type in my URL manually.
If you actually couldn’t access the templates at all (which should not be an issue if you “REALLY wanna see it” given that not only did I offer you explanations and solutions for the tumblr app problem, but also that it IS accessible on desktop and you reasonably could have just gone on a computer) or had any other problem with them, I have made no stranger of myself and have always been open to help people. They have been polite or nice when they do talk to me, and I’ve always tried to be cordial in return. Your feedback is legitimate, and I appreciate it, but you really could have worded your implied suggestion a little better. And to be quite honest, I was offended by the rudeness of your reply, especially when you called my hard work a “*thing*”. Those asterisks imply a very negative tone, in case you weren’t aware.
I get the impression that you think that your demand will be fulfilled right away if you make enough fuss about it, but I’m not going to be manipulated or guilt-tripped because you feel bad. Maybe you don’t mean it that way, but you can “grow increasingly frustrated” all you want, because not only am I working on this for free, on my free time, and by myself, but I am also not doing this for you. You’re right that I am pouring a lot of work into this, as much work as any fan artist or fanfiction writer will put into their own works, and I’m very proud of it (both as it is now and what it will be in the future) and I have fun working on it, but this is not my job. And you’re not paying for a service.
I’m not working for anyone, and I have no reason to have made more than I originally did--originally I only made the student template PSDs for some friends, and the generator (which seems to be my most popular template, even though my original focus was on the PSDs) only came about because one of my friends didn’t have Photoshop. And I wasn’t even going to release either of them to the public, but I did, and the villain ones came over a year later because of this blog and the people who follow it. No one asked for a user interface update (in fact, more people have asked for a pro hero template), but I’m doing it anyway because I can and I want to. That’s all this boils down to. Also my free time (if you hadn’t noticed, everything on my blog runs on a queue, and when I do queue stuff it’s usually like 3am or so--including right now... it’s currently 5am actually) and motivation (I’m well aware of how few people actually use the templates compared to how many people follow and reblog the posts, and honestly it’s a little discouraging). So if I do make a mobile version, be aware that it won’t be coming out for a very long time. (Also, I think you’re the only one in several years who has complained about it, and you are literally 1 in... what, 3000+ people? Judging by the number of notes on the original post I made when I started the blog and my current number of followers. And again, you’re not even one of them. So to be honest, I’m really not motivated to work on this quickly.)
If you want it faster? Being nice when you show your interest helps, it’s how I got encouraged to make the villain templates. Though I never asked for much other than patience. Or at the very least, the respect any fandom content creator deserves--I may not be cranking out fanart daily or new chapters of a fanfiction weekly or anything, but I am still providing the fandom with something they can enjoy at no cost. And like reviews on fics or comments on art, many people have expressed that they’re grateful the templates and generators exist at all, unlike you, which is really the reason this blog continues to exist and the generators/templates to be updated with new and improved features. I could have just left my original template generator up there and abandoned it, but I know how it feels to find out a fanart you loved years ago was deleted or a really good fanfic was discontinued. So I’ll continue to work on it, and yes I’ll put mobile compatibility for the generators on my to-do list, but I’ll do it at my own pace.
Also I’m not making money off of this, but hey, if you wanna give me incentive that way, hop into my DMs or something and we’ll talk, but I’ve never asked for donations or anything and I don’t plan to. The generators and templates are free for use, and most of that is because of tumblr, which gave it a platform and a home. If I hosted it on its own domain, I’d need a means to pay for that, and I’m personally not invested enough to do that when tumblr is free and works well enough.
If you or anyone else wants to help change that, come talk to me, the ask box is always open.
Otherwise, please visit this blog page on a desktop browser or at the very least something that isn’t just the tumblr mobile app, because nothing can be done about mobile compatibility right now, and I’d hate for you to miss out on seeing the templates. Hopefully I can look forward to whatever you will create with it.
-archivist
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Drug Dealer!AU Lancelot & Edgar: A Dangerous Game
More AU shenanigans. If you haven’t seen the setup to this AU, I suggest reading it here otherwise this fic will make very little sense to you. Enjoy~ ^w^
An oddly quiet night for the usually bustling Cradle nightlife. The sky’s precipitation wards off the majority of the partying crowd, leaving only a few stragglers desperate for that ecstasy. Though what kind of ecstasy in particular...let’s just say that’s a dangerous question to ask.
The distant pumping music from Cat’s Cradle stretches out even into the slums of the back alleyways, the rain adding to the dreariness and desolate air surrounding the mostly abandoned streets. A man who looks completely out of place amidst it all walks with mild haste, the hood of his trenchcoat shielding his face from the rain and his leather shoes rippling the puddles they step into. He knows he’ll be fine as long as he remains silent; so long as he can utilise the foreign chemicals mingling in his bloodstream.
“Are you sure he went this way?”
“No doubt about it. That rich bastard wouldn’t cut through the alley. He’d probably ruin his designer shoes and sulk to the reporters about it.”
His lips purse into a fine line, his blue eyes narrowing in a similar way. Keeping his head down, he slows to a stop and leans back against the cold stone wall beside him, the lack of shelter fazing him none against the falling rain.
“Let’s check back around the clubs. He’s probably trying to be a snake and slip by unnoticed.”
“Hold up. Let’s check the community hall first to be sure.”
(Ah, good. They’re at least a street away from me.)
Confident he’s in the clear and breathing a short sigh, he pushes himself from the wall and begins to walk back out to the main streets.
“They certainly were persistent, weren’t they?”
He stiffens and stops dead in his tracks at the voice; a voice far too light and happy to be real. He turns toward its source, his eyes narrowing further at the man who somehow managed to sneak up behind him. His smile is as fabricated as the cheery tone his bell-like voice rings out, only further furrowing Lancelot’s brows.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to understand your predicament. And I must say, what a handy predicament it is for me.”
His smile only brightens at Lancelot’s face twisting in contempt.
“Now now, Lancelot. We can’t let the Beautiful Beast sully his good looks. It seems to be the only thing you have left. Well, that and your “side-business”.”
His voice clearly insinuates the air quotes, making Lancelot’s eyebrow twitch. With no delay and a simple tilt of his head as his insistence to follow, the man turns back down the alley the way he supposedly came. Lancelot’s sigh is drowned out by the continually pattering rain before swiftly catching up to the shorter man.
“Your namesake is awfully misleading, Agent Bright. You look more used to the shadows than I do.”
That earns him an amused chuckle, though Lancelot can sense the edge behind it and how close it was to striking a nerve.
“I’m not on business tonight so just Edgar is fine, if you will.”
Edgar doesn’t flinch at Lancelot’s pointed comment, and the latter remains stoic at his lack of response.
The two men emerge from the alleys into one of the side streets, the streetlights fighting against the haze that the rain clouds the air with to illuminate the night. Seemingly unfazed by the rain despite having no umbrella or hood, Edgar crosses the street but pauses midway to turn back to Lancelot. With the disgruntled expression, Lancelot follows behind, unsure of where exactly this night is about to go.
…
The echoing of the rain still rings in Lancelot’s ears despite now being under shelter, its downpour turning tumultuous as soon as he stepped into the building Edgar led him to. A stroke of luck, or a perfect plan to keep him locked in a cage with a two-faced demon, he thinks to himself. Said demon removes his bomber jacket and gives it a single firm shake before making use of the empty coat stand at the entrance.
“I don’t plan on taking too much of your time, so long as you give me the answers I need,” He speaks while combing his fingers through his wet bangs to push them off his face, “As corrupt as you are, you still value agreements and abide by them. Just making sure that still rings true.”
Lancelot has lost track of the number of times he has sighed out his displeasure tonight. Following Edgar’s lead, he removes his jacket and occupies an empty hook, all the while taking the time to scan the surroundings. A local bar, this particular one near-empty aside from the owner behind the counter. Lancelot’s thoughts are disrupted as a new sound other than the rain enters the fray to amplify his oncoming headache.
He walks to where Edgar is setting up the billiard balls on the used yet sturdy pool table, his entire being disenthused. The negativity from him is palpable, enough to make Edgar chuckle, his jade eyes narrowing in delight.
“I’m sure you know the rules?” He addresses Lancelot, tucking away the equipment and leaving the perfect triangular arrangement of billiards.
He frowns. “Yes, but I thought you came here to talk.”
“Patience, Lancelot.” Edgar grabs one of the nearby pool cues and tosses it to his opponent who catches it with ease, “There is a method to my madness.”
Left with little options and sighing for the umpteenth time, Lancelot gets into position to break the billiards and begin the game.
For the longest time, no words are uttered between the two men, only the clacking of the balls colliding with one other and them rolling across the green velvet fabric filling the white noise the rain outside does not fill. Both were on an equal footing from the beginning, each of them sinking at least one ball per turn. Now, with only two balls left to each man, does Edgar decide to pipe up.
“I’m assuming you’re upholding your end of the deal?” He speaks casually, but his eyes are focused as he arches his back over the table to get a clear shot.
Lancelot waits patiently until after Edgar has taken his shot - a clean sink into the waiting pocket - before speaking.
“Of course. No one aside from me and anyone you may have told knows you’re a dirty cop. And even without the agreement, you gave me a good reason to not tell anyone.”
Edgar’s smile speaks eloquently of his satisfaction and subtle smugness. “Indeed. What impeccable deduction on my part.”
His next shot has the white ball clipping his ball at just the wrong angle and it hugs the wall without falling into its rightful place. Lancelot moves around the table to gauge his next shot, but the looming feeling of Edgar’s eyes on him pulls his focus back to him.
“I’ve told you that I haven’t spoken a word about you to anyone. You doubt me?”
A knowing smile and an amused glimmer in Edgar’s eyes irks Lancelot at its sight, “Not at all. I’m just curious at something.”
“That’s a dangerous habit to have in this city...” Lancelot mutters, slipping the top of the cue to rest on his knuckle as he gets into position.
The cue hits the white ball dead centre and it bounces with mathematical precision off the walls towards its target. Sadly, it too falls victim to an off-angle collision and the ball rolls aimlessly into the side wall just short of the pocket. Lancelot’s lips purse in annoyance whilst Edgar’s quirk up.
“I’m curious-” He sidles up next to Lancelot, who realises the white ball is in a perfect position for Edgar’s next shot, “-as to what you have planned with your little endeavour of a side-business.”
Lancelot can only watch as Edgar easily sinks the linear shot given to him. All that remains is the black eight ball sitting expertly untouched since its initial break from the beginning of the game. Moving around the table with quiet confidence, the smile plastered on his face doesn’t reach his eyes as he meets Lancelot’s from across the table.
“You’re aware of the rules concerning this final ball, correct?”
Lancelot’s eyebrows narrow at the clearly leading question, but is too tired of his games at this point to argue against him.
“Yes. If you sink the eight ball before sinking the rest of your balls, you automatically lose the game.”
“Correct.”
Edgar’s tone remains level, yet the air of seriousness radiating from him has Lancelot studying him more intently than before.
“You lose if you sink the eight ball before the other balls have been sunk. Meaning, you’re punished for trying to finish the game before you’ve got everything else in line.”
Crystal blue eyes turn cold as ice as they glare at Edgar, the discontentment of what he’s insinuating clear on Lancelot’s face. It fazes Edgar none, however, and the quick succession of taps as the balls of contrasting colours collide echoes out, the eight ball rolling slowly - forebodingly - into the corner pocket. Lancelot’s eyes remain on where the eight ball fell, almost as if his gaze could burn through the table to bring it back. The sound of Edgar setting his pool cue back onto the rack pulls his eyes back to him.
“Lancelot, whatever you have planned in that mind of yours, I can already tell you that cutting corners will do you no good. Don’t go trying to finish the game too quickly now.”
Without another word, Edgar breezes past Lancelot and heads for the door, a polite smile gracing his lips before he grabs his jacket and exits the bar, the rain’s sounds crescendoing in that split second the door was open. Alone with his thoughts once again, Lancelot glances at the pool table, his billiard balls the only ones left.
(That’s implying I have time to play by the rules; a luxury I don’t have. Besides, rules were meant to be broken.)
The heels of Lancelot’s shoes click softly under the rain’s accompaniment as he too grabs his jacket and takes his leave, the billiard balls on the table left unplayed and as a sign for Lancelot to not be left defeated in this much bigger game.
#ikerev#ikerev fanfic#drug dealer AU#lancelot kingsley#edgar bright#what's lance's big plan for this whole thing?#how on earth does edgar know vaguely of what he's planning?#more at 11#;333333
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Hi, I love all your headcannons about the boys in a relationship. But they got me wondering, since no relationship is totally perfect, what might be some negative traits the boys have, things they do, or just behaviors in general that could put a strain on the relationship or might need to be talked out to continue?
Oh, I’m glad you asked because you’re right, they’re not perfect at all! There’s lots of habits and quirks they all have, but that’s too subjective– a habit that might bug one person could be totally fine by another!– so we’ll go with our boys’ biggest flaws in a relationship! >:3
*Especially important for the ‘fell and horror universe boys, I’ll be taking a ‘fresh out of the Underground’ lens on this, not accounting for any potential Surface growth or therapy that could take place and ameliorate some of these things!*
Sans (Undertale): He is lazy. So, so lazy. Surely, this isn’t much of a surprise to anyone, but you can imagine how it could be an annoying trait in your partner– he’s never going to do a chore or go out of his way to take care of something for you, and he’s an all-around pro at ducking responsibility. It also means that if he doesn’t already care about something, trying to spark an investment from him is…kinda impossibly unlikely, which can definitely be frustrating for his s/o!
Papyrus (Undertale): It’s not intentional, but he has a tendency to be pushy. He’s enthusiastic and has some pretty firm convictions and so sometimes, entirely without meaning to, he’ll steamroll right over his s/o and what they might want. It can hurt his s/o’s feelings to be talked over and spoken for before they can put their two cents in, but it just doesn’t always occur to him that people might have perspectives different than his own. His s/o has to be able to assert themselves when they really don’t want to do something and aren’t just being playfully shy or stubborn about it, or they might end up peer-pressured into stuff a lot.
Sky (Underswap Sans): Do you like your personal space? Want some significant amounts of time by yourself? Then you’re going to struggle if you’re Sky’s s/o because he can get very clingy. It comes from a good place, he’s a very social guy and if his s/o is his favorite person, then of course their company is going to be his favorite, too! He wants to spend a ton of time with them, whether they’re doing something together or not, and he’s hard to shake with off-the-cuff excuses about why his s/o can’t hang out with him: he’ll know they’re lying and think that something might be wrong and then he’s definitely not going anywhere. If his s/o can’t figure out how to tell him, on a regular basis and without hurting his feelings, that they need space from him to decompress, they’re going to end up exhausted.
Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He’s stubborn. It’s rare for him to make firm judgments on something one way or the other, but once he has, that’s pretty much it. He’ll really dig his heels in if his s/o tries to change his mind, too, and it takes a long time and a lot of arguing about whatever it is to even get him to consider changing his opinion. For his s/o, it probably feels like they’re banging their head against a brick wall, like he’s not even listening to what they’re saying and they can very easily end up feeling disrespected by this immovable object of a skeleton.
Jasper (Underfell Sans): He’s too closed off. It’s self-protective–he’d be a shaking, emotional wreck after the Underground if he’d let just anybody in close enough to see him vulnerable and open himself up to getting hurt–but it can turn around and be a very painful, hurtful thing for his s/o to deal with. When he’s going through something, his first instinct is always to hide it until it blows over so his s/o never even knows he was struggling. They’ll undoubtedly catch hints from time to time that maybe Jasper needs support, but he always hesitates to let them in, and they can’t do anything as long as they’re stuck on the outside of his emotional walls. It’s a very bad feeling thinking your loved one doesn’t trust you enough to let you help and he’ll need a lot of time and love and trust to make even a little progress at this.
Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Another one that shouldn’t be surprising, but he’s arrogant. He has a pretty big ego and he never easily accepts it when he may have been wrong, blustering and convoluting until it seems like he was right all along– the equivalent of a cat falling off a counter and acting like they meant to do it. He may also condescend a lot to his s/o and fall into an Underground-developed habit of treating them as an underling or an accessory more than a loved one. It’s instinctive and would probably have kept them safe from opportunist monsters if they were back down there, but on the Surface it can get incredibly tiring and even hurtful for his s/o to cater to that kind of ego all the time. If he catches their patience running out and he sees them rolling their eyes or making a snarky comment in exasperation at his narcissism, well, he’s probably going to get upset about it and the two of them will have a fight. He has a lot of acclimating to do to this relatively peaceful world where relationships can be equal without also being a weakness.
Mal (Swapfell Sans): This guy’s the definition of ‘trust issues.’ He can be downright problematically invasive and probing about…pretty much everything, if given a reason to be. It’s not an s/o-specific thing, he’s like that with everybody, but his s/o will probably (and absolutely should) take issue with how little respect he has for privacy. It’s his lingering paranoia from the Underground keeping him constantly alert for backstabbers and betrayers, so if someone as close to him as his partner starts acting secretive around him, he has to investigate. It may be innocent, like a surprise party for his birthday or something, but until he finds out what’s up, there isn’t much that’s off the table: he’ll cyberstalk social media for information, discreetly follow them in real life if they go out unexpectedly, and if they leave their phone with him unattended and unlocked, he’s definitely skimming through some recent messages, just to be sure. He’s not a bad person, he just has some very bad (survival-based) habits. The only saving grace is that his s/o probably won’t find out he sometimes does this stuff because he’s careful, but that doesn’t make it cool and he won’t really stop until he truly, fully trusts his s/o–and that’s a long time coming after everything he’s been through.
Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Rus cannot have an argument to save his life. He’s not what you’d call a pacifist, not entirely accurately at least– he’s been in his fair share of fights Underground, after all, and he’d fight again if his life was on the line– but he doesn’t like conflict or anything resembling it. It sounds like a good thing on paper because his s/o automatically wins any disagreement that looks like it could turn into a fight, but it’s so terrible in practice for maintaining a healthy relationship. He’ll go along with anything his s/o wants to avoid the conflict, even if it might make him unhappy because he doesn’t want them to be upset at him. It’s also at least 90% conciliatory and if it was about a behavior of his, there’s a very high chance that nothing will actually change, but he’ll nod and agree and promise to do things differently just to keep the argument from happening and then…not, actually. The idea of a constructive or helpful argument is entirely foreign to him, those didn’t exist where he came from and he just wants things to be cool, he’ll say whatever he’s gotta say to make it be cool. His s/o can build up a lot of frustration and unhappiness from that if they can’t convince him to learn some better communication strategies.
Slate (Horrortale Sans): Obviously, it’s not his fault, but he’s forgetful. He generally remembers the big stuff and he does better when something feels important as it’s happening, but as a rule his level of recall is hit or miss. He’s bad at remembering birthdays and other important dates and if he forgets to write a reminder to himself about it, he’s just not going to be there for whatever his s/o needed. It can be hard for an s/o who isn’t prepared to take on so much of the mental load in a relationship without much guarantee of help, especially because they can’t get mad at him for it, not in good conscience, anyway– he didn’t ask for the giant hole in his skull, he’d love a reliable memory as much as they would! He’ll do his best to retain as much as he can, but even with notes and reminders, a lot of things his s/o tells him just get lost to the void and that’s a hard thing to be okay with right away.
Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s…maybe a tad too flippant about things. It’s a defense mechanism he developed Underground, a sort of gallows humor that he relied on to keep his generally upbeat attitude when monsters had to resort to eating humans and each other to stay alive, and even that wasn’t sustainable and there was a very real possibility that his entire species could go extinct in a matter of years, if not months. It was dark times and he couldn’t let himself get invested in every little thing! …but it’s also probably a little disturbing for his s/o when he, say, breaks a bone and only uses a silly, made-up curse word like, “Oh, Sugarbeans, That’s Inconvenient, Isn’t It!” or they hear the extreme, casual frankness he’ll use to discuss even graphic gore and violence like it doesn’t faze him. It’s a little sociopathic, honestly, and his s/o will probably have a lot of moments where they just don’t know how they’re supposed to respond when they see this unnervingly light attitude in their otherwise loving, gentle partner.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaand now I feel a little guilty for all this trash-talking of my boys, so expect another headcanon post soon-ish, pro bono– just like this one, but about their virtues in a relationship instead of just their vices.
They are good boys who would be delightful partners in spite of these pitfalls, I promise! XD
#anonymous#headcanons#sans/reader#papyrus/reader#undertale#sans#papyrus#underswap#us!sans#us!papyrus#underfell#uf!sans#uf!papyrus#swapfell/fellswap#sf!sans#sf!papyrus#horrortale#ht!sans#ht!papyrus
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