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arianaagreyy · 3 years

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Pick me, please || S. Black, R. Lupin

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader , Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Words: 1,396 words

Warnings: Idk angst maybe, emotional, a little bit of swearing, let me know if there are any more.

Lmao look at me. A new writer but trying to write emotional scenes. I know it's crappy and I'm open to constructive criticism.

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Betrayal hurts.

Hurts like hell.

Hurts even more when you witness it.

That's what was going through Sirius Black's mind when he heard his best friend with his girlfriend. The love of his life.

He had felt pain before. He had felt it in Grimmauld Place where he was abused by his parents, he had felt it when his own brother refused to acknowledge him but this...this pain was like no other.

It was like being stabbed by a thousand knives altogether. It was like being crushed by a mountain.

He ignored the first few times: The first time Remus offered you help when he wasn't there, the first time Remus held you while you cried on his shoulder which should've been his, the first time Remus saw you with a glint in his eyes, a glint he was so familiar with, a glint that showed love. The times Remus "nonchalantly" offered you help in classes. How he would randomly start looking for you when you weren't present at a place. How he started taking you out to Hogsmeade. And whenever Sirius asked him if something's wrong, he would always reply with a "I don't know what you're talking about. We're just friends".

But Sirius knew. He knew friends didn't look at each other the way Remus looked at you. He knew friends didn't sit as close to each other as Remus sat to you. He know friends didn't smile at each other other the way he smiled at you.

And that crushed him. It crushed him to see you look so happy with his best mate. It crushed him to see you look at him with such admiration in your eyes. It made him envious, jealous.

So he watched, he observed. He watched from the shadows how his best friend slowly fell in love with his girlfriend. His Y/N.

And right now, he heard it. He heard his best friend tell his girlfriend he loved her.

________________

"May I talk to you, Y/N?" Remus asked with a nervous edge to his voice. It didn't went unnoticed by Sirius, whose ears perked up by the mention of his girl's name.

"Sure Remmy what's up?", she asked while getting up from her place next to Sirius. She looked at her with a guilty smile and with a simple nod from Sirius, she walked towards the exit of the Great Hall with his best friend.

After waiting for a few minutes, Sirius also stood up and walked towards the direction Y/N and Remus went. He could hear the faint voice of someone shouting and it made him pick up his speed. His steps faltered as he recognised the voice as Y/N's voice.

"You're not supposed to drop a bomb like this and expect me to not be angry Remus Lupin", she was talking, but her voice was sad.

"I'm sorry Y/N but-", he was cut off with the sound of skin colliding with skin, a voice so loud it echoed in the entire corridor. A shiver ran through Sirius' body thinking what was the matter and was it so bad that made Y/N slap her friend.

"You're sick Lupin. You're sick to think I'll betray Sirius", her voice had venom.

"Pick me, Y/N. Pick me, I promise I'll be a better person for you. I'll keep you happy. I'll do everything in my power if it means seeing you happy. I'll give away my life just to see a smile on your face..." his voice trailed off when his eyes landed on Sirius standing in front of him with his fists clenched into balls, knuckles turning white.

"Sirius...", Remus opened his mouth to speak but a look from Sirius silenced him.

Sirius on the other hand was furious. He felt betrayed, jealous, stupid for letting his girlfriend spend time with his best friend when he knew Remus was in love with her.

"You...little...piece...of...shit", Sirius gritted out each word taking a step towards Remus, eyes locked with his. He wanted to punch him, hex him, harm him.

"Sirius stop, please", Remus pleaded taking one step back every time Sirius took one forward. Both of the boys forgetting that you were in the room as well.

"I trusted you. I let her spend time with you because I had faith in you", Sirius spat.

"You know how much I love her. She's my girlfriend for god's sake".

Remus stared at Sirius with eyes wide. He had never seen or heard such anger from his side, even when he talked about his parents.

Meanwhile Y/N had stopped crying. She was aware that if she didn't stop these boys right now, things would get out of hand.

"Sirius please", Y/N whispered with a rasped voice.

He looked in her direction to see her beautiful face all tear-stained and her mascara trailing lines across her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot red from crying and she looked so heart-broken, it only made Sirius more angry knowing that Remus was the reason.

"Sirius, love please", she pleaded and he stopped. He stopped hearing the nickname Y/N spoke for him. Love.

"Y/N he asked you to pick between him and me. Tell him who would you pick", Sirius spoke with a bragging tone, yet a sense of insecurity and fear bubbled inside him.

What if she picks him? "Pick me, please" his heart pleaded silently.

"I told him Sirius, I told him it will be you. Always", she spoke, wiping tears off her face. Both of their gazes, Sirius' and Y/N's fell on Remus simultaneously who looked as if his heart was crushed by a hammer.

But he should've known better than to fall in love with his best mate's girl.

"Remus, I respect you and I love you. But not in the way you want me to. My heart will always pick Sirius over anything, even myself. I'm so sorry", Y/N explained, her tone soft and soothing.

Remus was looking at the ground. When he looked up, he locked eyes with Sirius and for the first time, there was no glint in his eye. Remus had hurt Sirius in a bad way and he'll never be able to trust him again. He was sure of it.

He quickly wiped the few tears that had fallen from his eyes, looked at Y/N and Sirius and smiled and left the hallway.

And for the first time in the day, Y/N and Sirius were alone. He looked at her to see tears continously falling from her eyes. He quickly ran over to her and wiped away the tears, holding her close to him, not wanting to let go.

Her arms were wrapped around his chest and his hands were on her waist, pulling her close to eliminate all space between them. Y/N's soft sobs echoed through the silent hallway.

"I'msosorrySirius", she mumbled through her sobs. Sirius's heart ached to hear his beloved's voice so full of guiltiness and hurt. He pulled her away and used his hand to lift up her chin. She stopped crying and looked at him directly in the eye.

"You didn't do anything wrong my love. It isn't your fault, nothing is", he tried to calm her. "Do you understand?"

She slowly nodded her head and and Sirius used his free hand to wipe the tears off her face. Her face broke into a soft smile which made his heart flutter. She quickly wrapped her arms around his torso again and he pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"I love you Sirius", she mumbled and put her head on his chest, right above his beating heart.

"And I love you too, Y/N", Sirius said, holding her as if to never let go. He closed his eyes and smiled at the ceiling, wanting the moment to never end.

They knew things will never be the same again. Remus will never be trusted around Y/N the way he was, she'll never look at him like she used to. Sirius will never talk to him about Y/N like he used to do but for now nothing mattered because they had each other. They'd fight for each other until their last breaths. They'd hold on to each other forever. They'd always love each other.

They'd always pick each other.

#sirius black x you #sirius black #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #james potter #marauders x y/n #marauders #marauders x you #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #angst with a happy ending #atyd marlene #marauders x reader #betrayel

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preemshots · 3 years

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the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC.

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post.

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore.

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077.

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand.

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team.

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on.

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives.

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing.

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke.

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC.

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story.

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy:

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it!

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives.

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power.

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different.

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka.

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka.

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it.

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading!

#cyberpunk lore #johnny silverhand #spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk game #lore post

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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May I please ask where you set the boundaries when constructing a crossover? (i.e. How far are you willing to bend characterisation of the setting a character's adventures take place in and of the individual characters themselves to make this crossover work? How many settings are you actually prepared to smush together before you feel you're losing more than you gain in this mix? and so forth).

I could be off the mark here, but this question sounds like you yourself got a very big idea planned but you are unsure of how far you can, or want to, push the concept. Two words of advice upfront: 1: Stop overthinking it, and 2: Run your ideas by people whose judgment you know and trust. I run some of my biggest and stupidest ideas by friends of mine and they help me make them less stupid or at least stupider but in a better way.

I mentioned in my post about potential Shadow crossovers that "boundaries" are not the priority to fret over so much as having a good working knowledge of the characters. And part of that is because a crossover, by design, already constitutes the breaking of boundaries. That's by default what a crossover does. You don't wanna test or break boundaries, then you picked the wrong kind of story.

A crossover is still a story like any other. Two characters meeting is not a story, it's a premise. You don't start a story by defining where it can't go, before you've even decided where you want to take it. Some boundaries are important, others aren't. Some boundaries are hard-coded and unbreakable, and others HAVE to be broken for the story to work, and the process of deciding which is which is easier when you have a clearer idea of what are the characters and what is the story you want to tell, and what you can and can't do with either. You gotta understand the properties you're working with, or at least, understand WHY you want to work with them and make this crossover happen in the first place.

For example, you could, very easily, write a crossover between The Shadow and The Spider, just by going through the motions. They are urban vigilantes with fairly similar designs who live in the same time period and fight crime with their supporting casts. I'm sure most writers offered the job wouldn't think twice of putting them together. But as someone who's read their stories quite extensively and who likes and obsesses over both characters, I would not cross over the two, because their stories and characters are fundamentally incompatible with each other in a more "serious" narrative, and you could not merge the two without seriously fraying one or the other.

It's a story that doesn't work, with characters that are not supposed to function together or in each other's narrative real estate, even with a character as malleable as The Shadow. This doesn't mean that it's impossible to write a good Shadow and Spider crossover, but to me, personally, these two are hard-line incompatible. That is, if it's a crossover based specifically on these two, because that changes if said crossover expands to more characters, as I'll get into.

Regarding the question:

How far are you willing to bend characterisation of the setting a character's adventures take place in and of the individual characters themselves to make this crossover work?

By default, any crossover is already going to have to create new settings from scratch based on relevant bits and pieces from the properties in question, so you do get more leeway for bending it.

But regarding characters, it's a question that cannot have a unified answer, because it's even more so dependant on a case-by-case basis. You could argue "only as much as necessary for the story to work", sure, but that's not really a good answer, because a story can do anything it's author wants to, and sometimes the story is not good to begin with, or the characters are just not made for being in the same narrative or even partaking in a crossover to begin with.

No amount of justifications for a story or characterization can excuse an unsatisfying result. Joe Yabuki and Guts are two of my favorite manga protagonists, but there would be no point to even attempting to put them together in the same story, because you'd have to twist either their narratives or their characters past the point of recognizability, which defeats the purpose of making a crossover to begin with.

Like, yeah, we've all heard the argument that Zack Snyder's Superman makes sense in the context of his movies, doing his own thing. Sure. But there's a reason any discussion of that character in the context of Superman in general comes prefaced with "Zack Snyder's" first, and why mainstream audiences who earnestly looked forward to Batman V Superman walked away feeling cheated, because, to borrow RLM terms here, they got "MurderMan vs Captain Hypocrite", and you can't even tell which is which in that description. You gotta give audiences at least a bit of what you promised them.

How many settings are you actually prepared to smush together before you feel you're losing more than you gain in this mix?

This one actually DOES depend on the story, because most stories that aren't just short narratives require multiple settings for it's scenes. Chances are your narrative will already be combining multiple settings, because setting is a word that can refer to "Korea during the Joseon dynasty", "spaceship traveling through lost nebulas" and "the McDonalds parking lot", as if they are the same thing. And in a way, when you look at a narrative's bones, they basically are.

To an extent, I think opening yourself up for a massive crossover of multiple properties of different characters and settings can, indeed, be a better choice than just going off purely by X meets Y. You start off by making it very clear to the audience that the boundaries are thin and you will be breaking them, and you use said framework to instead tell a myriad of stories, big and small. Stories that you couldn't really tell if you stuck to an existing framework or defined strongly the boundaries you can't cross. I'm gonna use Smash Bros as an example:

Smash Bros is arguably the biggest "official" crossover of all time, and it doesn't really have a "story" other than the basic framework that the series was built on, that these were representations of Nintendo icons dueling it out, and the few details that used to define this in the older days (like the characters being trophies and copies, and not the real deal) have been basically pushed aside. The most story you get in Smash nowadays is in the form of what the trailers showThe "point" of Smash was never really to tell a big, dramatic story with these characters. And maybe you really can't tell this kind of story, or a good story, with this many characters to juggle.

But they tried it once.

I'm sure most of you who do remember Brawl, as anything other than the blistering shame of the franchise that it's treated as these days, remember it mainly because of Subspace Emissary, which was this big, dramatic storyline where the end of the world was at stake and all the characters had to pull their weight to fight it. Subspace didn't have dialogue, it didn't have much story other than characters going from scene to scene while fighting, several of the characters either got nothing to do or were written poorly (mostly Wario), and none of this mattered at all, because Subspace, I'd argue, was the one and only time Smash Bros ever really recaptured that childhood feeling of smashing toys together that the franchise was built on.

Because if you remember being a kid smashing toys together, you remember not just doing it because you wanted Max Steel to kick Cobra Commander's butt. No, you did it because you wanted to tell a story where Max Steel got trapped in a rapidly filling water tank along with He-Man's Battle Cat while Cobra Commander kidnapped Max's girlfriend April O'Neil and bombed the city, and Max Steel had to talk Battle Cat into not eating him so they could together save the city and April from evil, and so they reconciled their differences and saved the day. Those things mattered to you. They were the stories you could tell with the resources you had in hand, sagas you did for the sheer fun of it, regardless of whether they were "good", you probably didn't even think of that. Why would you? You had bigger things to do.

And that's what Subspace did. It was big and dramatic and the world was at stake and all these heroes were coming together. Ness sacrificing himself to Wario so Lucas could have a chance to run away. Diddy Kong dragging along seasoned Star Fox pilots to rescue his buddy. Samus and Pikachu forming a bond. Peach stopping a deadly battle just by offering tea. ROB's story arc culminating in actual genocide, hell, ROB having a story arc to begin with. To a lot of people who played Brawl as one of their first games, this would have been their "introduction" to a lot of these characters in any sort of narrative, and to characters like ROB or Ice Climbers, this would have been the only chance they would ever get to be part of a great big dramatic narrative. Hell, Pit sure looked like he was on the same boat at the time, until Smash brought the Kid Icarus franchise back from death, and now Smash is where characters or properties get to stay relevant or at least on life support (Captain Falcon), or make glorious comebacks (King K.Rool). Brawl was what destroyed the idea of there being boundaries as to who could get in Smash or what kind of story could be told within it.

And people don't seem to recall this nowadays, but Brawl was when Smash exploded in fan content, specifically inspired by Subspace. This was the period of the Machinima craze and the fan mods galore and fan remixes and fan art and fan headcanons and fan films, and suddenly it hit people that, just because the games couldn't accomodate the stories they could tell with the premise, didn't mean that they couldn't start telling them on their own. We even got the formerly longest piece of English fiction off of it. The devotion Melee inspired in competitive players, Brawl did for artists and creators who got their start off in Smash fan content.

And because of it, suddenly a lot more people started writing stories with ROB and Ice Climbers and Pit and Captain Falcon and so on than there would have ever been if it wasn't for Brawl and Subspace. Smash gave ROB a story the character likely would have never gotten otherwise. And if you don't grasp what I'm getting at because you still think that fan content is a long way from being "official" or at least respectable, I don't know what you're doing following someone who rants about pulp fiction all day.

The point I want to get across is, boundaries in a crossover are important, yes, they exist for a good reason, but the boundaries should be defined by the story and characters and whatnot, not the other way around. Boundaries in fiction exist to be crossed or tested, they exist to tell you where you can't go so you can try to do so anyway and either fly high or crash.

Sometimes, bending or twisting characters and settings can be both a grave sin, as well as the thing that allows them to survive. Sometimes there are rules that seem unbreakable until someone breaks them without trying. And sometimes, going big and stupid and carefree over-the-top is either the worst, or the best outcome. It's fiction, taking risks and having fun is part of it.

So I'm afraid I thankfully cannot give your question a universal answer.

#replies tag #rambles #smash bros #brawl #super smash bros #subspace emissary

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lovemeleo · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day with kids

It’s literally 38 minutes until the end of Valentine’s Day but I finally finished! Y’all know I had to get some Coops with Asher for Valentine’s day! This was so fun to write, so I hope you all enjoy! Coops and the SW world belongs to forever fantastic @lumosinlove but Asher Pascal is my OC!

Here is the rest of the Asher Pascal series if you haven’t read any of those yet!

cw: mentions of food

___________________________________

There was a big difference between Valentine’s day with and without a child. Today was the day Sirius and Remus were finding that out. They had two Valentine days together prior to this one but now they had Asher as well.

A few of their teammates had even offered to watch Asher for them so they could go out for dinner, but they turned them all down. There was all the time in the world to go for dinner dates or to the movies or whatever else they would have planned. They decided with this being Asher’s first Valentine’s day, they would celebrate with him.

The night before, they had gone to the grocery store and purchased tons of Valentine’s day things, decorations for the house, tons of construction paper to make valentines. After Asher had gone to sleep, they hung pink and red streamers and hearts all over the kitchen, throughout the hall. Sirius and Remus fell into bed around 11pm, too tired to even pull the blankets over themselves.

Around 7 the next morning, they began to hear movement from the baby monitor. Sirius let out a groan, pressing his face into the pillows, “The mini monster is moving.” He mumbled, his voice muffled.

“Maybe if we stay quiet, he’ll go back to sleep. And we can sleep a bit longer.” Remus murmured from where he was cuddled into Sirius’s side.

Just as they started dozing off, a tiny voice started calling to them through the monitor, “Dad! Daddy! Hello! It’s me, Asher!” Remus couldn’t help but laugh, as he pressed his face into Sirius’s shoulder.

Grumbling softly, Sirius began sitting up, “It appears we’re being summoned.” He said as he sat up. Before he could get out of bed, Sirius was pulled back down for a kiss, both of them smiling into it.

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby.” Remus murmured against his lips.

Sirius hummed happily as he pulled away, “Happy Valentine’s day, mon loup. I-”

“Hello?!” A tapping sound followed the insistent voice, cutting Sirius off as they both glanced over at the monitor. Sirius shook his head with a laugh, tugging on a pair of sweats before heading down the hall to Asher’s room.

The child in question was standing in his crib in his footie pajamas, staring at the door impatiently, “Daddy, I called you.”

Shaking his head fondly, Sirius lifted Asher out of the crib and rested him on his hip, “Terribly sorry, mon petit.” He said as they began to make their way down the hall. Asher’s eyes widened as he looked at all the decorations.

“The house is so pretty.” The little boy murmured, eyes on the sparkly hearts that covered the walls.

Remus met up with them in the kitchen, smiling as he saw Asher’s wide eyes, “Ready for pancakes?” He asked as he started getting the ingredients out. Sirius rested Asher on the counter in between them as he wiggled happily.

“Looove pancakes! Can we make them pretty too?” He asked, looking up at Remus. As if he could ever say no to that face.

Pulling out the food coloring, Remus set them next to the big mixing bowl, “Of course, we’ve got a couple different colors.”

“Red, please!” Asher said with a happy grin. They had started teaching Asher colors recently. To absolutely no one’s surprise, his favorite color? Gryffindor red. Though he still struggled to say Gryffindor.

Remus added the red into pancake batter before he began mixing it together. Leaning over the bowl carefully, Asher watched as the red swirled into the batter, “Perfect.” He whispered quietly.

“What color is it now, Ash?” Sirius asked, keeping his hands on either side of Asher to make sure he didn’t fall off the counter.

Asher’s eyebrows furrowed as he kicked his feet, bouncing them off the counter, “Umm.. Pink?” He said, glancing up at Remus.

Nodding, Remus smiled big, “Great job, Ash!” He said, holding up his hand for a high five. Wiggling happily in his spot, Asher reached up and high fived Remus.

As Remus began to put the pancakes on the griddle, Sirius moved Asher to his highchair, “So after pancakes, we get to start making our valentines. Who’re you gonna make them for?” He asked as he got him buckled in.

Asher hummed softly as he thought, “It’s a long list, daddy. I need lots of paper.” He insisted.

Chuckling softly, Sirius started setting the table, “We’ve got tons of paper, don’t worry, bub.” Remus started setting out pancakes on their plates. He had managed to make them into the shape of hearts.

“Turning into a chef now, Loops?” Sirius said with a smile as he watched Remus make a smiley face on their pancakes with whipped cream and syrup on the top..

Asher gasped as they were put on his plate, “Daddy! They look so yummy!!” He said happily, grabbing his fork as he began to eat. They were trying to be better about letting him eat by himself, even if that meant a long bath afterwards. He was getting better though. They mostly just needed a washcloth nowadays instead of the whole bath.

The pile of pancakes was quickly demolished between the three of them, Sirius loading the dishwasher as Remus took Asher to wash up. Between the syrup and the whipped cream, the aftermath was a bit of a mess.

After the bath, he took Asher into his room, setting him on the floor as he started going through the closet, “Alright, Ash. What do we wanna wear today?”

“Red.”

Remus let out a sigh, glancing back at him, “Helpful, very helpful. Which red? You wanna do the red leggings?”

Asher nodded quickly, getting up to pull them out of the drawer, “With my Gryff sweater, pleeease!” He insisted, quickly tugging the leggings on. The Gryff sweater was his favorite, it was a gift from the team and had his name on the back. As soon as Remus handed it to him, Asher was tugging it over his head, messy curls popping out of the top.

When they got back downstairs, Sirius had cleaned up the kitchen and gotten their own little valentine workshop set up in the living room. On top of the tons of construction paper, they had purchased glitter, new markers, glue and valentine’s themed stickers.

Remus set Asher down so he could run over to the table, and he quickly got his first piece of paper setup.

“Who’s that one for, Asher?” Remus asked as he sat across from him.

Asher looked up from the paper that was already covered in glitter, “It’s for my Le!” He said happily. He made a giant heart on the front, covering it with glue and then glitter. As soon as he was done, Sirius wrote Leo’s name on the bottom before setting it aside to dry.

This process was continued, and before they knew it, their living room was just covered in valentines. Asher insisted on making one for every single player on the team, as well as any of their family members he had met. It looked like a glitter bomb had exploded in their living room.

“We’re going to be covered in glitter for months.” Sirius muttered, glitter falling as he shook out his hair.

Remus nodded as he picked it off his skin, watching as Asher finished up his last couple valentines, “Yeah. It’s going to be literally everywhere. We’re gonna deliver these in the locker room and then it’s going to be on the jerseys and the helmets.” He said with a chuckle.

Smirking, Sirius rested his head on Remus’s shoulder, “And they thought our team couldn’t get more gay. Wait until they see us coming onto the ice, covered in glitter.”

They both started giggling, leaning into each other when Asher walked over, holding a piece of paper carefully.

“What you got there, mon chou?” Sirius asked with a smile, sitting up to pull Asher on his lap.

Asher looked up nervously, “This is yours.” He said, holding it out.

Both of their faces softened as Remus took it carefully, looking at the picture. He had drawn three stick people, holding hands in a big heart. It had glitter all around it and smiley faces.

“That’s you with the short hair then Daddy, that’s you with long hair. And I’m in the middle. And we’re in a heart because I love you.” Asher said softly, fiddling with the bottom of his sweater.

Sirius sniffled softly, “Mon petit amour.. It’s perfect. We love you too.”

“Yes, So much,” Remus whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “We’re going to have to get a frame for this. It’s a masterpiece.”

Asher smiled proudly, nuzzling in between them.

Valentine’s Day with a kid was very different from Valentine’s day without one, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

And neither would the entirety of the Lions who of course were covered in glitter for months, but still kept their valentines hung up in their locker room stalls.

#coops #remus lupin #sirius black #lumosinlove #sweater weather #valentine's day #happy valentine's day #wolfstar #fluff #asher pascal #coops with kids #wolfstar dads #fluffy boys #soft #cw: food

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nervousladytraveler · 3 years

Text

From Duty (Chapter 4? 5?)

“What shall we do?” Demelza asked, her voice almost dreamy. To whom was she even speaking and about which of the thousands of human dilemmas?

“We go down to your shelter,” Ross said quickly, slipping on his shirt and fumbling with his buttons in the dark.

The whining rise and fall of the siren was louder now. Closer.

Instantly she seemed to snap out of her fog and into action, leaping to her feet and reaching for an old cotton frock that laid over a chair. A routine she’d had weeks to practice. Ross noticed she didn’t bother with any underwear and worried she’d be cold.

“You’ll come down? With me?” She sounded relieved. “Of course you will.” She shook her head.

Now was not the time to worry about what the neighbours thought. If Ross stayed in her flat and died, they'd talk just as much as if she brought a live man down with her. What other options did he have really other than to risk his life going out to seek shelter in the nearby Underground?

“Introduce me as your cousin, ” Ross suggested and by feel found both their woolen coats on hooks by the door. “Come, we have to go.” He reached for her hand, urgently, protectively, as she slipped into her shoes.

“Yes, Ross,” she said and followed him out into the darkness.

They emerged from the cellar four hours later.

Demelza needn’t have worried--the neighbours asked no questions about her visitor, perhaps they’d been too preoccupied with the possibility of impending doom to make a fuss. Still she’d introduced him as a cousin as they settled into a far--and airless--corner.

“I was visiting and it got late,” Ross had mumbled.

“And naturally once curfew fell you couldn’t leave,” Mrs. Boylan had offered, generously. The woman had five children so she knew a thing or two about what happened between a man and a woman under the cover of night.

No one noticed when Demelza leaned wearily against Ross. And despite the thunderous roars, compliments of their German guests outside, and the near-constant wails from the terrified British children inside, she managed to fall asleep. Ross’s arms wrapped tightly around her, warming her from the December chill.

Once they emerged, silent but alive, they saw the air in the streets was thick with mist and smog and smoke--the unmistakable smell of destruction. It was still dark but soon a triumphant sun would beam down on them all.

Survival was measured one night at a time. For some--not all. Demelza’s building was still standing but at the end of the road, a pile of rubble lay where Pally’s locksmith shop had stood only the day before.

“What will you do now?” Demelza asked closing the flat door behind her, once they were back upstairs. Without saying a word she began to make tea, although what Ross really wanted was a slug of whisky.

“I’ll walk home,” he said.

“But it’s so far!” she cried.

“I’ve done it before...and I’ve walked further distances. I was a soldier once, don’t forget.”

She knew he was right--taxis weren’t exactly plentiful after an air raid and the Underground might not yet be running.

“But I’ll be alright and should make it to the office by nine.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll be watching the clock,” she said and looked up at him. “Ross, what are you thinking?” she said. He hadn’t said a word but she’d read his worries.

“Nothing...” He turned to gather his remaining belongings scattered about her flat. No, better to be truthful--besides, she’d know if he was hiding something. “I’m thinking that I don’t like your shelter.”

“My shelter? I’m not overly fond of it either but I’m certainly grateful it’s there when the need arises,” she laughed.

“It’s entirely too close, not nearly enough air for the number of people it supports. How many were we? Fourteen?”

“Mrs. Boylan was holding her infant son, so really it was fifteen,” she said.

“Christ! And I examined the framing--the timber is ancient, you know--and the whole thing will collapse easily with just the smallest rumble. Not to mention it's a fire hazard on the best of days, even without the threat of an incendiary bomb…”

“Ross…” She put her hand on his arm. She meant what choice did she have? Did any of them have, really?

“Mine is better,” he said.

“What?”

“The shelter in my building. It’s newer, reinforced concrete, steel...It isn’t just a cellar or even one of those corrugated garden constructions. It was actually built in the last war specifically for this sort of thing…”

“And a bit of a jog for me when the sirens go off here,” she laughed.

“No, I mean...come live with me.”

“Oh Ross, you are daft,” she said with a smile. Was it lack of sleep? Lack of oxygen? Surely something was impairing his senses.

“Leave your post. I could employ you as a maid and you could live-in. I have a servant’s room--it’s warm and dry.” Had he noticed the leak in her bedroom ceiling?

“And what would people say of us?”

“What people?” he asked.

“Your wife wouldn’t hear of this? Technically it’s still her flat as well. And once I start to show…”

“Yes?”

“Oh Ross, anyone would guess what had occurred. Unless you kept me locked in a cage, the arrangement would be hardly discreet!”

“Demelza…”

“Besides I’m a shit maid, you’ll find.” She pointed to the unwashed dishes in the basin.

“I doubt that.” He seemed to believe what he said. “Look, I’m not letting go of this idea.”

“Then you are as stubborn as you are handsome, Ross Poldark,” she laughed. “It’s getting late--you’d better go, my dear.” She hated to say it but it was true. He had no way of knowing what obstacles he might come across in his journey through the ravaged roads that morning.

“I will see you later then, Miss Carne, in the halls outside Room 4…”

“Shh,” she teased and put a finger to his lips. “You mustn’t say it aloud…”

“Room 443.” He said defiantly and kissed her hand. Then remembering that she was bare under her frock, he squeezed her bottom for good measure.

“Tut tut, Poldark. Such careless talk!” she laughed and repaid him with a playful tug of his hair. “And as you pass by--in those halls that must not be spoken of--I will modestly avert my gaze but you will see by my secret smile that I’m imagining your…”

“My what?” He pressed his body to hers so she could feel the not-so-secret bulge in his trousers.

“Your toes,” she laughed. “I was going to say your toes.”

“My toes?”

“Yes, I enjoy how you drag them along my ankle when you lie beside me. And I’m rather fond of your feet as well.”

“You’ll have to demonstrate your fondness later then. Will I see you tonight?” he asked and wrapped his arms even tighter around her.

“No, darling, you have a meeting with Sir Francis Bassett. Don’t you remember?”

“Vaguely,” he said, which they both knew was code for no. “How is it that you remember?”

“I scheduled it for you,” she smiled. “And then no doubt you’ll dine with him and let's face it, there will be drinks afterwards. No, my dear Ross, when you're done with the fine cigars and even finer cognac, tuck yourself safely into a taxi and go straight home.”

To your warm dry flat and your reinforced shelter. Strangely she wasn't at all concerned that he’d find a girl and go home with her, even though they’d never spoken of an exclusive understanding.

“But Thursday?” he asked, unable to conceal his desperation.

“Yes, Thursday you will come to me,” she said and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “And I will be waiting.”

#wip wednesday #poldark fanfic #ross poldark #demelza carne #london blitz #poldark modern au #lucretiassister #duty

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nintendousimp · 3 years

Text

Train of Thought...

Part:1 Getting Caught

Master 👉Next

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader, Miya Atsumux Reader.

Character: Gender Neutral! or I want to everyone to feel comfortable so any pronouns welcomed for this story.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Some angst and colorful language, mentions of cheating and getting caught in the action, mentions of also thinking to forgive unfaithful partner, some grammar errors 😅 ( I need to emphasize this by saying that English is not my first language and although my English is great I still have a lot of trouble so constructive criticism is welcomed 🥰)

Word Count: 2k

Released date: January 19th 2021

I feel like I need to emphasize that all of the characters in this story are aged up! I’m not comfortable with talking about sexual topics if the characters are still in high school and are underage so,this is a timeskip!😅

Before we go any further into the story, I plan to post part 2 of this! Part 2 will take me a bit longer to post due to personal matters but it will be posted!

Enjoy my first ever Haikyuu x Reader Fic!!!

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You’ve been working late into the night for the past few months so he must’ve thought that this would be your same routine from your previous nights. He's always been a careful person. He knows you have your location on. He always knows where you are but not just for your safety but to also bring her over.

He knows this is wrong. He loves you and knows he could've talked to you about maybe spending less time at work and maybe make a bit more time for him. Atsumu knows that your work is important and he's not gonna take advantage of you like that, especially when you come home from work tired, and with his volleyball schedule and his career you guys barely got to spend time with each other.

He wants to stop this but his need never stops. He knows what he has with her is just something done out of lust and that’s it. Atsumu only wants her around just to make his cock feel good and that’s it. He's already made it very clear he does not plan to leave you and to not get any crazy ideas.

He thought that tonight would be just like any other. He couldn’t have known that you were on your way home. He couldn’t have possibly remembered that today of all days was the release day of your book that you've put months of work into. Who knew that by mistake you left your phone at the office. All he knew at that moment was that your best friend's pussy takes him so well.

As you were driving your way home all you could think about is to hug your husband and yell to the world that you've finally finished your first written work! You felt such accomplishment that this book that you've put all your heart, sweat, and tears into was finally released! So many people believed in your dream but you felt you really couldn’t have done it without the love and support from your husband.

There have been many times where you felt like you haven't been given Atsumu much attention. You've been working long hours and at times late into the night to get this book out before the deadline you've been given. All those hours of hard work you felt paid off, now all that’s left to do is celebrate and who to celebrate better than your husband. After all, he's the inspiration behind your book.

You get out of your car making your way towards the entrance of your house. You notice a car that you've seen before but you can't remember where, so you just brush it off and make your way to the door. As you're unlocking the main entrance door, you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The house is dark and there's no one in the living area, I mean what did you expect its one in the morning. You were going about your routine trying to not wake Atsumu up when you hear some strange noises coming from your shared master.

As you're approaching the hallway that leads to your room, you've noticed the noises are starting to sound a lot more like sexual moans. Your first thought would've been that Atsumu might've fallen asleep while watching porn, and you'd believe that. But these moans sounded too real to be coming from the tv in your shared bedroom. You can see from the small gap underneath the door that the lights are still on.

You're getting ready to enter your room when you notice that the door is slightly open. If only someone were to prepare you for what you were about to see. As you enter the room you see what no woman ever wants to go through. Your husband Atsumu on top of another woman.

"I can never see myself with anyone that wasn’t my husband," you said.

Who would’ve thought that my marriage was falling apart… not me right?

Have I been so oblivious this whole time?

How long has this been going on? The question I proceeded to ask myself...

How did I not see this coming?

But now that you saw everything with your own eyes, you realized you’ve put all the pieces to a puzzle you didn’t even know you were solving.

Today was publishing day and you were gonna surprise Tsumu by coming home after the book release, you would have called but your phone may have been misplaced somewhere in your office. You didn’t have time to go back to the office, you’ve been missing Tsumu a lot. But the surprise you got when you entered your shared bedroom and watched as your husband was on top of another woman was not something you ever expected to happen.

As you stood there watching your husband fuck another woman and not just any woman but your best friend all you could think about was, Atsumu the man that promised to be with you for the rest of your life was in your bed fucking your best friend. You want to be angry, you want to run and scream at them, you want to ask why they did it. Not that any explanation would fix anything, you just couldn’t say anything. As you stood there for what felt like a lifetime. Did you lose your train of thought? Did you forget how to talk?

He finally notices that you’ve been standing there. He panics and gets off your best friend as he tries making his way towards you. All you could think to do at that moment was to just close the door and run out of the house towards your car and make your way out of there. You started driving with no destination in mind, you just wanted to be anywhere away from this bomb. As you're driving, you end up taking the route that leads you to Akaashi’s place. You get out of the car and make your way towards his door.

It’s like you came here out of instinct.

How can you not when you guys have been working on this project for the past several months. He’s a great editor and a great friend too! He appreciates your hard work! You remember when you told him that you wanted to give writing another try and had an idea for a book he immediately offered his services as an editor. He’s always offered his help to you. Even goes out of his way to help you research some titles or genres that you could find interest in writing. He’s a great guy and you’ve grown very close to him.

Now you’re at Keijis place late in the hours of the night. You decided that you couldn’t do this by yourself so you knock on his door.

“Y/N are you alright, What are you doing out so late?” He asks.

You shake your head no. How were you gonna tell Akaashi your world was falling apart. He’s your editor, he shouldn’t need to know that your husband just cheated on you with your best friend.

“Would you like to come in? We can talk about whatever is troubling you?”

He doesn’t give you a second to answer before he grabs your hand and guides you to the living room. He has you sit on his sofa while he makes you both some tea. Some time has passed since you arrived at Akaashi’s, you’re telling him everything that happened an hour prior to being there. Akaashi is tracing small circles on your back. He tells you that this wasn’t your fault and you're not one to blame here and that

“Hey Y/N?”

“Did you say something Keiji?” Y/N says looking up from his shoulder. He can tell they’ve been crying. Akaashi hated seeing them like this. These past several months, he got to know Y/N as a very kind and goal-minded person. He saw someone who only strived to make her and other’s visions come to reality. The months Akaashi spent with Y/N were by far the best few months of his life. He would never tell Y/N that.t He hates that the book is done because now they won’t get to spend as much time together as they used to.

The months he’s been with her he got to spend a lot of time getting to know her world. He observed the way she would get when she had writer’s block. The number of times he’s watched her get frustrated at how she didn’t like the ending of a chapter for the book. He saw how countless nights she felt helpless and wanted to quit. She would fall into a negative state where she convinced herself she wasn’t a good writer. He also saw the nights where she would vent to him about Atsumu becoming distant once again. NIghts where they would drown themselves with work just so they didn’t think about crying.

He saw all of that. Nights where y/n needed Atsumu. Late nights where he was fucking his wife’s best friend.

“What’s your next move?” Akaashi asked.

“I think the best thing right now is for me to go home and get an explanation”

Your expression is giving regret all over it. How were you gonna go back home and look Atsumu in the face? What more could he explain that you don’t already know? You keep going back and forth between blaming yourself more than blaming him. You want to put this in your head as if it was your fault. But you know deep down that if Atsumu really loves you like he says he does he wouldn’t have cheated. At the end of the day, he cheated on you, not the other way around.

“I think I'm gonna call Yachi and see if she’s okay with me spending a few nights at her place just until I figure out what I’m gonna do. In the meantime, I gotta get back home.”

You sigh, you're getting ready to get up when Akaashi takes a hold of your hand

“Wait Before you go, I have a suggestion for tonight if you’d like to hear”

Akaashi doesn’t want you going alone but he also feels as if he’s overstepping his boundaries. He knows this is none of his business but why does he feel like it is?

“How about we go get some of your things and you spend the night here?”

It was a nice offer from Keiji, but you already feel like a burden. He’s been so kind as to listen to you, you just don’t wanna cause him any more trouble.

“ I appreciate the offer Keiji but I don’t wanna wrap you up in my troubles.”

“ Y/N you’re no trouble, I just want you to know that you’re more than welcomed to stay here.” Akaashi knew you’d reject his invitation. He knows you’re not the type of person to rely on others' help, you’re a giver not a taker after all.

“Can you promise me if you don’t wanna be there with Atsumu you’ll call me and come here?” Akaashi the overthinker, always worrying about others.

“ I promise I’ll call you Keiji, if anything happens I promise to come back here.” The answer appeases him, he lets your hand go.

“Thank you Y/N Can I walk you out?” You nod and make your way towards the entrance door.

“Thank you for having me over at this time of night..” before you could finish your sentence, you were pulled into Akaashi’s arms.

“You don’t have to thank me Y/N, I’m glad you trust me enough to open up about what happened.”

You don’t know why but his words are making you feel safe. You trust Keiji, he’s not the type of guy to hurt anybody.

You thank Akaashi again as he walks you to your car “ Can I check on you tomorrow?”

You reply with a nod “ See you tomorrow Keiji.”

Both of you say your goodbyes. As you’re leaving Akaashi’s house, you can’t help but feel nervous about the conversation you were about to have with your husband. What was gonna happen with your marriage? Can this be forgiven? Questions that kept plaguing your head. Only one question stuck out more than the others…

Do I wanna divorce Atsumu?

Summary:

L/N F/N a young adult working on their first ever book with the help of editor and friend (Akaashi). Discovers that their husband has been cheating on them for the past few months that they’ve been working nonstop. Heartbroken y/n decides to drown herself in their work. Will they be able to Forgive their cheating husband from his infidelity or will they approach the man who fell in love with them while working on their book?

Characters belong to the Haruichi Furudate.

#haikyuu #akaashixreader #akaashi fanfiction #atsumu x reader #atsumu x female reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu fic #akaashi angst

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

In which Rafael Barba deletes the Twitter app because of the Householder case, and Carmen babysits him.

Accidental Feminist Icon

The last thing on Rafael Barba’s mind when he was in the hospital room with Maggie Householder was his online reputation. Once he’d turned himself in and been released on his own recognizance, however, he opened his phone to call mami and instead saw hundreds of Twitter notifications, emails from people whose names he didn’t recognize, and missed calls and voicemails from unfamiliar numbers. He didn’t touch Twitter, texting Carmen to ask how bad it was and she advised him to delete the application until at least after the trial. When he went home, mami was there and just as disappointed as he expected. There were tears the minute she saw him, but not any offered comfort.

“You murdered a child, mijo.”

“You don’t understand, mami. No lo viste. El no estaba realmente vivo.”

“Esa fue la decisión de Dios. No es tu decisión. Tu abuela estaría tan decepcionada de ti.”

“No estoy de acuerdo. Si estás aquí para regañarme, vete a casa.”

“Te llevo a la confesión.”

“Vete a casa, mami. Me confesaré cuando esté lista.”

“Rafa-”

“Go home.”

Lucia stormed out, and Rafael went inside his apartment and went straight for the scotch he kept aside. It wasn’t his good scotch. It was the cheap one that burned his throat and left him sicker than he ever was the next day. Before twisting off the cap, he heeded Carmen’s advice, deleting the Twitter app as he dropped to the couch and began to drink. It was only eleven, not even noon, but he didn’t want to remember what had transpired the day before. He should wade through his email, but someone had posted it. He knew because it was referenced time and time again that they’d found his personal email via some Twitter thread or Subreddit or something else he hadn’t yet encountered. He’d had to mute his phone as phone calls rolled in; the only one he answered confirmed it was strangers from the Internet who had seen the news. Carmen called it getting cancelled when it happened to other people. That usually didn’t involve the loss of a life, so the term seemed not quite right for what was happening, especially given the fact this included more than just the people he was used to. People who had never encountered him were hearing about him in the news.

He ignored Olivia’s calls, considering the morning’s interactions enough. As he drank, Rafael was able to filter unknown numbers and messages, tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing the bottle. Olivia came by, and he didn’t answer, choosing to lay back on the couch as the room spun around him. Carmen texted him, and he didn’t look. An hour later, he heard her outside of his door with Olivia and unlocking he apartment for her. He’d given her a key long ago so she could get files or suits or drop off leftovers. Both of them came in, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had his suspenders down and shirt open over his undershirt. He’d spilled the most recent tumbler over himself with the pizza he’d ordered. And now, they could see him like this, eyes rimmed red and mood unstable as he thought more than he could about himself.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said softly, kneeling by him. Olivia stayed closer to the door, surveying the room. By the nature of their constant proximity, Carmen had seen the tail end or starts of Rafael getting frustrated, though he always pressed it down with a glass of scotch and good meal. That said, she’d found him too drunk after a trial didn’t go his way. Seen him frustrated as he went through a case he may not be able to do anything about it. Caught him yelling at paperwork as though something would happen. She’d also seen him the next mornings when he came in pretending not to be insanely hungover and was wearing the suit from his office.

“I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Is this what happens between an eight o’clock bourbon and the office suit?”

“Shut up, Carmen.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry,” he said with a huff as his hand ran down his face, and Olivia had to stifle a laugh at how properly embarrassed he looked. “My email and phone are bad. How bad is Twitter?”

“Medium. A lot of people understand. Or they feel that they can’t understand, so they’ll watch the story.”

“People understand murder?” he scoffed.

“No. No one does. But we all understand how impossible your choice was. How badly the parents were hurting.”

“I was too selfish to do it for my dad.”

“I know, Mr. Barba. But people want to know how long until they hear more. Want people to wait. Can see why you did it. It’ll blow over. We can change your number and your email. Twitter has a really handy button. Block.”

“My name’s Rafael.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Not for long,” he chuckled bitterly before his gaze softened. “All I wanted was for people not to hurt.”

“You need to go to bed, Rafa.” It was Olivia now, and his eyes suddenly snapped open. It was different when it was Olivia. They were friends, but they kept things to work. Other than the occasional group event, they’d grab dinner after work. She didn’t hear him debate pocket squares or see him drunk alone in his office or help him think of replies on Twitter. He’d probably lose his friendship with Carmen once he wasn’t in the office, he supposed. She humored her boss a lot more than she probably should.

“I’m fine, Liv.” It came with more of a snort than he liked, and he was suddenly pulling himself up to sit, wrapping his shirt around himself as though it were a cardigan. Carmen watched he was steady, and Olivia was sure she now knew what she’d looked like when Noah was learning to walk on his own with her hand on his back to keep him upright. Once things passed, she wanted to ask if Rafael was always this willing to be relaxed around Carmen, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“I don’t think I’m helping things,” Olivia said softly, and Carmen gave a gentle nod.

“My son’s with my mom for a visit. I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re sure? I can call Lucia.”

“I’m fine, lieutenant. And mami has already been here.”

“Make sure he meets with an attorney tomorrow.”

“I make his calendar. I know.”

“You two can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” he grumbled, heels pressed against his eyes. “I’m drunk, not deaf.”

“You’re belligerent, counsellor.”

“Call me Rafael,” he said again, flopping onto the couch when Olivia had left again.

“I thought Lieutenant Benson was your best friend, Rafael.”

“She is, I guess. Is that sad? My best friend used to be Alex, but I pursued that case. As if mami needed more reason to hate me.”

“You don’t act like you in front of her. Not all the way.”

“This isn’t me.”

“It’s you without a carefully constructed persona.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose you’re my best friend, Miss Frye.” She’d expected to see a bemused smirk or annoyed scowl, but Carmen was taken aback by how sincere he looked as his hand moved to rest on her forearm and squeeze as well as he could.

“My name’s Carmen,” she teased. “Now come on. You need to go to bed.”

“My suit will get wrinkled.”

“I’ll hang it for you.”

“You can sleep in the guest room. It’s not safe for you to go-” His eyes were suddenly wide. “Carmen, where’s Ollie?”

“With my mom. I told her you needed me for a couple days.”

“You don’t need to disrupt your life.”

“I’ll tell you a secret Mist- Rafael.”

“What?” he asked, flopping into bed where she’d pulled the blanket down once he managed to strip to his boxers.

“You’re my best friend too.” She tugged the blanket over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. He smiled up at her, and she made her way out turning off the lights. It seemed silly to say it to someone like him, but they’d worked together a long time, had a lot of late night talks. She liked him more than a lot of people she knew, and saw him more than anyone outside of her family.

Carefully, she cleaned his living room, dumping his other bottle of cheap scotch out and disposing of both before setting up the coffee to brew at seven, just in time to have him at an attorney’s office by nine. McCoy had approved her to work from wherever she needed to in order to keep Rafael functioning. She’d have been miserable helping Peter Stone with this trial anyway. They both knew about his father, and it seemed he may be a ticking time bomb. She logged into his twitter, going on a blocking spree as she explored his mentions, tweeting from her own account and his that she’d done it and retweeting it from his account.

She also liked all the kind ones. The ones asking for understanding or expressing empathy. The ones that acknowledged he had an impossible choice and neither one would have sat well with their own conscious. Leave a child and his family to suffer without end or expedite the inevitable. Then there were his direct messages. Since getting verified, he had the ability to only see messages from people he followed. As she combed through, there were a couple of hateful messages she ignored, but most who knew him expressed understanding and a couple even included leads if he wanted out of the city. She marked those down in her notes app before falling asleep in the guest bedroom.

The sound that greeted her in the morning was Rafael Barba vomiting as the coffee machine roared to life in the background. Silently, she ordered ginger tea and vitamin b12 for delivery, going to fetch the pedialyte she’d brought from home. When he came out, hair wet from a shower, she’d already brewed him tea, cooked breakfast, and given him an expectant look as she slid a glass of unnaturally purple electrolytes to him. He didn’t know what to say, so he took the proffered glas and took a long sip before wincing.

“Grape,” she said plainly.

“Grapes don’t taste like that.”

“Ollie likes it okay. I make him popsicles though.”

“He’s old enough for popsicles? Isn’t he still on milk?”

“Rafael, he’s two. He drinks milk, but he even eats.”

“Does he like books yet?”

“He does. He really likes being read to.”

“I’ll read to him next time I see him.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Do you play him music?”

“Some. Usually my playlists.”

“Play him Bach.”

“You’ll have to tell me what’s best to play him.”

“I’ll send you a playlist.”

“Why Bach?” She watched as his jaw shifted from side to side, lips pressed together, and that told her all she needed to know. “Drew liked Bach?”

“He’d never know if he liked Bach. Maggie was playing one of his cantatas.”

“Maybe we can take him to an orchestra one day.”

“There are some shows. Kid friendly.”

“He’d like that.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Me?”

“It’s your idea.”

“You’d still let me around your son?”

“My son is a healthy vibrant boy. If he was in the same situation as Drew, it would be hard, but I’d still want you there. You did exactly what I would have done for him, okay?”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“You probably are my best friend. And that hasn’t changed. I wish you didn’t have to be put in the situation, but I would hope I’d have been strong enough to do the same. And other people agree with me.”

“God, you’re not actually looking at Twitter.”

“I looked at Twitter. I blocked anyone vitriolic. But, I collected all the kind ones in your favorites for when you’re ready. A lot of your attorney friends have job leads for you if you leave the DA’s office.”

“I’m leaving. And I’m probably going to fucking prison. You’ll be down a friend in a few months.”

“Stop it.”

“They’ll end me in there, Carmen. I sent some of them there.” She wasn’t sure what to make at how at peace with the prospect he was.

“And you won’t go to prison. Don’t focus on that. Even if you do, they’ll have to do something to protect you. And I’ll come visit you.”

“You barely know me.”

“We spend more time together than I do with anyone else. I know you’re good, you have a good heart, you send birthday presents to every SVU detective’s kid and think I don’t know you send them coffee gift cards on their birthdays. You’re a total mama’s boy and despite what a snarky prick you are, you have imposter syndrome out the ass. You’re lapsed enough Catholic not to go to church, but you pray when things are really bad. I also know some part of your brain feels like you’ve let down people who think you do good work by this one thing, but one bad doesn’t outweigh an exorbitant amount of good. I hope Ollie has half of the ethical backbone you do. I know there have been occasions in the past you weren’t perfect, but the man I’ve known deserves every ounce of credit he gets. That doesn’t mean you’ve never made a mistake.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, and much to his chagrin, Carmen wrapped him in a hug that he returned, refusing to look at her. He was suddenly aware he’d cry if he looked at what he knew was a genuine smile. “I’ve got to get dressed to see an attorney.”

“Who are you going with?”

“Randy Dworkin.”

“He’ll be good.”

“I hate to admit that. And I’m sure I’ll hate every second with him.”

“How about you teach me about Bach this afternoon?”

“You have work.”

“McCoy approved me to be remote.”

“So you’re my sitter?” She could almost swear a smile pulled at the corner of his lip, and she felt pride she didn’t expect.

“I suppose. So Bach?”

“Bring Ollie?”

“Deal.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #Rafael Barba x Carmen

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activelytaemin · 3 years

Text

growing pains [lee taemin]

◇ lee taemin x fem! reader

angst-ish? | college!au | non-idol!au

warnings: mature language, unedited

2.0k April 8th, 2021

everything written in this story is completely FICTION. i personally do not believe that this story aligns with any of the idol’s real lives. ultimately, this story is not meant to intentionally defame any idol in any way.

chapter one [congratulations, but not really]

Dear {Y/N},

Congratulations! I am pleased to offer you admission to the University of California, Riverside for fall 2021.

the golden word congratulations lit up y/n’s eyes as she screamed falling into her brother’s arms. tears emerged from her eyes realizing that she would finally leave the colorful city of busan for the sunny shores of california; this was a cultural reset that guaranteed her an infinite amount of memories to come.

“i did it! jimin, i studied so hard”, she sobbed, grasping onto his slim frame. “it feels worth it like—“, she paused to wipe her tears with her sleeves, “all my late nights, immense sacrifices, and good grades have made this worth it.”

jimin rolled his eyes playfully and lightly pushing her off of him. “yeah, of course you made it in”, he scoffed jokingly, “we’re a family geniuses. you weren’t raised to be a dumbass.” he ruffled her hair before y/n grabbed his wrist.

“i guess that’s why both of my brothers are stuck here—“, y/n held his hand lovingly before sarcastically stabbing his back, “especially the one named park jimin, he didn’t get accepted into any ivy’s or safety’s. now he’s stuck going to an online university.” she released his hand before smiling to truly appreciate him, “but all jokes aside, i couldn’t have done this without you.”

her mind wandered to the thought of sunny california. the excitement built up in her like air filling a balloon. there were nerves trapped within because this sense of curiosity and control was foreign.

would there be snow?

what types of people would there be?

how perfect does my english have to sound?

there were several wonders because south korea was engrained to her memory. for the past eighteen years, korea was her home. there would be no more hanboks on seoullal, honorifics for friends, and (most importantly) her beloved family. without her family, she wanted to venture on the outside on her own. yet, there would always be a yearn for the feeling of home. the universe finally served her freedom on a platter. she could finally leave the nest to fly.

was she ready for it?

“y/n, don’t forget that you won’t be alone. taemin goes to riverside too”, jimin’s loud mouth interrupted y/n’s thoughts. soon enough, all her freedom had crashed and burned. she was caged once again.

her imagination was left to torment her. when she heard his name, a roaring fire lit up within her because of her discomfort; the fire will never go out.

scars can heal, but y/n’s are deep as ever. like an evergreen, scars can everlasting.

“taemin—i thought he was in new york?”, she questioned with a sense of worry. “i haven’t seen him since he graduated, and i don’t really like him at all. are you guys still friends? ”, an awkward laugh slipped out. she was quite uncomfortable at the mention of taemin, and her confession proved it all.

there was something about taemin that irked her soul. whether it was the memory of his being or thought of him physically, taemin would forever be an uncomfortable and undesirable person to talk about.

she remembers the day taemin walked in and out of her life.

it seemed so sudden.

he never wanted to cause pain, but he left her with the sharpness of his trauma. whatever was rooted in his cruel being had isolated her from her well being.

it was one thing for taemin to make y/n happy in secrecy. however, y/n had to suffer in secrecy once taemin had walked out because nobody knew the depth of her adoration for him.

jimin groaned before taking a deep breath to keep his composure. “one, taemin has been my best friend since 2015. two, he had to transfer because he had a change of mind—”, he let out a brief laugh, “well, that’s what he says—and three, it’s him or mom watching you.”

he was taken aback by her dislike for his friend. in his mind, he believed that y/n would be quite fond of a familiar face. however, he let it go believing it was just another “girl problem.”

little did he know, taemin was a disaster that filled y/n’’s life with hundreds problems.

jay-z once said, “i got 99 problems, but a bitch ain’t one.” for y/n, taemin was the 99 problems and she was “the bitch.”

the seriousness in jimin’s tone was irritating to y/n, almost strangle-worthy. he doesn’t understand her dislike for him. in fact, he has a “bromance” with taemin.

to others, taemin is a cool and collected young man that seemed shy to the world while being confident to his friends. jimin often saw his confident side, and that allowed jimin’s mind to feel as if taemin was heavenly.

to jimin, taemin had an aura about him that he couldn’t explain. it drew him in.

maybe it was because he was simply older than jimin. or, he could’ve just been build with extra charm.

as much as y/n didn’t like jimin’s praise for taemin, she didn’t want her mom babysitting her because she is simply too grown to have her around. sometimes mother’s can be suffocating; they can control many aspects of your life. it was a valid fear for y/n to have, and she was scared that jimin was going to follow in those footsteps.

jimin didn’t know any history between taemin and y/n. he doesn't know she constructs taemin to be evil because he took advantage of her innocence. sadly in her heart, she believes the thought of him is bad for her health because he hurt her.

taemin is a monster. an emotionless, compassionless man who does not know how to love.

but, everyone is naive because they don’t understand his evil like y/n does.

taemin does put up a front to the world, while y/n gets to see all of him at her own risk.

“i love mom, but you’re right”, she laughed in agreement. for jimin’s sake, y/n lied to him and herself, “i’ll take taemin any day.”

“yeah, but don’t forget to wear a mask. nobody wants covid in the states. you don’t have insurance”, jimin scoffed before y/n hit his back playfully.

jimin yelped in pain, “literally what the fuck? you’re a demon.”

september 20th, 2021

the plane to california was unbearably long and did not comfort her senses. although she did not mind wearing a mask, the uncertainty of her health on that flight kept her up the full thirteen hours. everyone was spaced out, but the enclosed space made her claustrophobic. normally, her senses are grounded. however, the pandemic blows everyone out of proportion and brings out a little bit of paranoia as well.

y/n was wearing a pink surgical mask to contrast with her plain wardrobe. before she left for california, she chose a long black coat, oversized uc riverside hoodie, and black jeans with her basic converse. she was trying to blend in with every other college freshman on move-in day.

a memory flew into her mind. while on the plane, the remembrance of what home felt like tugged at her. the pain of missing someone never settled inside of her; the feeling was foreign because the past experiences weren’t genuine. or maybe, she is uncomfortable with missing someone or something because of insecurity within.

before y/n left, her mom hugged her tightly before sending her off with tears; love can be unconditional when it comes to your family. on the other hand, y/n heard jimin laugh at his mom while giving a wave goodbye; hiding your worries with comedy makes you more worried at times. jimin was obviously good at hiding himself, but he made himself overly awkward this time.

when she knew she was saying goodbye, y/n didn’t feel anything because leaving was thought out to be normal. her mind didn't think her immigration would be sad. it was surprising to see her mother sad, but also the uncomfortable atmosphere jimin brought.

a ding from the intercom sounded off, “we will be beginning our decline to los angeles. the fastened seat belt sign is now on for your personal safety. please remain seated during this time”, the voice was followed by another ding via the intercom.

as the plane began its descent, y/n gripped one of her armrests while closing her eyes. sadly, the feeling of traveling alone was brand new, not in a bad way. perhaps, the butterflies her stomach arose because she was going to be around a familiar face that makes her uncomfortable.

y/n wishes to hide away the memories of the two of them as if their world's never collided. in her mind, lee taemin was just another problematic teenage memory to get rid of

in summer 2018, the air was different. it was heavy, and the atmosphere was lethargic. in the moment, y/n felt specifically upset as if the universe decided to rip out a significant amount of reality; the universe ripped something out, indeed.

lee taemin, long-term lover, graduated early behind her back. suddenly, he is getting up to leave for new york.

“i can’t believe you are leaving for college already”, her teeth bit her bottom lip before she felt his warmth encase her. tears were pouring down her face while creating a hurricane of bleeding makeup and anger. “you can’t keep doing this to me. you told me no more fucking secrets!”, she gripped onto his waist before silently crying into him.

“i think you knew that this was bound to happen”, taemin brought a hand to her face, caressing her cheek to wipe away the tears. “the only difference between you and i is that we’ll be boarders apart.”

“i didn’t know this was your plan. you just dropped this huge ass bomb on me today!”, she aggressively pulled his hand down to suddenly push him away. “taemin, this isn’t just about you. my love for you is real.”, she took a breath to let out a sarcastic laugh.

“i love you”, her heart ached saying those words. more tears came out of her eyes before she quietly croaked out with a general shakiness in her demeanor, “do you feel the same way at all?”

taemin shook his head, scoffing slightly. he grazed the back of her hand with his lips. no words were exchanged between them.

y/n was standing there confused, waiting for him to say something. even if the words were, "i don't love you."

however, his response never came, and his thoughts seemed distant. it was like taemin resisted y/n's desire and compassion for him.

the silence between the two filled the air. it finally hit her that his love was no longer apparent, and his place in their relationship became nonexistent.

just like that, taemin walked out the door breaking y/n’s heart as if it was glass. from her eyes, it truly didn’t feel as if he gave a damn to begin with.

it was unreal, but most definitely her reality.

in her mind she is screaming because taemin makes her feel alive in the worst way possible. he is unbearable to think about because he is a reminder of everything that has gone wrong with love.

he is only a distant memory that she wishes to burn.

fuck love.

but most importantly— fuck you, lee taemin.

#lee taemin #taemin x reader #shinee #shinee x reader #lee jinki #lee jinki x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #kim kibum #kim kibum x reader #choi minho #choi minho x reader #fanfic #ffs #kpop ff #super m #super m x reader #taemin #kpop writing

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joezworld · 3 years

Note

What is the status of vehicle rights in places like China or Russia, with rather patchy (at best) human rights records? What was it like in the USSR, Nazi Germany, or the Empire of Japan? And did Mussolini ever get his locomotives to run completely on time?

Strangely enough, it was a lot better in those countries for at least a while.

To start, check out this post that goes into a little detail.

So, this post is going to not mention the United States or Canada - I’ve done posts on them before.

Interestingly, three of the greatest proponents of locomotive rights in Europe came from people with some of the worst human rights records in modern history: Hitler, Stalin, and King Leopold II.

Belgium has a long history of locomotive rights, stretching back to within 20 years of the introduction of the railway in the country. During the first days of the reign of Leopold II, the king declared that locomotives and other railway equipment were to be considered “on the same level as any Belgian citizen”. Official government histories say that this was because of the king’s desire not allow slavery to happen on Belgian soil, but the existence of the very inappropriately named Congo Free State puts this answer in a very bad light. The generally accepted unofficial answer is much, much funnier - Leopold II was born after the first railways were laid in the country, and as the future king, he was kept well appraised of any new technologies in the country. He also had many, many, many, mistresses. In case you can’t tell where this is going, it is entirely likely that several of his more private extramarital affairs were with locomotives owned by the Belgian state rail company. Locomotives were at the time viewed as little more than beasts of burden, and while Leopold was more than willing to commit heinous atrocities upon the Africans, he was not about to stand here in his own country and get called an enjoyer of bestiality - so he made locomotives people in order to get ahead of his critics should an affair be made public. This had the interesting side effect of making Belgium one of the more progressive countries in Europe as far as locomotive rights went, and Belgian locomotives were very dedicated citizens often serving in civil and military leadership positions around the country. During the first world war, Belgian locomotives actively resisted the Germans for the entirety of the invasion, and a not-insignificant percentage of German locomotives brought in to manage the chaos were brought over to the Belgian side by promises of citizenship.

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This did not go unnoticed by other, much worse European leaders such as Adolf Hitler, who understood the value of a functioning rail network as far as war logistics went, and made significant strides in offering French/Dutch/Polish/Russian/Norwegian/Italian/Etc. engines Nazi citizenship if they served the Reich. Unfortunately for Hitler, Nazis are terrible people who lead out fear, and many of the locomotives who did sign up for this did so because they wanted to Not Die, not because they supported the cause. As a result, large portions of the Reichsbahn rolling stock fleet just ran away or defected as soon as the Allies started getting near, causing serious supply issues that hastened the downfall of the German war effort.

Also, because I know someone is going to ask about it, yes, those trains still ran. Please don’t ask me to elaborate beyond what’s here.

Because locomotives would see what was going on and objected, the Reichsbahn very quickly began staffing those trains with engines that were True Believers, or (even worse) Jewish engines. (Those usually made one way trips, and it’s just as bad as you might think.)

Following the war, many locomotives who had been cleared of any collaboration charges still possessed their Nazi-Era citizenship, and tried to get them turned into citizenship of their home countries. Most places said no (except Belgium) and were promptly glared at by the American service-engines who were rebuilding their countries from the ground up, and then agreed.

The impact on European Locomotive Rights by the Americans cannot be understated. Most European governments were totally prepared to resume the status quo if it wasn’t for the Americans rolling around with their US Citizen status on full display. This is also another reason why England is such a laggard in Locomotive Rights - the country was not as heavily destroyed as continental Europe, and was able to rebuild itself without US "interference".

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Stalin also was a firm believer in Locomotive Rights, for many of the same reasons as Hitler was - locomotives have the ability to bring your country to a halt, so you’d better have them on your side. He’d made attempts to make locomotives citizens before the war, but the Soviet efforts really came into their own during the 1950s - Stalin’s purges had removed a lot of humans from existence, and most locomotives at that point had been built by the USSR in the USSR, and therefore had no concept of ‘Disloyalty to The State", so they were natural fits for many roles within the Soviet government. At one point in 1982, the USSR’s Ministry of Transport was staffed only by vehicles, with no humans present whatsoever. The total integration of vehicles into the USSR reached its zenith in the late 70s, when new buildings were required to have elevators capable of lifting locomotives and other extremely heavy vehicles to at least the third floor - this requirement has remained even to this day, and most eastern European residential structures have the structural strength of a nuclear bomb shelter as a result.

It should be pointed out that while the USSR might have treated locomotives well, it was still an authoritarian dystopia, and nothing here is an endorsement for the country or its actions/politics.

Following the dissolution of the USSR, the hypercapitalist state of the former Eastern Bloc meant that anything and everything was up for sale, including people and machines. One enterprising locomotive used his newfound wealth to create a formidable trade union/gang that covers most of the former USSR to this day. This organization is the primary driver of locomotive rights laws in the former Soviet Bloc, but it should be noted that a lot of the pushback against locomotive rights comes from politicians trying to shut them down specifically.

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Japan is... weird. Locomotives have been fully adopted into their society for generations, and there was no loss or gain of rights during the Second World War, as they were already in place. Let me explain why:

Due to Japan's Shinto influence, locomotives were considered to be basically human from their inception on the island - the first law specifically related to locomotives in the world was an edict issued by the Emperor in regards to the three locomotives imported by English and European engineers for use on the upcoming Shimbashi-Yokohama railway - they were to be given the same rights as those locomotives built domestically. Since then, most Japanese laws have included locomotives by default, often making no mention of them unless specifically including them because of physical differences. [For example, locomotives are not required to partake in mandatory military service, as their service to the railways is often more valuable, especially during peacetime.] However, while locomotives in the West were free to work as they pleased, even off of the rail network, Japanese trains do so in remarkably smaller numbers, with over 98% of locomotives remaining in railway service until their retirement. Those that do not do so typically enter railway-related fields like locomotive construction, upper management in railway companies, or working in the Japanese Ministry of Transport.

In this sense, locomotives in Japan can be considered to be less free than their western colleagues, as the nation culture of "work until you die" meant that no attempt was made to allow trains to enter human society, forcing them to essentially be segregated from humans when not directly pulling trains, as land is too scarce to use for western-style 'locomotive cities' except in extremely rural areas and Nagasaki*.

*Following the atomic bombing of the city in 1945, Nagasaki was rebuilt by the American occupying forces - many of whom were USRA locomotives. The city’s bombed-out industrial areas were already layered with train tracks, making it easy to create a locomotive sized living area. Hiroshima, which suffered damage to its human-oriented urban core, was not rebuilt with trains in mind.

As such, locomotives are considered full Japanese citizens, but most Japanese humans have never interacted with them. Exceptions do exist, mostly in rural towns and villages, where a locomotive is usually considered to be the town's 'honored elder', as most locomotives on small branches have lived in the area for many decades, making them the oldest member of the town in many cases. This has lead to many culture clashes in larger cities, where residents may be apathetic to the desires their locomotive neighbors, much to the dismay and shock of a 'country bumpkin' who lives nearby.

Of particular issue to locomotive freedoms are multiple units. Since the 1960s, Japanese railways have put more focus into EMUs/DMUs rather than standard locomotive hauled trains. This has caused even more segregation amongst Japan's rail population, as permanently coupled multiple units cannot access the few existing locomotive/human developments, as they were designed for standalone locomotives. Urban sprawl and high land prices have made enlarging these developments is impossible. To date, the only MU focused 'loco-city' (other than one-track sheds in rural farming communities) is in the Fukushima Daiichi exclusion area. However, as the line accessing it is in the traditional Japanese 3'6" gauge, the community remains inaccessible to the 4'8.5" gauge Shinkansen trains, many of whom are almost totally isolated from anyone else - despite living in Japan's largest cities - as a result of their loading gauge restrictions.

Similar social isolation occurs to ships and aircraft, but as they are able to receive emotional support from friends and relatives across the planet, they do not suffer from this isolation nearly as much.

-------

At no point in Italian history has anyone been able to make the right decision in regards to locomotive rights. This is not to say that Locomotive rights (and vehicular rights in general) don’t exist in Italy - they do, rather thoroughly - but rather, the Italians have never once done so intentionally, instead implementing locomotive rights by having multiple laws, written on multiple occasions over multiple decades, that are so badly written that a train could and likely was driven through the loopholes that exist in them!

#ask response #long #locomotive rights headcanon #sentient vehicle headcanon #sentient trains #sentient vehicles #italy #japan #ussr #ww2 #belgium

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 26

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mention of weapons and gunshots

A/N: will i ever write a chapter without a musical reference? no as i literally cannot help myself.

NEXT CHAPTER

The night was like a warm blanket tonight yet the world somehow seemed wider, brighter as she laid against his chest, hearing his heart softly beating against his ribcage. The sound itself sent her in a spiral of her own mind, the sound itself proved he was alive, he was real and he was there. Laying down next to him was just the right thing to do despite it being at the same time the wrongest of all wrong things. Sure, this was the man Gwen had been promised to ever since she was born but at the same time whenever she was next to him he seemed like a completely different person than the mythical mob boss her mind had fabricated over the years. When she was next to him he was her lover and at the end of the day that was what overwhelmed her overall perception.

- What are you thinking about? - Sebastian slightly raised his head with precaution as to not disturb her. - You’re very quiet.

- Just basking in the feeling. - she looked up to him without really moving the rest of her body, hand remaining in its imaginary circle drawing. - We should probably return to doing what we were doing.

- I think there’s more boxes in the garage. - he sat up, arms wrapped around her figure so she didn’t fall off his lap and landed on the ground. If it was up to him, he would remain in that position for another hour with his nose buried in her hair smelling the scent of her fragrance mixed with her shampoo. - Maybe there’s something there.

- You don’t need to do this for me. - she pushed her hair to the side, cocking her head slightly as her hand searched the ground for her jumper which was colder than she would like due to the winter weather just outside. - I know you probably have your own business to take care of.

- I’m a good multitasker, my angel. - he kissed her naked shoulder before she slide her jumper on, shivering at the contact of her warm skin with the cold fabric. Y/N gave him a playful smile followed by a roll of the eyes before getting up, picking up his garments in the process and throwing them at him.

Smiling like a fool who just won the lottery, and in a certain way he sort of had, he got dressed up in the wrinkled clothes and wrapped his arm around her natural waist before leading her out of his office and into the life to the garage. If there was a room in the house that was always, if not ever since its construction, in chaos, it was the garage. Whatever he didn’t want in his home anymore or anything for which he didn’t have space, he would send it down to the garage which meant the room was filled to the brim with boxes and boxes along with some record books and more contracts, most likely belonging to his father as Sebastian prided himself in keeping an electronic copy of all his contracts, just in case. Y/N couldn’t help herself but sneeze at the amount of dust that had gathered over the years as she grabbed one of the boxes. Surely he had enough money to hire someone to clean it, however it seemed to always escape his mind.

Sebastian took the other side of the box created walls while Y/N started to go through the first box which weirdly was filled with clothes, children’s clothes. She cocked an eyebrow in confusion, but continued to go through the box’s contents, carefully putting the clothing off the box by her side until she reached a silver picture frame of a woman holding a baby whose gaze was somewhere else. She smiled at the warm nature of the photo which looked to have been snapped unknowingly. Her fingers traced the contours of the photo as she wondered who the two individuals were until she felt Sebastian’s hand on her shoulder.

- That’s my mother. - he pointed at the woman in the photo. - And that’s me.

- Why is this photo here? - she asked, turning her head to stare at him. Y/N knew Sebastian clearly had a soft spot for his mother as he spoke of her like any kid spoke of their parents, something that didn’t seem to occur whenever he mentioned his father whose relationship seemed to be more apprentice-master than father and son.

- In all honesty, I didn’t even remember it was down here. My father got rid of most stuff related to my mother after the divorce. - his hand left her shoulder as he took a seat next to her.

- You’ve never spoke to me about your mother. At least not a lot. - it was in her nature to be curious, she found the most she knew about people, the best she could connect and help them out. Sebastian normally would’ve taken curiosity at harsh value but whenever she asked him something, he couldn’t help but feel wrapped around her kind nature.

- Well, they got divorced when I was 6 or 7. Bad divorce, my mother didn’t have enough money to get a legal team so my father got everything, including me. One visit a year ... she ended up dying when I was 14.

- I’m so sorry, Seb. - she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his temple, trying to console him the best way she could. Sebastian however had closed that wound a long time ago and instead looked inside the box she was looking at, recognising most of the items as childhood belongings. With a curious look in her eyes, his hand rummaged through the box’s belongings taking an old teared by time stuffed bunny which gained Y/N’s attention. - What’s that?

- Oreo. - he said nonchalantly.

- Oreo? - she giggled. - It has a name? You don’t mean to tell me that the mob boss had a stuffed animal named Oreo.

- Mob bosses aren’t born mob bosses. - he put the stuffed animal back in the box. - I thought one of my kids might want it someday but if they’re anything like Gwen, I think they won’t want something this old.

- Right. - she swallowed her worries which kept telling her that she would never be the one to bore him a child. Mr. Williams words rang inside her mind like terrifying echoes. Mistress. Mistresses don’t get happy endings. - Well, you have good taste, Oreo is a great name.

- Good taste ... - his eyes seemed to rewind to a past time, leaving Y/N to look at him weirdly as he jumped on his feet to walk to a little shelf filled with books which turned to be photo albums. Looking through several pages in second-like intervals, he finally stopped in the middle of the album, a smile on his face as his memories proved right. Quickly moving towards the young handmaiden, placing the book in her lap. Her eyes glued to the photo which was of a round table filled with mostly men and little to no women, however, a specific woman stood out in the middle of everyone, a kind smile contrasting with the tight lipped smirks of the rest of the crowd. Around her neck a golden necklace just like the one which was wrapped around the young handmaiden’s neck. - I knew I remembered the name Robin.

- What happened to her? - Sebastian sadly couldn’t answer this question as he was rather young and most of the times forbidden to even be close to any of his father’s parties or dinners. Y/N flipped through the pages noticing she showed up in a few more pictures before completely disappearing. - She seems to stop appearing.

- Whoever she was, she was no mere worker. My father had a rather elitist taste when it came to who got to attend his dinners and parties. - the theory that her parents didn’t want her screamed at her again. At that point, it just sounded like the most plausible theory. Noticing this shift his attitude, Sebastian closed the photo album, putting it away from her. - You don’t need to keep going, angel. You turned out just fine without them.

- I know. - she forced a smile, trying to see if she could fool Sebastian but he was much too familiar with her characteristics to be easily fooled. Sighing, Sebastian took her hands in his, slowly yet surely getting her on her feet.

- I think that’s enough detective work for today. - he leaned down, pecking her lips two times, a smile on his face. Y/N nodded, thinking it would be best if she didn’t dig in the past and together they returned to the lift which took them back to the penthouse. The lift doors slowly open and Y/N noticed her suitcase standing slightly to the side of the lift. She didn’t think much of it knowing Sebastian to be a man who had man for everything so he had probably gotten someone to grab it earlier than mentioned. Even with that, she felt a somber heavy vibe in the air as she located her suitcase, something that seemed to push her down, like a weight. - Your suitcase is here.

- Oh ... I guess I should just unpack. - his words took her from the glued, almost hypnotic glare at her own bag. Sebastian shrugged, letting her do her own thing, only offering his help to help her move the suitcase into her bedroom to which she declined.

Her intuition was telling her to be careful and as such, she closed the door behind her immediately opening her suitcase. There was nothing odd about it, mostly filled with the clothes she had brought to the Forrest along with other objects and personal belongings. Still there was a heavy weight which seemed to grow heavier and heavier as she folded her clothes and put them back in her wardrobe which hit a climax as she noticed a piece of white like fabric right at the bottom of her suitcase. She took a step back however her hand leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric as if the fabric itself were a bomb.

The fabric itself didn’t feel worn out and as she raised it into the air so she could inspect it better. It was an old fabric which at his prime was white but had started to grow slightly yellowish with the passage of time, the material of cashmere itself however still had the same comfort of a new one, almost as if it had never been worn. However, the most notable feature of the blanket was the cursive embroidery spelling Ella next to the silhouette of a robin. Without much thought to it, she brought the blanket up to her nose, inhaling what was reminiscent of fresh rosemaries on a hot summer day spent in a garden. Then out of the sudden, just as her nose sensed the scent of the blanket, a loud gunshot sound seemed to reverberate from the back of her skull to the front. She let out a scared scream, dropping the blanket on the floor as if the fabric was burning her hands. Her eyes scanned the room, looking paranoiacally for where the gunshot could’ve come for but there was nothing in her bedroom, there was no one in her bedroom. That was until Sebastian broke into her bedroom, black revolver set in the air to which she immediately put her hands up, noticing there were few tears rolling down her cheeks and meeting at her chin. Sebastian lowered his gun, after inspecting her bedroom for any threats.

- I heard a gunshot. - her breathe came rather harshly through her mouth, almost as if she had been holding in her breathe.

- There was no gunshot, angel. - his hands cupped her face, kissing the top of her forehead as she leaned into his embrace. - Your mind’s playing tricks on you.

- No, I heard it. - she heard it, she could still hear it ringing in her ears like a never ending sound. Sebastian’s lips tightened as he embraced her tighter, letting go of his revolver on top of her bed. - I heard it.

- I know, angel. I know. - he spoke very lowly, whisper-like even. - You’re tired, you need some rest.

- I swear I heard it. - she looked around, her eyes convincing her that there was no real danger but her mind telling her to keep her guard up, specially when the blanket on the ground caught her attention once more like a cursed amulet. Like a child, she hid from it on Sebastian’s shoulders, the contrasting cedar wood scent almost erasing the soft and fresh rosemary from her mind. She had heard it, she knew she had heard it. - Maybe you’re right, I just might be tired.

- C’mon, I can make you a cheese toastie. - he rubbed her arm soothingly, a inviting smile on his reddish pink lips which just always looked so inviting. - It’s gonna be alright, angel.

- Well, I’m surprised you can use a sandwich maker. - Y/N pushed the worries to the back of the brain, that part you only see when you’re trying to fall asleep or too lost in your own mind to visit those darkest parts which you hope disappear with time.

- I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen. - she looked up at him, a seemingly calm smile masking all her worries. - I never set it on fire.

- What an amazing astonishment. - she giggled, a hand coming to stand in front of her lips.

- C’mon angel, let’s get some food in you.

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docholligay · 3 years

Text

In The Desert

My second of three eventual Passover fics, finally done, if literally nothing else. 4,500ish words, and I hope you enjoy it at least somewhat!

Moses never saw the Promised Land. He guided others to it, but he died before he ever set foot in that promised space, before he ever was allowed to know the feeling of safety and peace and home. To reach the goal he had longed for.

Mercy tried not to think too much on this, and told herself often that the Promised Land was only a place, and maybe it was Moses’ short-sightedness that did not allow him to see that the Promised Land was had while he wandered, in the arms of his wife, in the giggles of Jewish children knowing what it was to grow up free, in knowing that he had guided his people to something far more frightening but far greater. To inspire them to live a life of uncertainty, with great risk, but great reward. The Promised Land was where you found it, Mercy would say, often.

Sometimes she even believed it. This year was harder.

Was he ever resentful, she wondered, absent-mindedly setting the low table, for the punishment? That for one moment, he reacted in anger and bitterness instead of in patience and grace, that he lashed out, and so was barred from the doors of promise forever? Mercy thought on these things, and her own trespass against God, wondering which had kept her wandering all these years, without the promise she had so hoped for.

Sitting in Canada with her small second Overwatch, the way forward had seemed so simple. She had escaped the bondage of loneliness, and now there was only to keep going, to increase that family around her, to grow in love, even to hope for that thing she had imagined might be lost to her for so long, something she hadn’t dared hope for. She loved her Overwatch family. She loved her wife. She loved for a child. Now she could see it all growing further away, a golden land that she, like Moses, would only ever see others enter.

Tears filled her eyes as she considered it, blurring the fork she set down on the table. The day was rainy and cold, even for the general London April, and it went all the way through her, darkening and covering any warm space she may have been able to find within herself.

It was a year of failures. The same ones, over and over again, of bodies as quarrelsome and betraying as the Israelites, of ground being lost and joy being further and further away. This was meant to be a day of celebration, of freedom, but it all felt so empty, the freedom of a stray dog without home or comfort.

There was a knock at the door, and Mercy stood up straight, adjusting her sweater and tucking her hair behind her ears. There was no reason to ruin the day for everyone else, even if she could not find the joy for herself. When one is happy, it is easier to serve God and your community, she had read, from some rabbi, somewhere, and she did not deny that this was true.

Why then, had God denied her so much?

“Ang!” There was a bright, high peal through the entryway as Tracer sat on the small chair next to the door, taking off her shoes slowly, “Sorry, took us a bit--”

“We’re on time, Lena.” Emily smiled as she hung up her jacket.

“Oh. Right then, me planning is as bang on as ever,” She laughed merrily, “Entirely didn’t assume I’d missed the mark, exacting as I am.”

“You’re early.” Mercy touched at the edge of the couch.

“Someone tell Fareeha, she’ll want to note this in the official Overwatch ‘istory.”

Emily took her shoes from her and set them in the rack. “She’ll only be telling you you’ve no excuse hereafter.”

Tracer shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Bloody fucked every which way, I am.”

Yes, Mercy’s mind answered, you are.

It’s clearly degenerative and aggressive, whatever got set off. The seizures will get harder to treat, and the tremor, not to mention we have about a whack-a-mole’s guess at what it’ll start going after next. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think it’ll affect her cognition, luckily. Or unluckily, I guess...

She heard Pradeep’s voice echoing in her mind, and did her best to shake it off. She hadn’t given up yet. Things weren’t so bad that they could give up yet. There was still a chance, however small, wasn’t there? Even if they could just arrest it, just stop it where it was--her eyes flickered to the brightly colored cane Tracer’s hand reached for, more commonly carried than not now--she could live out the rest of her life in relative happiness. She could see it, in her mind’s eye. That golden strip of promise just beyond the horizon.

But she hadn’t been able to touch it, no matter how many specialists she bullied into consulting with her. No matter how many papers she read. No matter how long she walked and how fervently she prayed.

“Ang?” she looked up, and realized that Tracer was now standing in front of her, a puzzled look on her face. “You alright, love?”

Mercy shook her head. “Of course, only I am lost in my mind. Tired, I think.”

Tracer looked at her for a moment in that sharp way she had, eyes flitting like a hummingbird across Mercy’s face, but she was saved by a knock at the door, and the further entrance of Dva and Winston, chatting amiably as Winston carefully sidled into the apartment, McCree a short but meaningful distance behind them.

There they were, an assembled party, still crossing the long desert, signs of promise beginning to pop up around them. Since the battle for London, the world had taken a different view of them, an altogether kinder one. Pharah had her office building, constructed where she had always hoped. McCree had gotten a pardon from Interpol itself. Tracer had been offered damehood, which she had rather aggressively rejected, and the Victoria Cross, which she had aggressively accepted. All of them where heroes worldwide, their work seen for the long journey it had been, and honored. Mercy should have every reason to be pleased.

Professionally, her life had never been better, or the way more clear.

“Angela,” her wife’s voice pulled her out of the thought, “the family, I think, is assembled.”

She said it with a half-smile as she looked over to the strange assembly that filled the room. Mercy nodded, and watched as Pharah walked over to the table she had built with her own hands, in the center of the living room. There was a bubbling sort of excitement among all of them, and why wouldn’t there be? It was the first Passover in Pharah and Mercy’s new apartment, the one built on the bones of the old. Life had been destroyed and life had been rebuilt into something more suited for them, something better. Renewal. Hope. Mercy could see it all, and reminded herself of it, as Pharah playfully bickered with Tracer before grabbing her by the armpits and thumping her to the floor, back up against the couch. The rest of them settled in their own spots, on the floor, looking over to Mercy from time to time.

A perfect Seder, with the people she loved, and yet her eyes wandered to the corner next to her seat, the one she hadn’t even realized she had left clear. There should have been something, someone, there this year. She had prayed for it, she had pleaded for it, she had given and fasted and hoped for it. And yet the corner stood empty. The promise was for other people.

”It’s not surprising given your advanced maternal age,” she said it gently, but Mercy still winced, “and...some of what you’ve been through.”

Mercy was not now, and had never been, ignorant of certain medical realities. Her entire life since she was a child, had been the understanding of such things, and the painful knowledge that very often what we wish was true directly contradicted what was on the chart. The doctor kept talking, and Pharah squeezed her hand.

Pharah. She’d offered to be the one to carry a child, despite it not being her immediate inclination. Mercy had never been able to find the words to tell her that she needed to be the one to do it. That she had lost her entire family all those years ago, and needed to be related to one other person on this earth, and to know that. Even she didn’t understand it completely, only knew that it had driven her onward. Only knew it kept her coming back to this office to be told that the best they could do was keep going.

The best she could do was ignore the chart.

She should have filled that corner with something other than her own empty hopes. She blinked back the bitter saltwater of her own affliction, and began to walk toward the table.

“Pesach is a story of the impossible,” she sat herself down next to Pharah, but just kept staring at the Seder plate in the middle of the table, “We were slaves. We could not be bringing forth our own freedom. Only God could do that, and there was no reason to believe he would be doing it at all. We had been in bondage for so long. There was no reason to believe God would be giving us the Torah. There was no reason...to believe that we would be here. No reason there should be any Jews left at all.”

Mercy wished one of them would stop her, that one of them would recognize the ramble for what it was was. Mercy barely understood it herself, and anger touched the edge of her mind as she considered all the things God had done but also all the things that he had chosen not to do. He had chosen to allow the Holocaust, and where had their deliverer been? He had allowed the Jews to be blamed and pilloried for the failings of AI technology, in both the fringes and, more quietly, in the larger community. He had allowed them to be shot while they worshipped, or bought groceries, or simply lived their lives. He had allowed Mercy to hear every suspicion and cruelty of the others in the labs and offices, who could not imagine the blonde, blue-eyed woman next to them could possibly take offense. And then, he had allowed Mercy’s house to be bombed, twice in her life, he had allowed her wife to be tortured, he had allowed Tracer to suffer, and he had allowed Mercy to remain childless.

“Why.”

The fifth question, left out of the Haggadah.

She looked around the table at them.

“Why did he save us? And then, sometimes, why did he not? I--” she shook her head, “am never understanding the reasons. Why. I am only always asking. Why.”

It was a why to God, for certain, for all the things she thought but good not bring herself to say, but a why to herself as well. Why had she stayed? Why did she pray every morning, why did she say Shema before she laid down at night? Mercy would have been the first to say that it wasn’t about God, but also she could not have answered what it was about at all. What did she find in her prayers and her study, knowing so keenly that God would not hear her, had not heard her cry for years?

Perhaps that was what drew the Jewish people together--knowing God will not listen, and saying the prayer anyhow. Knowing that to be a Jew was to live in danger, and to wander, but refusing to be anything else. To never stop asking, no matter how silent God became.

Even David, knowing God would punish him with the death of his child, had kept pleading, and fasting, and praying, to the very end. There had always been the chance God would turn back.

“We’re outmanned, outgunned, and those things can keep coming--”

“Didn’t say we was going to win did I?” Tracer’s eyes narrowed and her voice raised, pulling the attention of the room back to her. “Said we was going to fight.”

She looked out over the tightly assembled group packed into the room.

“Some of us will die today. Likely a good number of us. ‘E’s right you know. There’s no reason to believe we can take the advantage over them. Every reason to believe that London is going to be nothing but a pile of rubble and fires at the fag end of it all. But I,” She thrust her finger into her chest, “am not going to give over this city bloody quietly. It’s a part of me, innit? And we’re a part of it. Can’t untie the Oxtons and England, and I don’t mean the bloody Crown, and I don’t mean the bloody government, I mean England.”

Tracer paced across the top of the bar. “I am fighting for England, and for London, and what that is, is every kid running out the schoolyard, every pissed stumble ‘ome, every day of our lives, THAT is London. And England. We are London. We are England. Not anything or anyone official. Not Parliament. Not the fucking royals. You and me, and your dad, and mum, and this grotty little pub, and me footie team, and the greengrocer down the way, and Alfie’s flower stall, THAT is England, and I won’t let anyone, or anything, take this place I love, while I still draw a breath in this world. I won’t ever surrender. East End gets flattened, East End gets the worst of it, but we don’t roll over and give it up. We never ‘ave.”

She stopped for a moment, then nodded. “And I won’t start now. I can’t win, maybe. But I guarantee you, I can give them the worst day of their lives, and even if they stomp over these streets, they’ll remember my name. That’s what we’re fighting for. Not because we can win. Because we fight for what we are.

Mercy gave a weak chuckle and shook her head. “We are telling this story not to answer these questions, but to keep asking them. We are telling it, to give our own answers. God--” her voice caught, barely believing herself in that moment, “--God is revealing himself, in us, all the time. We, we are God’s hands, and God’s eyes, and...his words, when we remember. When we can be seeing the midrash in our lives.”

She took a deep breath.

“Tonight we remember that we are free. Tonight we remember the things that make us slaves.”

____

The smell of brisket filled the air. Pharah’s timing had become more and more impeccable over the years, throwing herself into the celebration of Passover, a love letter to her wife written with the greatest tenderness in pan sauce and flourless chocolate cake. Mercy had always, truthfully, questioned the wisdom of the most serious of plagues being recounted as they were on the edge of the feast. But perhaps that was the point of it. Perhaps it was about being kept waiting for your desires, your hopes. Perhaps it was about wondering if it would ever come.

“Aaron said to Pharoah, the worst would be coming. That God would take the firstborn of the Egyptians, but that the Hebrews would be spared, if they were marking their doors with the blood of a lamb…”

Sacrifice. Something always had to be sacrificed. A lamb. A child. A friend. Perhaps this had been her downfall, that she was unwilling to sacrifice anyone. She would never be Abraham, committing her dearest loves into harm. She wanted to save them all, and she had been punished for this disobedience, all those years ago when Overwatch fell. They had made something ugly of her love. Maybe God had seen her, and decided what the sacrifice would be for her.

Maybe God would take the firstborn, however Mercy felt about it.

It would be easy to blame God for that empty corner of her living room and her heart, for it was all within his power to give. But the things that happen to us are rarely laid at God’s feet alone, and Mercy imagined her own moments of frustration, of foolishness, and wondered, which one was it that had brought her to this moment? If she had wanted to have a child, why then had she spent so long pursuing her work, running through war zones and long nights in laboratories? She should have known there are some things which still have a time limit. She should have known there was no guarantee.

But if God had not wished it, why had he sent her Pharah? It was already to already believe her chance lost, but to show her that sliver of what might be, that green and verdant edge at the horizon of the desert, that was crueler still.

She understood why some of the Hebrews had returned to slavery. It was easier to never know what you were losing. What could be lost.

Tracer twisted against her back uncomfortably for a moment, but focused herself and shook her head. “I don’t understand why the first-born ‘ad to die, God being mostly angry at Pharoah.”

“It was no longer a warning.” Pharah took a sip of wine. “There had been nine warnings. It was a punishment.”

“‘Ardly seems fair to punish the lot of them for a bit of governmental wankery. Some ordinary Egyptian’s not keeping the ‘ebrews enslaved.”

“But I doubt they protested the murder of the Hebrew sons. It is a kind of blood for blood. That they had so many chances to avoid that is a mercy in itself, God would have been right to kill their children first off. Justice. ”

“No, isn’t justice. Revenge. Eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, Fareeha. Think you’d be defending your countrymen a bit more.”

Pharah smiled and leaned toward Tracer. “Some of us are not compelled to excuse our country’s imperialism, and violence.”

Tracer leaned back against the couch. “Alright, fair cop and well ‘it, but I am still right about the firstborn, Fareeha.”

Her own Hilell and Shammai, ever arguing, ever debating, ever loving each other. She had watched that grow and bloom, too, over the work of years, step by step as they wandered together through an uncertain land. She had doubted, when she first fell in love with Pharah, that anything other than the glue that was Mercy would keep them together, but that had been arrogance. Tracer was more loveable than she seemed at first blush, and Pharah more loving than most would have imagined, and the two of them had grown together, though never in quite the same direction.

Tracer was right, of course, that there was something unjust in taking something so precious, for a casual sin. Pharah was right, of course, that the sins of the community must be borne by the community, too, and that there had been so many chances to turn back. Did God ever owe them an apology, for such rashness? Or worse, for such calculation? It was one thing to act in anger, it was another to take something so precious so calmly.

Perhaps the worst of it was that he was not angry at Mercy at all. Perhaps it was only that simple, calculated punishment that led her to this day, to the taste of saltwater and horseradish even more bitter on her lips than she had believed possible. It purged her mouth of the sweetness of the wine and the richness of the meat, leaving only that acrid dryness in its wake.

Perhaps the worst of it was how angry Mercy was with him.

The plagues passed. Freedom was had, for some, but even as the meal passed in front of her, Mercy kept thinking only of her own bondage, of the unanswered cry to God. She saw it in the empty corner beside her, the shake at Tracer’s hand as she drew the wine to her lips, in the way Pharah had carefully assigned the seating and set the table, in the way Winston avoided her gaze as they spoke of Yocheved’s baby, in the way Dva spoke to her so gently. The way Emily looked at her and Tracer both.

In this victory of a meal, Mercy tasted only the failures of this past year. Miriam’s Well kept them alive in the desert, but Mercy began to wonder if it hadn’t been the bitter alkaline of survival, and not the sweet cool of living.

The blessing over the wine buzzed from her lips without a thought, and the door opened. Next to her, sitting at that empty corner, was Elijah’s cup. The cup filled with the hope and promise that some year, everything she had been waiting for would come through that door. The cup was an outstretched hand to God in the darkness, whispering about trust. Every year, she had held out that hand. She held it out after her parents were killed. Held it out after Overwatch fell. Held it out as she was in exile from the medical community. She kept looking ahead in the dark, trusting what she could not see.

She believed.

To believe in Elijah. To believe that hope could always walk right through the door, that it could sit at your table and drink your glass of wine. To believe that there was a chance to see the dream fulfilled, to touch your feet on that Promised Land.

Next year, in Jerusalem.

It was too much to ask. It was too deep a failure, this year, marked by all of her insufficiencies, unable to have a child, unable to save Tracer, throwing herself at these same things again and again, the outcome never changing. She’d gotten no closer to getting pregnant. Tracer’s health continued to deteriorate.

Not even taking the moment to excuse herself, Mercy got up from the table and ran into the small, tight powder room, the one Pharah had barely managed to niggle into the plans. She pulled herself into the bright white of that room, and she cried, and she cursed, in every language she knew, that God had kept everything from her, that God was punishing her for nothing, that God had judged her for her failings and ignored his own. She was angry. She kept that anger close to her like a flame, even as the immense darkness of her own sorrow crept in. She forgot there even was a Seder, in the other room, saw only the burning, everlasting bush that was her that was God that was the anger and love of all her people, all those years.

There was a knock at the door, and Mercy wiped at her eyes. Pharah had been so tender and good, through all of this, and the last thing she needed was--

“It’s Emily.”

Mercy had not expected that, and for a moment, it disarmed her so thoroughly that she opened the door.

There was nothing exchanged, for a moment. Emily would say that she was no great mind, and no great judge, and no great hero, comparing herself unfavorably to the company Tracer generally kept. She would say this never seeing her own gift for knowing the kindest thing to say, for looking at the faces of people as she did her class of children and opening her own heart to them.

“It’s just this year, Angela.” Emily nodded. “I know.”

It was not a question, nor a complaint, nothing but an acknowledgment of the thing that had been Mercy’s own plague, sent by God, or, at the very least, not evaded by him. Mercy nodded, tears still streaming down her face.

“Do you know Moses died, never seeing the Promised land? He was going through...and a mistake, meant God would never let him see it. He was kept from the promise of God.”

“Promised Land. I suppose it would be easy for a place you never see to be perfect.” Emily leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t know much about the Torah, of course, but I remember the story hardly ending with happily ever after.”

Mercy shook her head. “They were….argumentative, and lost faith, and difficult.” she sniffled. “But they were not in the desert.”

“It’s hard, to be Moses, isn’t it Angela? You go among people who don’t understand you, you try to lead them in whatever way you can, and for all that, you feel you will never find home. God barely listens to you, but you stay all the same. I think you’re brave for it.”

“I’m not--”

“Aye, you are. The moral compass for as long as I’ve known them, and for longer than that, I know. Lena and Fareeha would say so, as well.” Emily sighed. “This year has been forty for all of us, but for you I know most of all. But,” Emily looked back over her shoulder and stared at Tracer, “It’ll end, won’t it? Even Moses stopped walking.” She turned back around and wiped the tears from her eyes. “The Promised Land is just another beginning. But I don’t know the Torah very well.”

Mercy looked up at her. “You are knowing it well enough.”

“I’m sorry, about the baby. Cried over that myself, me and Lena never being able.” She sighed. “I just keep walking. What else can we do?”

“I’m sorry I,” Mercy closed her eyes, “I am failing you both.”

Emily put her arm around Mercy’s shoulder. “No. You could never. You’re taking us on the journey.”

“I should go back, to the table. I am being--”

“We’ll keep going, aye. Eventually, we’ll find the end of it, whatever that is.”

Hand in hand with Emily, Mercy walked back to the table. She was no clearer or calmer on the subject of God, of what he was denying her, of what he was denying all of them. But she saw the faces of her fellow travellers more clearly. It was not only Moses who made the journey. It was not only Moses who felt lost along the way, and it was not only Moses who died reaching for that unattainable goal, who strived and hoped against everything.

They were together. She did not find the Promised Land, but she found their hands in hers.

She poured the final cup of wine. All things come to an end. Even the desert.

#HON HON HON #The third one is The Promised Land and will theoretically be done someday ahah

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preemshots · 3 years

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johnny + the nomads lore

alright, i know this is a screenshots blog but i'm going to go ahead and start dropping some juicy lore tidbits as i dig them up. part of what i'm doing outside of just photo diarying is shard hunting, and BOY is there a lot the game likes to hide in those little shards for idiots like me who like to read so we can write unnecessarily accurate fanfiction!

full disclosure, i know jack shit about the TTRPG/cyberpunk 2020 rulebook except what i read in the wikis.

so here’s my lore roundup so far of everything i know about johnny joining the nomads

we know johnny likes to narrate v’s quest objectives. here’s the first mention where he says it himself:

during the voodoo boys quest "transmission" there's a shard in the maglev tunnels beside the ice bath, presumably from brigitte's research into johnny in the first place:

okay, so the timeline is this: johnny joins the nomads after trying and failing to rescue alt. johnny hides out in the badlands for some years. then he and rogue come back to night city and nuke arasaka tower help alt escape the arasaka subnet by uploading liberator to their network once and for all.

this ultimately makes sense. in alt’s flashback, we meet santiago, who is a nomad/connected to nomads, joins rogue and johnny when they're trying to get alt back, and eventually becomes the leader of the aldecaldos.

part of santiago’s TTRPG lore is that he, johnny, and rogue have to lay low in the badlands with nomads after they storm arasaka headquarters (i am aware the game takes many liberties with the original lore so who knows the full accuracy of anything from the original rulebooks)

ENDING spoilers: in the rogue+johnny storming AHQ ending, it's revealed that rogue has a son while they're prepping for the job. if you eavesdrop on her calling him while you're at the afterlife, you hear her tell her son to (paraphrasing here) "pull over and look at the stars", which immediately made my brain go to: nomad, badlands, santiago = dad? maybe. (santiago also canonically has a son according to the TTRPG lore)

this immediately reminded me of another interesting shard that i believe you can find in multiple locations around night city: “"what REALLY happened in arasaka tower?“

i love this dang shard. at first i thought it was just a cute conspiracy with some juicy gossip (and i love how 99% of the shards that mention johnny in this game are reminding us that he's not a real rebel, he's a poser) but it brings some interesting shit together

one: it tells us where johnny got his hands on the nukes! he and the nomads jumped a militech convoy and jacked some bombs!

which is never directly explained, even as saburo arasaka is interrogating him shortly before using soulkiller. very nice of johnny to protect his homies like that.

...or maybe he didn’t. saburo emphasizes that the dead don’t lie like the living do, and we don’t know what exactly arasaka did to johnny’s construct in mikoshi.

it also explains why the obvious media narrative is that militech nuked arasaka, a nice neat political bow to the end of the fourth corpo wars, which is an entire section of the TTRPG lore that makes my eyes cross when i read it.

it also makes the star/nomads ending extremely interesting, because i originally believed it was the ending where V’s journey deviates the most from rewalking johnny’s path... which also has weird implications if the johnny’s nomad era is being kept from v.

(this also leads into my belief that the star ending/the devil ending are narratively two sides of the same coin, but that’s a WHOLE ANOTHER POST for another day.)

TWO, just straight up the fact that they turned the raid where they actually obtained the nukes into an action flick BD that pretty much ANYONE could watch. who the hell was doing that??

well, who else other than the guy who johnny (optionally) punched the shit out of for filming alt's death: thompson, media guy, and according to rogue, “bad luck”. because you know, recording your crimes is straight up evidence that can be used against you.

during the alt flashback we meet thompson, and just after that in cyberspace before meeting alt, johnny tells v that he has no idea what happened to him and that they never worked together again.

oh, johnny, you lying bastard man

this is blatantly untrue, and if V even had two braincells and better memory than a goldfish they'd know this--in the first flashback sequence where johnny and rogue nuke arasaka tower, thompson is on the comms as they ride the AV towards AHQ, questioning their plans and use of violence.

which leaves me with some questions, like where the fuck is thompson, why does johnny keep lying about this, why doesn't johnny say almost anything about how you interact with the aldecaldo clan nonstop throughout the game when he himself may have been a member of the family for some time?? is he continuing to protect the nomad clan that saved his ass? we know that a lot of his flashbacks are unreliable at best, that johnny changes shit up as desired when presenting V with his memories.

in 2077, you can also find that there’s a remake of “badlands raid” in the shard “new release braindances” that is pretty much everywhere. that shard doesn’t add much, but does mention something along the lines of “many people don’t know the ending of the original” which probably means johnny punched thompson out for filming again, or something.

my running theories: rogue ditched santiago and the aldecaldos with johnny and thompson to nuke arasaka tower, and when johnny died she was stuck looking for (heavily implied by johnny here:) corpo sellout ways to survive.

adam smasher obviously has something to do with this since johnny/rogue's vendetta against the guy isn't entirely clear beyond the smokescreen of "he killed johnny and he sucks". i have done 0 research into this though i'm tired of typing okay

i obviously cannot be certain i have found everything related to this in the game as i’m not even done with this playthrough where i’m trying to pay attention, but i hope this is fun for someone else to dig into.

enjoy, fellow silverhand freaks

EDIT: additional findings

ALRIGHT I HAVE DONE MORE DIGGING AND I AM BACK WITH MORE NOMAD/JOHNNY FINDINGS. these ones are kind of a bummer but VERY interesting.

there’s a shard called “excerpts from a history of the nomads by bb pires” that goes into detail about how nomads came to be

there’s an interesting quote in it: It's hard to imagine a group less inclined to wandering than farmers, but in fact they were the ones who sparked the age of nomads. Natural catastrophes, crops ravaged by bioplagues, armed conflicts and martial law allowing corporations to speculate and privatize land - all this forced them into a life on the road.

when you ask johnny why he wants to take down arasaka, he begins by referencing this himself!!

it’s a little awkward to imagine a nomad V doesn’t also know what he’s referencing, but hey, V is the fool because we are as players and that’s only one life path... so sure.

johnny also has unique dialogue during this scene about a nomad origin V, telling them that he’s been trying to understand how V thinks, and came to the conclusion that “their family was a crutch” and essentially made them stupid because they always had a safety net (lmao johnny calling v privileged basically)

BUT this also may reference why johnny would find it confusing as hell that V doesn’t immediately share the views he does when nomads, in terms of values, seem to be more aligned with johnny than V is. but once again V is the fool for a reason and this is all my own speculation so YOU KNOW.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, at the end of chippin’ in, when you ask johnny what he meant by letting down his friends... santiago is named directly

i thought this was interesting since the only glimpse of their relationship that we get is seeing johnny meeting santiago via the alt flashback for the first time.

so now it’s obvious that while johnny and rogue were with the nomads their friendship developed, and johnny went on to disappoint santiago in some way by being his normal dickhead self

but HOW? how did he disappoint santiago? is santiago even still alive?? did smasher kill santiago and is this why rogue mentions during chippin’ in that she wants smasher to “settle a score” moreso than avenge johnny??

the only additional hints i have are from this shard, which you can find at the aldecaldos camp: “nomads at ground zero”

i’m just gonna transcribe here and bold for emphasis:

It was no secret that Night Corp offered generous pay and, in some cases, free cyberware and biomonitor upgrades to anyone willing to help clean up the crater of radioactive rubble at AHQ ground zero. Some firsthand accounts recall the incessant ticking of Geiger counters, like the loud buzz of cicadas in summer. In retrospect, we can only guess how many "crater cleaners" lost their lives to radiation sickness shortly thereafter. Both the city government and Night Corp have claimed casualties were kept to a minimum, while providing no official statistics to substantiate the claim. That being said, they have never been under pressure to release such figures. After all, most rescue, engineering, and rubble cleanup teams were not local Night Citizens, but nomads. Surprised you didn't know? Don't be. It is a fact many history courses tend to overlook. The city employed hundreds of nomad mercenaries, primarily from clans in Aldecaldo nation. These nomads were hungry for gainful work and the city needed experts who were not only experienced but brave enough to knowingly put their lives on the line - all so Arasaka could one day erect another tower in its place. But history is not without its sense of irony. These nomads, who so deliberately live outside our so-called "system," came to its very rescue. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

a main theme we find in this game is the idea that the system of corps and exploitation cannot be stopped by grandiose rebellious gestures--no amount of samurai songs, assassinating mayors, or even planting nukes in towers will change things. yet johnny, his friends and mercs at atlantis in the 2020s, including rogue, chose to rebel any way they could, thinking it better than not. johnny criticizes her lack of rebellious spirit CONSTANTLY in 2077.

but ultimately, johnny, trapped in mikoshi, didn’t get to see the outcome of what detonating the AHQ nukes did to night city’s fragile ecosystem. rogue, however, did--and likely watched their former allies, the aldecaldos, be forced to take dangerous work at AHQ’s ground zero (from lack of other opportunities as detailed in this shard), then die from radiation sickness throughout the following decades, all as a result of what she and johnny did to try and fight the system. and she also watched all the former mercenaries of atlantis be hunted down by arasaka.

so rogue sees firsthand what the cost of rebellion is and johnny doesn’t. and nomads, considered the most free of any of the factions we encounter in the game, are the cost.

#lore post #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk lore

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jack-is-lost · 3 years

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PATCHES & PINS (CH 1)

A/N: This story revolves around a transgender, female to male, original character. LGBTQ+ topics are a given within this story. Gender and body dysphoria will come up as well since he is not out to his family — only close friends. If you dislike such a story premise please understand you do not have to interact with it at all. Leaving hate comments will be removed. Of course, constructive feedback is always welcomed.

Pairing: Eventually Marko x OTMC

Story is still in progress and updates will be slow

Eventually it will be posted on A03 once I’m a few chapters in

Currently on Chapter one | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 coming soon

Chapter one

My life, for the most part, has always been unusual — a little different. Despite having parents that looked like any successful mom and dad ought to, and an older brother willing to stick up for me, things just didn't go according to plan.

You see, my mother was excited to have a daughter finally. Someone to doll up and buy dresses for, maybe even enroll in a dance class. A stark difference to her firstborn, Tyler, who was all about karate lessons and throwing the ball with dad. Which eventually evolved to working on cars as he grew older. Our mother wanted somebody to share girly interests with, understandably. And, for a while, she was able to have it. The baby pictures are proof of that. Yet, as I grew older and became more aware of what I liked, the fewer things seemed cookie-cutter-perfect for my family.

"Are you not taking your bag to school, Jacklynn?" The mentioned item was nowhere in sight as the youngest of her children poured coffee — the action resembling someone needing every drop left in the pot as if to survive.

"It's the last day," came the grumbling response after a long, soothing sip. "I doubt most kids will even be showing up."

"Yeah, about that," Tyler, the oldest, spoke around a bite of toast. "Can't I be a minority and just stay home?"

"No, you only have one day left, guys." She smiled at her two kids. A graduate who had already filled out college applications, and is ready to further his engineering career. The other, soon-to-be senior, that seemed to have no real drive in anything but drawing and reading — and staying up too late apparently.

"Seriously," she spoke up again as they sighed in unison, deflating with their last hope crushed. "You two will survive."

Tyler nudged his sister, who leaned across the counter, jostling the coffee dangerously enough to receive a seething glare. "Want me to take you?"

It wasn't like Tyler to offer that too often, "Sure."

They both pulled away from the kitchen and made their way to the door, hollering goodbyes as Tyler grabbed the keys — the other sibling still nursing the coffee.

"Don't stay out too late!" Their mom called back, knowing full well she wouldn't see her kids after school. It seemed the closer summer drew in — the fewer tests to study for and homework to do, the more they came home later.

Tyler stepped into the car, unlocking the passenger door as he slid inside his cherry baby — A beaming red, 1983 Audi Sport Quattro, followed by his sister plopping down less elegantly. He glanced at her while starting the car.

"Talk to me, Jay." It was the last day, after all. Weren't kids supposed to be excited about that? "What's bouncing 'round that head of yours." He barely received any notion his sister was listening till she drew out a long sigh, head hitting the back of the seat.

"I don't know, man." It was drawn out, tired. "Didn't get much sleep, I guess."

Tyler nodded while giving the steering wheel a turn, making his way down the road. The school building wasn't very far when on wheels, and he pulled into a parking lot marginally less filled than it ought to be.

As his sister made to get out, he placed a hand on her shoulder, their eyes meeting as she paused halfway out the door. "Ever need to get a chip off your shoulder come talk to me, okay?" Her eyes rolled to the side, and Tyler gave her a little reassuring squeeze, "I'm serious. What are big —"

"— bro's for? I know, I know."

Tyler chuckled as he released her shoulder, "Good. Now," he slammed the door shut and leaned over the roof, "Go sleep in class or something." That at least drew a chuckle out of his sister as she turned away from the car.

The last day of school went how one could expect it to go. Some teachers put on movies and had extra treats for their students. Others went over lessons in the last semester, hoping it would stick to impressionable minds before three months of freedom — minds that were only thinking about freedom and not math.

It was by mid-day when a note made its way into Jay's locker. In gruff, almost unreadable handwriting, it merely said, 'Meet us by the big tree'. Jay instantly knew who it was from and folded the paper up.

A long night was probably ahead.

When the final bell rang, Jay had to wipe the drool off an impromptu pillow-desk before heading out and down the hall. Many of the kids loudly boasted about their summer plans while cleaning out lockers, jostling each other, and hurrying outside. Jay maneuvered around the hoard and quickly escaped out a side entrance, locker already empty since lunch.

It didn't take long to walk a block to the park, down a jogging trail, before splitting off into a cluster of trees. There, in the center of it, laid a large trunk of a dead tree. Upon it splayed out a makeshift map, bags, and — unsurprisingly, two brothers.

"Finally," Grumbled Edgar while raising his head, a red marker still poised over the map. "Where's Sam?"

Jay stared, unaware that Sam was supposed to tag along for the stroll after school let out. "Was I meant to wait for him or?"

"Forget it," came the short grunt, and Edgar was back to the more important matter at hand as Alan turned around to face Jay.

"I'm sure he'll show up. He's got the same note as you," he started to unravel what appeared to be a chaotic ball of cord in his hands. "Oh, hey—" he stopped as a thought struck him, "—Still a no go on the knife?"

Oh, not this again.

Jay leaned against the bare trunk, arms crossed and brow lifted. "Alan, we've been through this. Keep me on the books, but hand me a knife, and someone will lose a finger."

Of course, no one knew if Jay meant their fingers or not, and that was on purpose.

"Maybe some training will help," Edgar spoke up again, pausing on circling locations. "You need to prepare yourself for—"

"— the unexpected. I get it, Ed." Jay cut him off while peering closer to get a look at the map.

"Edgar," he corrected with a tired mutter despite it being useless. They've known each other for an entire year now. One would think it wouldn't matter at this point.

Jay tapped a finger on the closest circled spot, the cemetery. "Thought you marked this off?"

"One can never be certain," He nodded to his own words of wisdom. "It is a common ground for the dead."

"I'd say," Jay suppressed a snort, "It is where the deceased go to be laid into the ground."

Rustling noises announced Sam’s arrival as he pushed through, almost smacking himself in the face with a thin branch. His strained voice drew attention to him. “Guys,” he dusted a leaf off his overly styled coat, “We really need to find a better spot to meet.”

Jay lazily offered a salute wave, “Hey to you too, Sammy.”

“I’m serious,” Sam huffed while taking up a spot near Alan, hands shoved into his pockets. “What about the shop? Y’know, with school now over and stuff?”

Edgar grunted in thought. “Yeah, that ought to be doable.”

“Your grandpa still against us being at the house?” Alan spoke up.

Sam gave a partial shrug. “Sort of,” he eyed the map, then glanced at Jay, who returned the unspoken question with a tired look. Sam returned to explaining when Edgar motioned for him to continue. “You guys can visit, as you have, but you can’t — you know —” he shuffled his hands for the right phrasing, “— bring hunting business there.”

Jay had never actually been to Sam’s place, but the stories shared made it sound like a lot of stuff went down there — destroying property kind of stuff. So Jay could understand what the man was trying to avoid. The Frog Brothers being walking time bombs of destruction, after all.

“The cemetery again?” Sam squawked at noticing it. “I am not doing that again.” The sound of Jay snickering redirected Sam’s defiant stare. “Make Jay do it this time.”

“Wait, wha—”

“—He doesn’t have the qualification for it, Sam.” Edgar cut in before an argument could occur. This only made Sam huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“So? I didn’t either last year.”

Alan stopped weaving the cord at this point, placing it down on the dead trunk. “Jay needs the experience. It could be good for him.” He simply spoke, agreeing with Sam.

“Hey, Jay’s right here,” he had pointedly avoided parading around Santa Carla for a whole damn year. Sure, his knowledge of supernatural things is what drew the Frog Brothers to him in the first place — and the free charge of ordering books at their shop kept Jay in the circle, but he was a good year older than them and didn’t feel like playing make-believe.

Sam smirked in the way that screamed challenging, “C’mon, Jay, or are you scared of the dark?”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “I know what you are doing.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Sam continued.

“No.”

Despite that, Jay found himself amongst the dead at one in the damn morning. It was eerie, the cemetery, sitting in absolute silence and blanketed by a coat of darkness. The only noise now filtering through was shoes scrapping against the ground and low grumbles around him, voices hushed as not to alert anybody — or anything. Even their flashlights were ordered to stay off unless it called for it, as directed by Edgar.

“Exactly what should we be expecting to find here?” Jay spoke up quietly while trailing behind the two brothers, hands stuffed into his jacket. It was chilly tonight.

“Any signs of the undead.” Edgar simply said without much explanation, to which Alan filled in.

“Disturbed graves, tombs broke, drag marks.” he ticked off like a list.

“Ah,” Jay deadpanned. “So zombies?” the brothers turned to him, the moonlight hitting their frames but leaving their faces shadowed. “What?”

“Could be vampires too.” Edgar simply grunted. “Fresh ones crawling out of their dirt bed.” Alan nodded along with his brother, and Jay sighed.

“Sure, yeah. That too,” It wasn’t like anything of the sort actually existed, but Jay would humor the guys. They put up with his oddities, after all, so he could continue to do the same for them.

“Didn’t any of your books mention that?” Edgar continued while turning around, walking along a worn-out path again, and avoiding stepping on actual graves.

“A little,” Jay admitted as they continued on their trek.

A majority of Jay’s supernatural books were all about how one became something, the signs, and lore behind creatures — not exactly if they crawl out of graves or not. It made sense, though, if considering how people feared vampires in the past. How they would stake and behead someone during burial just in case their loved one decided to raise again.

Same could be said about leaving a bell.

Alan suddenly crouched down near the edge of a grave. “Look,” his flashlight clicked on to bask the empty hole in light. Edgar followed promptly as Jay stared at the two figures eyeing an obvious dug hole for a burial happening soon.

“It might be a sign.” Edgar rubbed a finger over the crumbling edges, dirt smearing and falling back inside the pit.

“Or,” Jay leaned over them to get an exact look at the perfect outline, “It is the groundskeeper getting ready for a funeral. There’s not even a casket down there.” Jay simply summarized before leaning back.

Alan clicked off the light and stood, “He’s right, Edgar. It is too perfect.”

“Hey!” the voice resonated out, cutting the muffled talking off as a beam of light frantically flailed in their directions. “What are you kids doing?!”

Without a shared word between the three, just mere glances at one another, they quickly split. Or at least Jay tried to do just that, but the brush of Edgar flying past him in a rush entirely threw him off balance. It wasn’t until tailbone smashed into dirt that Jay even figured out what happened.

“Fuck…” he muttered, then covered his mouth as the light grew brighter over the grave from above, rushing footfalls growing closer before fading away in the direction the brothers ran. Once it was clear, the curse slipped again with more fever.

Jay eased to his feet and stared above his head, the wall towering almost a foot over him. “They truly mean six-feet-under,” he muttered while raising a hand to the ledge, just able to cup fingers over the lip, only to stumble back as it gave away.

The recent rainfall was not making it easy.

Again Jay tried to grab, shoes scraping along the wall in an attempt to gain some height — thinking if he just rushed up the wall it would give him enough momentum, only to fall back against the adjacent wall.

“Shit — fuck,” Jay didn’t even care if his voice traveled that time. He was stuck in a damn grave, after all! Screw it!

“Need a lift?” came a voice from above, and Jay shot his gaze upward to see a hand reaching down toward him. The moonlight didn’t offer much else to see but light curls and the frame of a coat.

Even if it were the security guard, Jay knew this would be his best bet. It wasn’t like waiting till daylight to be discovered was an option. It would not help much in regards to needing to be home before Jay’s parents could find out he even snuck out.

He reached for the hand, feeling leather against palm and uncovered fingers wrap around his wrist. It took only one good heave, shoes against the wall and other hand clinging to the edge, to be entirely pulled out. Despite mud caking Jay from front to back, he could even feel it in his shoes; it felt good to be back on the surface. It wasn’t like he had a fear of enclosed places, but it still sucked regardless.

“Thanks,” he looked over at the stranger, still only catching the slightest glimpse of a smirk within the darkness. It was hard to make out any features, and the way the guy stood didn’t help anything.

“Were you takin’ a dirt bath?” he joked inquisitively, and Jay chuckled under his breath.

“No, not exactly.” Who would want to do that in a cemetery anyway?

The beam of a flashlight washed over them again as rustling sounds drew near, and Jay stepped away from the pre-dug grave. Definitely not wanting to repeat that incident all over.

“Looks like we should start running,” spoke up the other guy, head turned away from Jay to peer toward the security guard.

What was once hidden was now lit up like a spotlight. A smooth curved jawline, willowed eyes bright with brown, and curly dirty blond hair glowed on display for a split moment. Until the flashlight jostled by the running security guard fanned over the area. And Jay would be lying if he said he didn’t stare.

“Avoid any more holes, yeah?” he easily teased before seemingly stepping in a direction with no real speed.

Jay floundered for a moment before taking off after him. “Wait.” Jay didn’t know the grounds that well, and the two idiots that did had left him.

The guy laughed while reaching behind him, grabbing Jay’s wrist again with no problem, then started to run as the worn-out guard hollered something. He seemed to avoid any lifted tombstones, flower arrangements, and small fences like it were daytime. All while Jay tried his best not to stumble, gaze more on the ground than anywhere else.

When they neared the exit gate, chained to prevent people at such odd hours to visit, he let Jay’s arm go and placed both palms out while crouching down. Jay didn’t have to ask and quickly stepped into the waiting hands. He felt the guided push upward as his own hands grabbed for purchase, trying to avoid being nicked by the gothic-style fence. Yet, as Jay’s leg swung over, his pants snagged and ripped — the gravity of his body spilling over the other side holding little resistance.

Surprisingly Jay landed on his feet, if not a little wobbly, and quickly looked through the fence to see the guy still standing there undeterred. “You coming?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he simply said. Jay wanted to comment, but the sight of the guard pushing past the nearest tombstones shut him up. “Go.” he laughed again — actually laughed as if nonplussed by the whole thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him distracted.” Then he turned around and fanned his arms out as if directing air traffic before darting down the side of the fence.

And that was the last Jay saw of the guy before quickly hiding behind the bushes lining outside of the cemetery, not wanting to be seen as the flashlight shown in his direction.

The walk home was slow as he picked flakes of mud off his jeans. Jay could feel the dry mess on his face and in his hair. A shower was needed as well as a talk with the Frog Brothers tomorrow. No way were they getting off free from abandoning him in the damn graveyard! Even as he climbed back through the bedroom window, Jay was envisioning how he’d throttle them. It wasn’t until he was in the shower, scrubbing extra hard to clean the grime off, that his thought wavered to the stranger.

“Why was he even there?”

#My writing #the lost boys #fanfiction #LGBTQ+ story #transgender fanfiction #Marko x OTMC #patches & pins

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ichikaakiyama · 4 years

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FIC: Blades In The Dark (Vigilante Iida, Villain Deku)

DISCLAIMER: Usual ownership disclaimers apply. Characters who are underaged/minors in canon are aged up in my work by default. TITLE: Blades In The Dark CHARACTERS: Vigilante Tenya Iida, Villain Deku RATING: None WARNINGS: mild descriptions of violence, mentions of canon characters dying

- - - - -

He feels the wind pick up before he hears the telltale rev of engines close in, but it’s enough to alert him. Not that there’s much he can do; no matter how strong he gets, Izuku will just never be as fast as Iida and his legs.

He looks down at the body on the ground, crouches down by the head hidden under a mass of blood and hair. “Stay down if you know what’s good for you,” he threatens, low and under his breath, a sharp contrast to the absolute vice with which he stabs his dagger down into the pro-hero’s shoulder. He ignores the yelp that escapes his victim as he straightens up, dusting off his vest and slacks as an echoing clang of metal meeting asphalt signals the arrival of his uninvited guest.

“I thought it might be you,” starts Iida, a quiet threat where his frame takes up nearly half the width of the narrow alley he has trapped Izuku in.

“Hello, Tenya,” Izuku greets back, cocking his head to one side as he turns to him, “Been quite a while, hasn’t it? Still wearing your brother’s armor, I see.”

Izuku sees Iida’s left eye twitch slightly, and feels the corner of his own lip curl into a tiny smirk.

“I’ve come to stop you, Midoriya,” Iida declares, voice still even despite his warning, “Once and for all.”

Izuku lets out a singular chuckle, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Have you now?” he asks, amused, “Of all the people you could’ve gone after, I’m the one that’s made the top of your little black list?”

“How could you not?” Iida shoots back, “Aquario at Gungan Park, Lightspeed and their intern at the Kashyyk Mall, the murder at the winter fair, the bomb in that agency in Hosu, the ‘unexplained’ poisoning of the owners at Club Twi’lek…”

“...And the maiming of Laser Hero, Blast,” Izuku finishes for him, waving his hand to indicate his latest victim, nudging the unmoving form with his foot, “Well, maiming only because you got here before I could finish him off. What was your point again?”

“My point,” Iida growls, teeth gritted, “Is that your reign of terror is coming to an end. Right here, right now.”

“Terror?” Izuku asks in reply with a tiny chuckle, feigning incredulity, “I don’t see how me taking out the trash and weeding out the ineffectual is terrorizing.”

Iida tsks. “Don’t make me laugh, villain,” he spits out, “You hurt and maim for the fun of it, for the hell of it, indiscriminately and without abandon. You don’t even care to clean up after yourself, you’ve left too many clues behind for anyone to be able to brand you as anonymous.”

Izuku laughs, running his other hand through his hair to brush it out of his eyes. “Who said I was trying to be anonymous?” he points out, grinning when Iida’s eyes narrow at him, “If anything, I’m surprised it’s taken anyone this long to find me, let alone you, considering I - how did you put it? - haven’t bothered to clean up after myself. Do you honestly think I would be that careless? Come on, Tenya, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” Iida retorts, “But then you...you…”

His chest heaves, seemingly with the effort of completing his thought. Izuku doesn’t need him to; he already knows. He shifts his weight onto one foot, his head tilted to one side again as he watches Iida struggle with himself. He remains silent as Iida recomposes himself, straightening his spine, tilting his chin up and squaring his jaw.

“You betrayed us,” Iida finally says, “You betrayed everyone who ever believed in you, everyone who ever cared about you and loved you. You betrayed your classmates, your friends, your mentor, your mother, him -”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Izuku interjects, fist unconciously clenching at the mention of that person, “Or have you finally stopped pretending and lying about what you’ve been doing too? Since you’re still wearing that, I’d say the answer is no. Tell me I’m wrong, Ingenium.”

This seems enough to make Iida snap. With a burst of firepower, he launches himself at Izuku at near top-speed, smashing him hard against the wall and pinning him there with a heavily armored forearm.

“You’re wrong,” Iida hisses through clenched teeth, “You don’t know me.”

Izuku laughs again, sputtering against the arm Iida has on his chest. “I’m the only one who knows you,” he challenges, “I’m the only one who knows why you’re so diligent at patrolling in the day. I’m the only one who knows what you’re really up to at night.”

“Shut up,” Iida threatens, pressing harder into Izuku’s chest, “I’m warning you…”

“Funny how you ran down my laundry list of hits without mentioning yours,” chuckles Izuku, “Or was it all just a convenient coincidence to you that the locations of my crime scenes were always just close enough to yours to steal attention?”

Iida’s eyes widen in surprise, and the pressure he has on Izuku lessens involuntarily. Izuku takes his opening, ramming an elbow into the side of Iida’s head and twisting out of his grip when Iida recoils from the unexpected attack. Ducking to avoid a kick from Iida by a literal hair, Izuku rolls out of range, pulling his knife out of Blast’s shoulder as he goes. He plants his feet and readies himself as Iida just narrowly avoids stepping on Blast in an effort to chase after him.

“I knew, Tenya,” Izuku reveals, “The moment I heard about your brother in the news, I knew. We’d already been down that road once, and your lucky ass got out of there alive because of him and me. But I knew, ever since that day in Hosu, that if he and I hadn’t been there to stop you, to save you, you’d have become someone very different.”

Iida grunts in disagreement, but says nothing else in response. He, too, is in a ready stance, one foot in front of the other, the opposite arm held in front of him, ready to defend against Izuku’s knife in the unlikely event that Izuku gets the drop on him and attacks first. Izuku knows he has to keep Iida at bay with words - he’s gotten too fast now for anyone to ever really be able to put any distance between him and themselves.

“I’ve been watching and waiting since I heard about your brother,” Izuku presses on, “Tensei Iida’s ‘untimely death’ during a botched robbery at the hands of a couple of unnamed criminals who were never caught. Hell of a tragedy, if you ask me.”

“Shut. UP,” Iida warns again, but Izuku waves him off.

“Almost as big a tragedy as the ‘sudden disappearance of Tensei’s brother,’ of course,” he continues, ignoring the anger seething from Iida, “Turbo Hero: Ingenium, suddenly goes missing and remains unheard from for months, only to turn up a bloody mess in almost exactly the same spot where his brother was killed, with no recollection of what had happened to him or how he ended up there in the first place...Or at least, that’s the story your stupidly rich family fed to the media to deflect suspicion. Because what else was it that they found in the same spot that night you were ‘found’? Oh, that’s right - the body of two people later barely identified to have been low ranking pro-heroes assigned to patrol the area.”

Izuku sees Iida’s fist clench, can see him practically vibrating with anger.

“Your family moved really fast to clear your name, didn’t they?” he says, “Wanted to make sure the Number Five hero Ingenium didn’t go the same way the former Number One hero Deku did. I guess some of us are just lucky enough to have been born and have made enough money to wipe a slate clean, while some of us aren’t. Next thing anyone knew, a criminal with a history of heinous acts was convicted of the hero deaths and put away for life. And so Tenya Iida, one of the top in our class in UA, heir to the name and armor of Ingenium, was exonerated of any suspected wrongdoing in the eyes of the public.”

Iida’s stance slackens. He straightens, but hangs his head, a hand remaining loosely fisted at his side. “You don’t…” he stammers, “You don’t...know…”

“But I do though,” Izuku tells him, matching Iida’s posture and relaxing his own, his tone softening to offer sympathy, “I do. I was there the next time you went out and made someone else pay for not being the hero that your brother needed when he was attacked. I didn’t mean to be - I just saw you. You had disguised yourself, of course, but anyone who has known you long enough would’ve recognized you. You never were very good at pretending, even when we were teenagers.” When Iida shows no signs of reacting, Izuku sheaths his dagger. “That patrolling hero never saw you coming, wouldn’t have stood a chance even if they did. You’re much too fast and much too strong. They were dead before they even hit the ground after you dropped them through that construction site to try and make it look like an accident. Fortunately for you, I knew enough to know that an autopsy report would’ve revealed the stab marks were the killing blow, not the impact of the fall.”

“So you...what?” Iida asks, “You killed Aquario and left him out in the open in Gungan Park to draw attention away from what I did?”

Izuku shrugs. “What are friends for, eh?”

“You are not my friend!” Iida replies, pointing a finger right at Izuku’s face, “I lost my friend the day you joined Shigaraki’s cause!”

Something jumps in the back of Izuku’s jaw at the mention of the name. “Is that what you think I did?” he asks Iida, whose eyes narrow at him in askance, “Joined Shigaraki. Hah. That’s funny…”

With Iida’s brow furrowed in confusion, Izuku closes the distance between them, putting a hand on Iida’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” he says gently, sincerely, “I know what you’ve been doing, and I know why you’ve been doing it. I don’t blame you. But if anyone else were to find out, you wouldn’t get away scot-free again. They wouldn’t understand. Very few people do.”

“And you do?” Iida snorts, looking sideways at him.

“You don’t think so?” he shoots back, “Did you know Aquario, in addition to being a little-known but well-loved hero, was a secret head of a small group of drug traders? Did you know Lightspeed and their ‘intern’ were embezzling money from their agency, which meant they weren’t paying anyone else the right wages? Did you know the agency I bombed in Hosu was set-up by a hero who had once been caught in connection with a sex trafficking ring? Or did you really think I was choosing my victims, any of them, even the ones who came before them, at random?”

Izuku watches Iida’s jaw clench. “You have evidence of these people being fake with their heroism?” he asks, tone dark and ominous.

“Does it matter now?” Izuku retorts, “They’re dead. They died because they tarnished the name of heroes, a name I - we - used to believe in as a beacon of justice and peace-keeping. Someone had to make them pay for ruining heroism.”

“This doesn’t make you right,” Iida argues, “This still makes you a murderer.”

Izuku snorts. “Like you, you mean?” he says, “Or is it my turn to run through your latest hits?”

Iida stares straight ahead of him, eyes slightly squinted but focused on anything but Izuku. Izuku feels the tension leave Iida’s body, watches his fist unclench, hears the long, slow sigh of resolution that Iida lets out.

“So you know my secret,” he says after a while, “That doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t change anything. I’m still a hero, and you’re still a villain. I can still take you out and keep my reputation intact and my secret safe. All you did was expose yourself as a witness. A loose end I’ll need to deal with.”

Izuku actually tosses his head back when he laughs this time. “Oh Tenya,” he says, clapping Iida on the shoulder, “You and I both know if you really wanted me dead, you’d have killed me by now. No one’s faster than the Turbo Hero, after all. Not even the former Number One hero.” He lets go of Iida and approaches Blast, passed out now from the blood loss and the pain.

“So what now?” asks Iida as Izuku crouches down again.

“That’s up to you, really,” Izuku answers, going through the folds and pockets of Blast’s costume for anything to keep for himself, “We could have it out here, you and I, and maybe you’ll kill me or maybe I’ll kill you, and no one will ever know what truly happened here.” He turns Blast over onto his back.

“Or, we walk away and go about our days the way we have been over the past few weeks, where you, er, shall we say, stain the streets in the dark of night with the blood of those who should have saved your brother, while I help cover it all up from a distance by pulling focus with a more grandiose crime.”

In Blast’s pocket, he finds a particularly beautiful silver ring, glistening even in the dim light of the alley, with jewels he suspects are very real and very expensive. He pockets it with a shrug. “And then, should you ever need my help, well...I daresay you’d know how to find me.”

In another pocket, he finds an attractive pair of sunglasses; he hangs it off the top button of his vest. “While you think about it, let me just, ah, clean up here, as you said I should.”

With his teeth, Izuku pulls off the leather glove on his right hand, exposing the scars that run down from the tips to the palm. He places his hand open-palmed on Blast’s chest, and watches as the hero’s body hardens into stone-like flakes that gradually crack and wither into dust carried off by the wind, until there is nothing left of the man once known as the Laser Hero.

Izuku grimaces at his handiwork, or the disappearance thereof. He can feel his nostril twitching in disgust as he looks at his scarred fingers, clapping his hands together to dust them off, as if anything of Blast might linger on his tainted skin. He pulls the glove black on as Iida watches him silently, eyes slightly wide as, Izuku suspects, realization dawns on him.

The two former friends stand staring at each other in silence, one in slight shock, the other in a quiet challenge. The wind whistles between them, the sky above them turning from orange to a bluish purple as dusk begins to fall and turn into night. No one moves, no one speaks.

Iida’s phone rings. His eyes still on Izuku, he taps at a piece in his right ear. Izuku can’t hear what the other person on the line is saying, but from Iida’s responses, he can hazard a guess.

“No,” Iida says, still watching Izuku, who clasps his hands behind his back and grins at him quietly, “All clear here. Either a false lead or we lost the trail...I know. I know….Yes, return to base. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”

Izuku waits for Iida to end the call with another tap to his earpiece. “I take it we have a deal then?”

“Call it a temporary, flimsy truce,” Iida answers, “Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. And don’t let anyone I work with get close to catching you, or I’ll be forced to deal with you myself.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Izuku says with a mirthless chuckle, “Just tell your partners to watch who they shake hands with.”

Izuku puts on the sunglasses despite the quickly darkening evening, runs a hand through his hair again before putting up the hood on his coat.

“Have a productive evening, Ingenium.”

Only silence follows Izuku as he walks out of the alley, hands in his pockets and dark glasses on as he leaves Iida to his warring thoughts.

- - - - -

END.

#iida tenya #tenya iida #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #deku #villain deku #iida fic #deku fic #vigilante iida #ichi fics #rating: none

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