#the idea that the core four are all missing at least one parent when we meet them (morgana an orphan for all intents and purposes) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

(un)loving miya atsumu

fourteen.

loving miya atsumu

Dear Atsumu,

I hate how much your face is the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the word - ‘happiness’ and ‘love’. Happiness, because it radiates off your bones, no matter the situation, in court when up against strong opponents, thwarting plays with a setter dump or when you’re up serving, or when pulling off nasty quicks with your brother or any other player, off court when you fight with Osamu over the last ice cream at the convenience store, when you share a stupid joke with your dad, or even when you’re with the people you care about. Love, because you do everything with just the right to too much amount of love, pouring your everything in it, pouring your heart in the things that make you happy may it be volleyball, Osamu, your family, Mika- not a single wasted opportunity to convey your love and happiness. Nobody compares the way you do.

You’ve set a standard for almost everything, which is why you expect nothing for the best to be at the receiving end of both happiness and love.

I hope you know that to me; you are the embodiment of both happiness and love. Because I really hate how you remain the embodiment of these two words I have difficulty expressing.

Your name literally translates to 'to devour' and in a sense, you are someone who happily, readily accepts love and happiness on a daily basis, allowing it to fill you up to the core and share it with everyone.

You are everything that is everything – the sun after a stormy day, the sunshine in my veins, the kiss of the wind against my skin, the light to my darkness, my sunflower. You are everything to me, and to you, I offer, my whole heart, which you don’t have to worry returning, because it’s yours. Always has been.

- (Y/N)’s letter, 1 out of 13

"MIKA!" launching yourself at your big sister, engulfing in a hug, the two of you laughed. Breaking away, you held your older sister an arm's length, taking her in. "You're home! You're here!" The excitement was evident in your tone, a bit of confusion as well, at the joyful arrival of your big sister.

"Just thought I'd surprise you!"

Frowning slightly, you ask again. "But how about school?"

"I'm on break!"

"Alexander and Pien?"

"The family's currently on vacation in Spain," sensing another question coming, she furthers. "the parents were the ones who arranged this trip, because they know it would mean the world to me and I would never want to miss my little sister's big day."

The grin on your face softened, engulfing your sister into a hug again. "I'm just so happy you're here,"

"Me, too."

Despite everything that went down, before anything else in the world, this was your sister – your best friend by design. After months apart, talking to her virtually for a year, having her in person was such a delight. Seeing her home was probably the best graduation gift you could ask more.

Swaying into your hug, relishing in the feeling of her touch, Mika slowly opens her eyes, seeing the twins, finally remembering that they weren't alone.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry!" dropping the hug, she turns to the twins. "Atsumu, Osamu, hello!"

"Welcome back, Mika-nee," says Osamu.

"H-Hey Mika-nee," Atsumu stutters.

Something unsettled in your belly, coming at a screeching halt at the reunion. You could feel Osamu's eyes on you. Balling your hands into fists, you swallowed that ugly feeling, wearing a smile on.

"Shall we head inside?" Nobody seemed to notice the slight crack in your voice, which you were thankful for. Lowering your head, your eyes easily found your graduation pin, a reminder.

Atsumu, however, seemed out of it. Even in the presence of his first love, he didn't seem the least happy to see her. In fact, he almost looked, dare you say, troubled.

While the three of you were taking off your shoes, the house filled with joyous noises from both families, you turned to the blond-dyed teen worriedly.

"Atsumu, are you alright?"

Is he alright? How was he supposed to feel? Mika was right there! Mika, the person he's been in love with since he was 9. Love, right? She's always been his standard, the perfect girl for some just as perfect as him. Boyfriend be damned. Mika was there. Mika was here. Shouldn't he be happy?

"Atsumu?" At the sound of your voice, he worked on a feeble smile, worrying you even more.

Snapping out of it, he quirks his lips up. Before you can say another word, his grandparents come barrelling down the hall to greet you three.

Atsumu's smile was worrying.

"How I've missed Japanese food!" Mika gushes at the table, eyes bright at the food on display – especially at the seafood, care of your uncle (of course).

Laughing, the twins' father turns to her. "What's wrong with Dutch food, Mika-chan?"

Aside from sushi, there was an assortment of dishes like tempura, sauteed vegetables, salad, grilled meat, roast beef and chicken, and two cakes. With a feast like this, calling for the occasion, it was enough to water anyone’s mouth.

"It's alright, but kinda bland." they laugh at that.

You sat next to your sister, Kaoru on your other side. Across you sat the twins, Atsumu directly in front of you. Catching his eye, he quirked his lips up – smile seeming forced.

Your mom was all smiles, lifting her glass up. “Well now, let’s make a toast to our graduates!”

"To our bright and wonderful children!” your uncle seconds, joyfully, loudly. “To Atsumu, Osamu, and (Y/N)! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Everyone was clinking their glasses against each other before digging in.

The adults were usually doing the talking, exchanging pleasantries about this and that, while the youngins were on a world of their own. It only made sense why the (extended) table was divided into two – young and old.

Lifting his gaze, Atsumu could see you chatting up with his grandparents, a pleasing and polite smile on your face. As his grandma was sharing about her newest hobby, you were wiping Kaoru’s face clean, much to the younger boy’s displeasure.

“Atsumu, I hear you’ve been scouted by a pro-league?”

Suddenly called by Mika, he was suddenly on the spot. Normally, he would preen, just to keep those bright (e/c) eyes on him. When in truth, he wants another pair of eyes on him.

“Oh, uh…yeah, that’s right.”

“Pfft, what kinda energy is that?” booms his dad’s voice, ringing throughout the room. “Give it more life, Atsumu!” Beside him, his mom pats her husband’s arm, smiling per usual, but had a loving look in her eyes.

“What team are you joining?”

“MSBY Black Jackals,” he replies, staring at his plate. “they’re based in Osaka.”

Atsumu still remembers the day you approached him, shared with him how a scout agent had approached you first, then asked for Atsumu’s contact information. He was so over the moon after you told him that.

“Oh! So it’s close by!”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice, you don’t have to worry about university and just continue doing what you do best. I’m jealous.”

Atsumu works on a faint smile, happy to hear it.

You watched the whole exchange from the corner of your eye, taking a bite of sushi before washing it down with soda, swallowing down the lump in your throat as well.

“Nee-san,” something pat at the corners of your mouth, Kaoru grinning. “your mouth was messy!”

Smiling, you could only pat his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Kaoru.”

“And how about (Y/N)-chan?” the Miya’s grandmother asked you suddenly, bringing the attention to you.

Now at the center of attention, you set down your plate. “Um…I’ll be studying at Hiroshima University.”

“Hiroshima! That’s four hours away from here?” whines the twins’ mom, to which your uncle and mom shrugs easily.

“Well, it was her decision.”

“Waseda was also in her list, but she opted for Hiroshima University.”

Nearly choking on his drink, the twins’ father turns to you. “Wa-Waseda!?”

“Dad, calm down!” Atsumu berates, embarrassed. Beside him, Osamu just helps himself to another serving, handing his grandfather another, too.

“Don’t underestimate Waseda, Atsumu! That’s one of the most prestigious schools in Japan!”

Atsumu knows that very well, because you told them about it. Just that…

“Well, she didn’t pass.” Huffs your uncle, but goes on to explain rather excitedly. “So she went for the next big thing – Hiroshima University!”

“Dad, didn’t we already tell you this?” Osamu frowns, rice sticking to his cheek. “We also told you she passed the exams.”

Their dad deflated at that, scratching at his cheek. “A-Ah, eh…you know your old man, he’s getting old and his memory’s failing him.” Everyone in the table laughs, even young Kaoru!

“Still, Hiroshima’s a long way from here, (Y/N)-chan,” their grandfather turns to you. “Why not join Osamu at Kobe University? Or Atsumu in Osaka at Kansai University?”

Shrugging, you reached over to refill his glass. “I wanted a change of pace, I guess. Also,” sitting back, you brushed strands of hair behind your ear, exposing your conch piercing. “I had a bit of epiphany when we had our class excursion there.”

The adults smile at your words, Mika, most especially.

“Well, I know you’ll do well there which is why we want you to have this,” from his pocket, the twins’ grandfather produced three envelopes – for you, Osamu, and Atsumu. To say that the three of you were shocked would be an understatement. “Here,”

Ever so carefully, the three of you took the envelope with both hands.

“Go on, open it!” says their mom excitedly, recording with their phone.

“OH MY GOD MOM, YOU’RE EMBARRASSING US!”

“Open, open!” their grandmother clapped her hands excitedly, sharing the same sweet smile as her husband.

Glancing at each other, the three of you seemed to share the same idea.

“On three?”

Nod.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Three!”

Outside the window, the wind blew, sending a draft it in (L/N) household. One glance and you were greeted by a world painted in pink hues, blushes of nature come in falling petals – spring has come alright.

In your subdivision, there was only one cherry blossom tree that was planted in the playground just behind your house. At the epicentre of your neighbourhood, like a heartbeat that connected each household to its beating. When spring comes, it blooms, shedding off its petals, scattering against the wind everywhere – for everyone to see.

A chance to bring spring into their homes, to enjoy moments like these without having to worry about leaving. Like a hanami at home.

“Ohhh.”

“…we got money.”

“Granny, Gramps, thank you so much!”

“Use the money wisely now!”

“I’m jealous,” Mika tells you, watching the twins. “you three got to share moments like these, have been for years. But now,” her smile falters a bit. “you’re off on your separate ways. Will you be okay?”

Your big sister will always be your best friend, one deigned to you since you were born and because of blood. But having friends of your own was another story, especially worth noting just how quiet you can be, which is why when they moved to Hyogo and were introduced to the twins, it made her feel settled. The three of you were inseparable, always together, a bond she envied.

At this point in your life, there was no denying the consequences of growing up.

“We all have our own different dreams and ambitions, so it’s only normal that we chase after it.” Taking a sip of your drink, your eyes catch on Osamu. “Osamu’s not as ambitious as his brother, but he’s just as competitive – especially when it comes to his future and happiness.”

“True, but a shame that he’s not going pro like his brother, they would be such a team!”

It would, years of watching them grow together was enough of a testament. The most powerful twins in volleyball.

“They’ll always have volleyball and each other. But when it comes to happiness, that’s another story.” Recalling Osamu’s soft gaze on the finished onigiri he made, the tale he shared afterwards. “Osamu’s happiness in with cooking and food.”

Humming, Mika takes her own drink, sipping in.

“And the thing with Atsumu is that’s he’s always looking forward, never once settling on the past knowing that it will hold him back. In fact, he’s always looking ahead that he tends to forget what he’s doing in present time.”

“It sounds like he’s taken to heart your club motto, huh? ‘We don’t need memories’.”

It was such a powerful motto – moving and inspiring all at once. From the moment your eyes saw Inarizaki’s banner when you were young to the moment you became manager, that motto has stuck with you the most. You love that motto, love its implication and even took it by heart.

“We can’t always be ruled by our past after all.” You set your drink down. “How else are we going to move forward?”

Atsumu stared at the ceiling before him, having given up tossing and turning for the past few hours. After the third hour, he threw in the towel – he was restless, unable to fall asleep from everything that’s happened today. It’s as though he found himself at an impasse – unsure of what he’s been holding on to, unable to comprehend how he should feel with everything going on.

Mika was home. Feelings he’s had for her…surfaced. He thinks. Atsumu broke into a sigh, sitting up, he was a mess.

Suddenly, he heard rummaging from below him, muted light glowing from below.

“’Samu?” he called out.

“Ah, shit.” Osamu craned his head, meeting his eyes. “Sorry, ‘Tsumu. Did I wake you?”

Shaking his head, Atsumu noted that Osamu was dressed up. “Where’re you headed?”

“Out.” He pockets his phone and wallet away.

“By yourself?” When his brother shakes his head, Atsumu shifts from his spot, asking again. “With whom?”

“…with (Y/N).”

Atsumu was silent for a while, coming to realization how Osamu sneaks out a lot in the past. It shouldn’t be a question and should be easy to tell who he usually hung out with late at night.

“Can I come?”

Osamu’s blinked at that. Atsumu waits, hopes. He watches as his brother looks at his phone, then back to his brother. Eventually, he exhales through his nose, wearing a half-smile as he nods slowly.

“Yeah, come on.”

Smiling, Atsumu feels excited as he gets down from his bunk and quickly changes. Following his brother's lead, ever so quietly the twins trudge out of the house, careful not to make any loud noises (which honestly, they shouldn't even bother for everyone in their family were heavy sleepers), door closing shut behind him. It amazed Atsumu how his brother does it all with practiced eased.

Spring evening was chilly, biting at his skin, nipping his nose. Good thing he thought of putting on his hoodie.

Together, the twins head out their house, bypassing their gate and turn, towards the (L/N) house next door where a figure waited.

Dressed in an oversized hoodie that stopped by your mid thighs, gazing up at the night sky in thought, in waiting.

"Yo, (Y/N)."

Lowering your head, (e/c) eyes widened slightly once realizing your best friend didn't come alone. At this, Atsumu raised a hand in greeting.

"Hey, (Y/N). Mind if I tag along?"

You shrug easily, standing to your full height. "Sure, why not."

Spring night was cool and crisp, biting almost – remnants from winter’s past.

Three teens walk along their quiet neighbourhood, cruising along houses for some few blocks until reaching a brightly lit establishment just next to the main road.

Upon entering the store, the cashier – a smiling, tired-looking woman, nods at Osamu and you, eyes shining in familiarity. A recurrence, it seems. Despite the wee hours of the night, the stillness of the silence, bright lights flooded the establishment with a multitude of goods lined up, budget meals prepped and ready, everything seemed liked a sight for any customer.

Following after Osamu, the two cruised through the aisles, his brother grabbing some chips and a seasonal onigiri, the twins nearly towering over. Reaching the end, he felt a chill, realizing he was by the frozen section, with you eyeing the selection with pursed lips.

"Aren't you full from all the food we ate earlier?" Atsumu laughs, standing next to you.

"Lest you forget, Osamu has a black hole for a stomach. I'm on my period, so I have cravings." Saying this, you stare at the selection of ice cream.

"How about curfew?" You were such a stickler for rules, this was so new to him.

Shrugging, you picked up strawberry and chocolate brownie. "Osamu and I sometimes pass off as adults. Plus, this neighborhood tends to be complacent when it comes to curfew."

He smirks. "So you're using that to your advantage, huh? Smart girl."

Your only reply was bumping your shoulder against his, putting the strawberry ice cream in his hands. Which he decidedly takes.

Over your meals, the three of you share laugh, meals, and talks. Unable to help himself, and taking a page from his mother, Atsumu takes a selfie to commemorate the moment, uploading instantly to his social media.

To any other bystander – or whoever sees Atsumu’s selfie, it was nothing more than a teenage hang out with your childhood friend and brother. Rather picturesque of perfect innocence, measured smiles, occasional banter highlighted only by the lights of the sleepy convenience store, saturated by the spring evening.

A moment that sent a lurch down each of your hearts at the knowledge that moments like these were numbered. Caught up in the moment, Atsumu desperately wished for time to freeze, wishing his life was always like this.

Nostalgia filled the night, between childhood friends – like that year of silence meant nothing. It was enough to choke Atsumu, bring him to tears with how much he's missed this. Memories from his past painted into his present with bright hues and ink, he wanted them to stay, etched on his skin - unready to have them washed away when the morning comings.

Late-night snacks ended up with the twins sneaking their game console to the (L/N)'s household, talks continue even as you three were playing video games until the wee hours of the morrow, filled with more talks that piled conversation over conversation, talking as though they had a clue – leaving you all breaking into fits of silly laughter.

Just as you landed second in Mario Kart, Osamu conked out first.

"I swear, he sleeps like a fucking log," Atsumu says, watching you carefully set Osamu's head on your lap, patting his head gently.

Smiling softly, you carefully take the blanket you snuck and tucked him in, and yourself, too. Atsumu stood to turn off the console and the TV, filling the room in darkness. However, the glow from the moon outside was enough to illuminate the living room.

"You'll be heading off to Hiroshima, right?" he whispers, reaffirming the question thrown to you earlier that day, you nod. "Wow,” sitting next to you, on the edge of the sofa, he settles in. “big step."

"I figured that I'd like to open my horizon, have a new pace."

Atsumu remembered the peaceful look on your face when they had their class excursion there, smiling at the memory and a bit on the history of the city.

"Like a fresh new beginning, huh?"

Nodding, eyes beginning to droop, Atsumu carefully brings your head to his chest, falling back. "Like you...you'll be off to Osaka...for MSBY Black Jack'ls" you slur. "Osamu's staying here..."

Humming, he brushes away hair from your face, listening to your voice against Osamu's snores.

"You seem t'be doin' fine," he almost laughs at how thick your Kansai was when you were on the brink of sleep. "'ve always been." Taking an inhale, through your exhale you say, "you don't need me, Atsumu, you never have." and then you slipped off to sleep.

How he envied the friendship you had with Osamu, the one thing that connected you both in the first place. Taking your left hand in his, fingers slotting together, scarred fingers touching against each other, he noses at your forehead, lips a hairsbreadth away from your skin.

“Oh, you have no idea just how wrong you are, (Y/N).” lips pressed the lightest kiss, the moon and the stars as his witness. “I’ll always need you.”

You must've heard him in your sleep, because you were smiling, adorably. It was the last sight he saw before Atsumu slipped off, as well.

Dawn broke out slowly, as it always did in Hyogo, light streaming, searching almost for signs of life in the living room. With the sun slowly making its way up, light follows upwards, eventually finding three bodies knocked out in the living room - sleeping rather awkwardly with two boys sandwiching a girl, peaceful, lost in silence. Somewhat, it was a familiar sight.

Waking up to the smell of breakfast, Atsumu woke with a start, blinking wearily as he took in his surroundings. Right, he snuck out with Osamu and stayed over at the (L/N)’s.

Lifting his head, a ghost of a smile found its way on his face when a mop of (h/c) came to view, your hand still in his. Strands of hair littered your face, which he quickly swept away, causing you to stir.

"Good morning, sleepyheads!" a cheery voice greeted from the kitchen. "Hope you like pancakes!"

Fresh out of bed, with her hair in a messy bun with an apron on was Mika, she looked pretty, adorable even. Atsumu should've been happy by the sight of this, captivated even. But he felt nothing.

At the mention of pancakes, Osamu sleepily lifts his head, in alert, eyes still pinched close. Slowly, you rose from Atsumu’s chest, having used it as a pillow last night, rubbing at your eyes.

“Mornin’ (Y/N),” he laughs.

Blinking your eyes open, with the sight of Atsumu in front of you, between his legs, realizing your sleeping position from last night, instantly your face heated, darkened. “A-Atsumu! A-Ah…Um…G-Good morning…” folding his legs back, he did a stretch, Osamu slowly coming to beside you. “Did you sleep well? Does your neck hurt? Your back?”

Your concern was honestly adorable – like your morning self, it made his heart warm.

“No worries, I slept great!”

True to his word, the rest of the morning went swimmingly over heaps of pancake and another selfie.

“I fear you’ll be taking after your mother in that aspect.”

“Wow, selfie whore.”

“SHUT IT, ‘SAMU!”

After breakfast, the twins had to head back home, to greet their grandparents while you started packing. When lunch came, the twins were back – freshly changed and all. At the sight of them, your mom couldn’t help gushing that ‘it takes me back!’ to which your uncle laughed at heartily, welcoming the boys in before they both left for work.

“Oi, Kaoru what’re you doing?” Osamu asked, watching how as your brother stood on a dining chair he grabbed, pushed it against the wall as he reached up, tying something by the window.

Squinting, you asked. “Is…that a teru teru bozu?”

“Yep!” he smiled, letting the doll face outside, getting another balled-up doll from his pocket. “Nee-san’s birthday’s in a few days, don’t want it to rain then!”

“Kaoru, aren’t you a little too old for superstitions?”

“I’m only 13!”

“Yes, but there’s no scientific proof that they prevent rain from coming. Plus, it’s spring, it’s not so hot of a season for rain to fall.”

Miffed by your explanation, he turned, nearly toppling over had he not righted himself quickly. “You don’t know that, nee-san!” Kaoru hopped off the chair, pouting at you.

“Yeah, what the brother boy said!” Atsumu seconded.

“Better safe than sorry!”

You could only sip on your drink in reply, hiding the smile. Osamu gave you a funny look, amused.

“Plus, it has to be sunny on nee-san’s birthday! We’re going to-“ before Kaoru could finish, Mika appeared, slapping a hand on his mouth.

“Hey, how about I make us pasta for lunch?”

Instantly, Kaoru’s face brightened. “Yay, pasta!”

“By the way, (Y/N),” she calls to you. “Reiki’s coming over with the pizza you like that his friend makes, the spinach one and garlic shrimp?”

At the mention of the aforementioned pizzas, your lips quickly quirk up. It was so hard to find those specific flavors around Kobe, the last time you had them was probably before Mika left. Thankfully, Reiki, being the social butterfly that he was, knew a lot of people.

“Your boyfriend has my many thanks,”

Mika laughs, making you realize a little too late on the words that left your mouth. Sliding your eyes to Atsumu, you were surprised to find that he seemed relatively fine, cordial even.

When Reiki came with the pizzas later, pasta ready and waiting, you all feasted, but not before Atsumu insisted on a selfie with everyone.

“I swear, you’re turning to Ma and it’s scaring me,” Osamu tells his brother with a disgusted frown.

“Watch your mouth, ‘Samu that’s still our Ma!” Atsumu angrily bites off his pizza. “Is it so wrong to capture moments frozen in time!?”

“Wow, that was a rather poetic way of saying it,” you noted, nodding your thanks at Reiki would gave you two slices each of the pizzas.

“Come on now, let’s not fight!” Reiki says calmly, undeterred by the twins. “Let’s just eat, yeah?”

A long-distance relationship seemed to work fine for your sister and Reiki. Clearly, distance makes the heart fonder with how lovey-dovey they seemed. A peek over at Atsumu, and you’d half-expect him to go batshit crazy. But no. If anything, he seemed perfectly fine.

“Atsumu, do you have a minute?”

As Atsumu walked off with your sister, you could only watch, lips quirking into a smile. For some reason, you felt fine with that, too.

It was probably when they first moved to Hyogo that Atsumu’s eyes fell to Mika, the ever-smiling, ever-kind oldest daughter. There were plenty of reasons to like her: she was pleasant, polite, pretty, smart, athletic, and kind. For years, Atsumu has always set her as his standard for his ideal woman, even assured himself that he was at her level (which shouldn’t be so hard, thanks to his genetics).

For the first time in the forever, he thought of finally confessing to her his feelings, that chance that he’s waiting for so long.

And yet, as the two enter the backyard, the door sliding shut behind him, Atsumu turns to Mika, with a question that’s been burning on to the back of his head for a while now.

"Why did you do it?"

"Huh?" Mika looks up in surprise, letting go of the door handle.

"Why'd you to talk to him?" Atsumu felt his patience running thin, anger building.

Mika's perfect face falls into confusion, exposing the cracks underneath. This was clearly not what she intended to talk about, but Atsumu didn’t care, he was leading this conversation now. Honestly, it feels like he’s finally seeing her for who she really is – for the first time, the rosy lenses he had of her were torn away.

Him, being their dad.

Pressing her lips together, a fist to her mouth, contemplating on her response. "...I just...I wanted..."

"A connection?" he finishes for her, an educated guess.

Mika nodded. "He's still my dad, you know? I just thought...I could get to know him..."

"And that hurt (Y/N) in the process," Atsumu threw out, rather impatiently, almost accusingly. "did you know that?"

Pain crosses over her face, bleeding through from her eyes down to the upturn of her lips, hands fisting on her chest.

"Maybe you wanted a relationship with him,” shaking his head, he thinks of you “but not (Y/N)." Of all his memories with you, one where he's caught your eyes on their dad, feeling his stomach twist at the longing in your eyes, hurt him the most. You may have had your uncle, but having your own father was a different thing. You told him that Mika was studying psychology, he couldn’t help but think how ironic that was.

"I'm not perfect, Atsumu."

Atsumu scoffed. "Don't I know that?"

He was an older sibling himself. Older by five minutes, he was still regarded as the oldest, has as much responsibility despite that minute difference.

"Older siblings aren't perfect," Mika says. "We make mistakes, we hurt people, even our siblings." She very clearly wanted to discuss something else, something that clearly wasn’t this. But now that Atsumu’s taken control, she felt herself lose rights.

"Did you tell him about our graduation?"

Mika fell silent, mouth pulled into a line.

That was enough of an answer.

Atsumu tried to imagine how the young you must have felt, the horrors you had to face, to witness, how your young, impressionable mind just paused and came to a screeching halt, to a horrible realization of how fucked up everything was now - he could only feel immeasurable pain, choking him. When that happened, did it also take away the life and spark in your eyes? The joy of life?

He loved his dad very much, his dad was one of the best men in his life who always encouraged him and Osamu to pursue their dreams, always at the frontline for them, and loved his whole family. Had he done what your dad did, he would also feel just as crushed. What he did was inexcusable – to you, to Mika, to your brother, to your mom. Scums like him didn't deserve a second chance.

"I can't believe you did that."

Without waiting for her to reply, Atsumu walked back inside the house, back to where his brother and you were.

Late at night, you stare up at the ceiling, hugging ‘Inari’ – the fox plushie given to you by the trouble children – close to your chest. Mind filled with thoughts, just swimming over you.

Earlier, Atsumu had walked back in the house, the same worrying smile from a few days ago, eyes losing its usual luster. Yet, he assured you that it was nothing, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Mika then walked back in the house, all smiles – but even she had a weary looking smile. Before you could approach her, Reiki rushed to her side and the two scurried to the kitchen. Thankfully, Kaoru, hadn’t picked up on this, busy trying to beat his two nii-sans in Smash.

Shifting your head to the side, to where Mika’s bed was, your sister was dead to the world, deep in her slumber – peaceful and calm. Lifting yourself from your bed, covers dropping, ever so carefully you dropped your feet to the cold floor. Still hugging Inari, you walked away from your bed and to one of the boxes, staring at the contents – some books, stationary.

Bending down, you dig through, careful not to make a sound. From the box, you pulled out a wooden picture frame, hand painted blue, with sunflowers sticking on the top left, a few petals on the upper and lower. And in frame was the photo of the Inarizaki Volleyball Club. It was taken the moment everyone returned from Tokyo. Smiling fondly, fingers smoothed over the sunflowers, taking in everyone’s smiles.

At the center of the photo was you, sandwiched between Atsumu and Osamu, wearing wide grins. When your juniors handed you the frame, you were so sure you’d break out then and there. But it didn’t end there, because Coach Kurosu – tears spilling down his face, gave you his gift, too. Gently setting Inari down, frame sitting next to him, you plucked a small, thick, black cloth.

Sitting crossed legged, you opened it up, smiling at the familiar kanji of the club’s motto.

‘We Don’t Need Memories’

“Such a powerful statement,” you whisper into the silence.

Kita once shared that he wasn’t a fan of the motto – being a man brought by the small things, on how doing the minimum on a daily basis is already enough of an assurance for any needless worries. Yet, it fires him up when he’s up with his team mates.

Coach Kurosu also mentioned, overly fond of the motto, that nothing should ever hold you back from the challenges that life will hurl at you.

Smoothing over the smooth kanji characters, a wave of memories rushed over you – first stepping into the gym, applying as manager the same time the twins had their try-outs, introducing yourself as manager before the twins engulfed you into a hug, seeing Aran again, meeting Kita and the rest of your seniors, meeting Suna, Ginjima, and the rest of the team, being there when the twins got their jerseys, their first official match, making your way to nationals, the twins debuting their dyed hairs, the incident, Kita’s captaincy, him berating you for resigning and convincing you to stay, the painful and cold second year, walking out during preliminaries, breaking down in the club room, having to tell Atsumu he was chosen for the Youth Camp, meeting Sho-chan at nationals, resigning only to be brought back, arcades with the trouble children, sunflowers given by the juniors on your birthday, training in Asano and Yoshimichi, training the new recruits, warmer days in the club, nationals with with Sho-chan, smacking Atsumu in the face, the retirement and turning over, graduation – so many great memories, good and bad. They were definitely the time of your life, if not, the greatest. A chapter that’s come to a close, but filled with so many turning points.

Patting the banner affectionately, a single tear slips down your face, landing on the banner, what a deep tangent you’ve found yourself in.

March 23, your birthday.

It fell on a Sunday, on a perfect sun shiny day, just as your family had expected.

On your birthday, it was decided that it would be spent at Sunflower Hill Park at Ono. Seeing as it was a special day, everyone had to dress their best – you included, being the birthday girl. Mika immediately busied herself prettying you up, even getting you to finally wear the dress that Kita had gifted you sometime back. It’s been gathering dust in the closet since he gave it, unsure on when to wear it.

“It’s just my birthday,” you grumbled, Mika immediately shushing you busily brushing your hair aside to work on your eyes, her face pinched into concentration.

“It’s not ‘just your birthday’, (Y/N).” she says, lighting brushing over your eyes. Setting down her eyeshadow palette, she picks up a blush set, instructing you to smile, exposing your dimples.

“19,” you say aloud, announcing to the world freely. “I’m at the peak of my adulthood.”

“You know, you’ve always been an adult all your life.” Mika teases, brush circling your dimples. “But that doesn’t mean you should be down on your birthday.”

“Studies show that it’s only natural to have birthday disappointments the older you get.” You rebuke, watching her frown cutely, setting her blush down, brandishing a mascara in her hand.

“And studies also show that you don’t always have to have that kind of mindset,” she rebukes back, twirling her mascara madly before taking out the wand. “Open your eyes and look up.”

Gulping, you do as she says, feeling the wand passing down your lashes.

“Birthday disappointments can also be stemmed from high expectations – either from childhood or from adolescence. And here’s the hard truth: you actually want to celebrate your birthday, but you just don’t know how to tell people.”

Capping her mascara, she instructs you to close your eyes, which you do, before you’re assaulted with a mist-like spray all over your face. When she tells you to open, you find yourself staring at yourself in the mirror – struck at the person staring back at you. Mika did a great job, highlighting your features, brightening your whole face, it was easy to see now the resemblance between you two.

“We’re not mind readers, (Y/N), we’re your family. And because we love you, we want to celebrate the day you came to bless our lives,” Mika smiles, smoothing your hair.

Helping you put on your dress, even lending you her sandals, she added some finishing touches like earrings and a sun brim hat.

“I look like those stereotypical animes shown in the summer.” You comment about your reflection in the mirror, to which Mika rolls her eyes at.

“Would you stop, you look beautiful!”

Taking her words with a grain of salt – seeing how pretty she was in her own dress, you smiled and the two of you walk out the room.

“Are you two done, now- Ah, how pretty!” coos your mother, pressing her hands to her mouth, eyes watering.

“Mom, you’re being dramatic-“

“My girls are so pretty! Especially the birthday girl!”

Beside you, Mika looks pleased with herself, especially at her work.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” says your mom, taking your face in her hands, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

Swallowing down hard, fighting off tears that have strangely formed, you smile at her. “Thanks mom.”

“Alright, let’s go down now! Everyone’s waiting for us!”

Anxiety rose up, heart in your chest as you three descended the stairs, where you could hear people chatting about in the living room. Everyone was there – your uncle, Kaoru, Reiki, the Miyas, even the twins. It was Atsumu who saw you first, doing a double take, taking you in.

And then his mom squealed at the sight of you. “Ah!!!!! (Y/N)-chan, you look so pretty!” everyone turns to you, much to your horror. “Happy birthday, sweet girl!” she says.

“…thank you, Auntie.” Your voice was quiet, raspy.

Being the center of attention, everyone’s smiles on you was unnerving.

Self-consciously, you duck under their gazes, face burning.

To your surprise, your family had long planned this together with the Miyas. What made it extra special was the fact that it was just days after the three of you graduated and of Mika’s return. An outing of two families, in a field of little suns spread across the field.

At the sight of tall, bright yellow and brown flowers, your eyes sparkled in child-like wonder. Sensing your excitement, Mika, with her uncle’s camera slung around her neck, hooked her arm around yours, giggling and pulling you further in the park, leaving Atsumu and the rest to follow after.

The adults were discussing amongst themselves, discussing where they should set up, Reiki happily stuck around them, ever ready to help around, while Kaoru was running off to join his sisters. Alone with his brother, Osamu elbows him.

"Is something wrong with you and Mika-nee?" Osamu asks him, feeling the breeze against his skin.

On the way to Ono, with the twins, you, Mika, and Reiki, in Reiki’s car, there was a noticeable avoidance between Atsumu and Mika. However, the two easily played it off. Mika was busy chatting up with her boyfriend, Atsumu looked over your shoulder, as you answered birthday greetings.

Even way before that, the two of them were masterful in their way of seeming fine, but when they interacted, it felt rather stiff.

Sighing, Atsumu’s eyes found Kaoru, who was giggling as Mika was getting you to pose in front of flowers, you, clearly embarrassed, tried to talk your way out of it.

"I confronted her about their dad," Atsumu grumbles, hands in his pocket. Eventually, you caved in your sister’s whims, posing demurely, before Kaoru cheered you to try other poses.

Osamu's eyes widened. "Are you an idiot!? Why would you-"

"Did you know that she also told him about our graduation?"

Osamu stopped at that, at its implication, their eyes going to the older (L/N) sister, showing the photos to you.

"Damn."

"I know. Pretty shitty of her."

"Wow, 'Tsumu badmouthing Mika-nee, that's new."

Scoffing, he lifted his head to meet his brother’s. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Shrugging easily, Osamu explains, as their parents walk southward into the park, where an open area for picnic was. "Almost a year ago, you were nothing but praises for her, wouldn’t shut up about her on and on and on.” Breathing out a laugh, he shakes his head when he adds. “Heck, even if she farted you'd think it was cute."

Atsumu's face wrinkles, cringes. "That was before."

“Still,” walking ahead, he stares his brother down, feeling a chill run down his spine. “you never let us forget. Never let (Y/N) forget that.”

Up ahead, the (L/N) siblings were soon joined by Reiki, who took the camera from Mika, opting to take photos of the siblings. (Y/N), who was sandwiched between her older and younger sibling, all smiles for the camera.

“A year ago, it was as though your mission was to make (Y/N) feel so shitty about yourself, all because of your stupid little crush. It took her finally deciding to leave for you to snap out of it.”

Swallowing thickly, Atsumu vaguely remembered that moment of panic, like something had clawed into his chest. Immediately, he feels a sense of shame – for everything he had done to you.

"'Tsumu, you realize that you never said you're sorry to (Y/N), right?"

The hardest pill to swallow was realizing that despite the year he’s had, devoted to making up to you, it just wasn’t enough. Actions may speak louder than words, but just saying those words were just as important. Especially because it was worth noting that, sometimes, Atsumu’s actions can be contradicting to his words and may confuse you. You, who’s suffered quietly all this time, who forced themselves to power through, who unselfishly put others before yourself.

“I’m way past that now,” determination was thick in his tone, strong in his words.

Osamu felt proud to see it, loved to see it. They were nearing their parents – who finally found a nice picnic spot, just right next to the playground hustle.

"Didn't you say that Mika-nee was your one true love?" he couldn’t help but say, egging on his brother, never letting him down on his fuck up.

Osamu nearly fell back as Atsumu tackled him, slapping a hand to his mouth, lest anyone heard it. "KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, SHITTY 'SAMU!"

"Wasn't she though!?"

"I was a kid!" he reasoned out. "I didn't know shit!"

"Clearly still don't now!" Osamu yelled slapping his brother's hand away from his face.

"FUCK YOU!"

"Now, now, Atsumu, Osamu, no fighting on (Y/N)'s special day!" calls their dad, hands on his hips. Beside him was their mom, smiling as she took photos of the sunflowers all around them.

"Oh, oh, oh, sweetie, let's take a photo with the birthday girl!" hooking her arm around her husband's she didn't give him time to back out before dragging him with her, smiling sweetly at her sons. "And no fighting, Atsumu, Osamu, it's a special day!"

Speaking of special day, Atsumu’s eyes turned to the fields, where you were – feeling his heart settle at your familiar frame, your gentle expression as you gazed at the vibrant yellow sunflowers. He remembered that field trip when they were younger, remembered where your eyes were staring, dug through the display when no one was looking and snuck it in his bag, feeling giddy all over, remembered the smile that came to your face.

It was brighter than any of the sunflowers.

Under the clear blue skies, the sun was shining bright, smiling down on everyone – especially a particular group down at Ono Sunflower Hill Park, circling a girl dressed in white, balloons in hands, all wearing smiles as they sang to greet her.

Their singing echoed out in the field, the wind carrying on their love for the girl in the middle, the girl whose heart was just filled with love with everyone around her.

A simple white cake, decorated in the same flowers that surrounded them was presented to her, and a single candle stood alit, waiting.

When the singing dwindled down, the girl stared at her cake, closed her eyes, and then blew.

She was now 19.

What a lovely day to be loved, feel loved, and be celebrated by love.

Emboldened by his talk with Osamu, brought also by epiphany, Atsumu finds himself carefully approaching Mika.

“Mika-nee, can we talk?”

Reiki, having sensed the mood, excused himself, but not before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead and taking Kaoru with him away from the playground.

Squirming under his gaze, remembering his blow-up on her days before, she fixes him a pleading look. "Atsumu, look, I don't want to fight with you-"

"I'm not sorry for blowing up on you like that, Mika-nee.” He starts, meaning every word. “But I am sorry for intruding into your family business. I just care for (Y/N), she's..." he swallows thickly. "she's been through so much."

Mika’s expression softens, eyes shining. "You really care a great deal about (Y/N), huh?"

“Always have, always will.”

“I’m glad.”

Mika smiles sweetly at him, fiddling with her hands. “It’s just…he’s still my dad, what he did was unforgivable, but the idea of reconnecting with him,” she sniffles, wiping a tear. “how could I not? And then I thought, that maybe (Y/N) would be on board with the idea…” she shakes her head, laughing incredulously. “Clearly, I forgot that I can’t force it on her, can’t fix the trauma he did.” Her face pinches, pained and regret.

The old Atsumu would have rushed and comforted her, assured her that she did great. Emphasis on the old, the Atsumu now just stared, letting her wallow on her mistake.

Covering her face, she groaned into it, before fixing herself up, slapping her cheeks together. “Wooh! How embarrassing of me! Looks like I’ve got a long way to go!” she laughs. Atsumu can’t help but laugh with her.

Even now, her ability to smile through the pain, shoulder her burdens, amazes him. There was a reason he admired this young woman before him, but seeing her open up to her flaws made him admire her even more.

And then he felt it, the urge, something clawing at his chest, words that needed to be said.

“Mika-nee, actually,” the older girl looks up at him, waits patiently. “I…I like you.” Back when he was younger, he had envisioned the perfect confession – something almost like this, with the sun setting behind them, painting them in the afterglow. That was one of his two options for confessing, the other being in the letter he poured his heart in, with your help. “I liked you, Mika-nee.”

It feels freeing to finally say that, to let the person know how much they meant to them. Even if it were no longer the case.

She smiles, sweetly again. “I know.”

Atsumu looks up at her, surprised. Mika’s smile remains.

“E-Eh?”

“I received your letter,” his eyes widen, confusion crawling over. “(Y/N) snuck it into my things before I left for the Netherlands.”

You did that for him? You.

Looking back, his eyes could only widen, realizing that it had been during the incident. Atsumu is assaulted with guilt all over again, brought by your unselfishness, just unsure with what he could say.

“I always thought that it would be the two of you, you know? You three were thick as thieves, enough to rival the three musketeers. But you and (Y/N)? I always felt like there was a great bond between you two.”

“N-Nee-san…actually…I-“ Everything he did to you in the year following the incident came to mind, his self-hate rising, Mika deserved to know.

Instead, she gently shakes her head. “It’s not me you should be telling that to, Atsumu. It’s (Y/N).” taking his arm in her hand, she cups his chin, (e/c) eyes meeting his honey browns, smiling and squeezing on to him arm encouragingly. “Go.”

Coming to, he nods and quickly starts running. Before fully leaving the playground, Mika calls him. “Oh, and Atsumu? Thank you so much for your feelings!”

“Osamu,”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you told me about your first love?”

“…yeah.” He sighs, heavily. “The umeboshi to my onigiri.”

“That’s a funny analogy,” with your arm over his, you leaned against his shoulder as the two of you walked along the pat. “but very fitting for someone you love.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it off. What’s yours?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you look to the field.

“Ah, yes.” Osamu nods, following your gaze. “Sunflowers.”

Leaning against his arm, you murmur. “…he’s my sunflower, Osamu.”

Osamu doesn’t say anything for a while, watching how Kaoru and Reiki raced beside them. Two people missing from their group. “I know he is.”

“And you’re my chicken noodle soup.”

He snorts, looking down at you. “Why?”

“It’s my comfort food, remember? Also, you’re my best friend. You should feel honored.”

“Strange analogy you got there.” He waves at his grandparents, enjoying themselves watch the children play in the fountains.

“Not as strange as your umeboshi and onigiri,” you remind him, teasingly.

Rolling his eyes at that, he can’t deny the gentleness of your voice, its weight and wistfulness.

“Thanks for being my best friend, Osamu.”

Patting his hand over yours, he replies. “Always.”

Breaking away, you smile gratefully at him. He lets you walk off from him, taking a new path.

“Stop sounding like you’re about to die, (Y/N). S’not funny.”

Laughing, you could only tuck your hands behind you. “I’m just feeling nostalgic!”

“Where’re you going?”

“For a walk!”

“Geez, aren’t you tired of walking?”

“Nope,” and you walk further in the new path, Osamu watches you go, but doesn’t follow.

With all his heart, he wishes, for your birthday, all the best for you. Keeping his eyes on white, it slowly shrinks as you walk further and further, away and away, until you were out of sight.

Huffing and puffing, he looked around wildly, searching for (h/c) in a white dress. Atsumu almost cursed at how big of an area the park was, felt pathetic that he was winded out after some runs – he was a fucking athlete, god damn it! About to join a pro-fucking-league-

"Are you looking for someone?" a voice asked him, turning, Atsumu nearly sagged in relief when he found who he was looking for.

You.

"You," he says breathlessly, lips stretched into a wide smile.

Your face scrunched into a light frown, wondering, before producing a handkerchief in your hands, patting his sweaty face. “Have you been running around the park?”

“Nah, just now.” Your frown softens a bit. “Like I said, I was looking for you.”

Tilting your head to the side, confused, you asked. “Why?”

Atsumu opened his mouth, only to stop, realization getting the best of him. Shiiiiiiit.

Suddenly shy, he laughed it off, nervously, uncaring that people were looking at him funny. Concerned washed over your features, which warmed him from the inside, especially with you looking at him all pretty like that. But heck, even without the makeup, you were something else.

“Come on,” you opened a hand to him, an invitation.

Atsumu stared at it, at the scar on your middle finger. Placing his in yours, his larger hand over yours, the two of you began to walk hand-in-hand. You took him by the fields, deep in, as though to hide you amongst the flowers, to be one with them, to a secret place for you both.

For all his life, he couldn’t imagine having to miss out on the feeling, like everything he’s known his whole life is nothing compared to the bright, vibrant yellows and browns around him, in the girl dressed in white, leading him through. And he let you.

How is it that he’s never noticed? Why had he never thought of seeing you? It feels as though he’s led a life blind.

With a tug, the two of you exit the field and into a clearing, all Atsumu can focus on was your smile.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you laugh, walking a few steps to the path. “walking across a sunflower field, I mean.”

Atsumu can’t keep his eyes off your smile, even as the both of you sit on the grass, facing the famed 'Sunflower Tower' made of Mikage granite.

The two of you found yourselves in your little hideaway, with nothing but the sky, the sun, the flowers, and the tower, and of course, each other.

“Sounds like something fresh outta a fairy tale,”

Nodding, you fold your legs, drawing your knees near. “Sunflowers are quite tall, after all. Tall and tough flowers.”

“Like me?”

Laughing, your turn to him, staring at him for a while. “Maybe. Especially with your blond dye.”

At the mention of his hair, he runs a hand through it. “…I’m, uh, thinking of keeping it.”

“You should,” your eyes follow his hands carding through his hair, dark roots slowly showing through. “it’ll be your signature look.”

Running a hand through the back of his hair, he fists them there, unable to look away from you.

You.

Amazing, smart, patient, kind, selfless, beautiful you.

“(Y/N)…” your name came easy through his mouth.

Tilting your head, letting strands of hair slip off your shoulders, you parrot back, “Atsumu…”

Just when did everything seem to feel different between you two? And just how long had he missed the way you look bathed in the sunlight?

Fidgeting a little, Atsumu could feel his strength leave him, being at the receiving end of your gaze. However, looking up, he also draws strength from them.

“I, uh, I kept them,” at your frowned confusion, he shyly – oh so quietly, adds, “your letters.”

Immediately, your face burns, feeling goosebumps run all over your spine. “Ugh,” slapping your hands over your eyes, you wish you could also slap the cringe away. “why.”

Atsumu smiles, despite your apparent horror, shrugging easily.

“It’s a reminder, I guess. A reminder that someone actually liked me. Genuinely and truly. Thought of me. Appreciated me. Written and practically poured her heart out in paper, when it’s the fucking twenty first century. Living proof that someone did that for me, but I was the asshole who humiliated her for something so genuine and heartfelt.”

You would’ve argued then and there, having seen the many love letters he and his brother received from his fan club over the years. And yet, the only one he recognizes are yours.

“Atsumu,” words were failing you, so you just sighed. “that’s behind us now.”

But the look on his face wouldn’t go away, eyes darkening – a dangerous storm brewing, festering.

"You can't return my feelings,” you say kindly. “that's not your fault neither is it your problem."

"Y-Yeah, but I could at least try to-"

"Atsumu, stop. Just, stop.” Turning to him, you take his hand in yours – the one with a scar, fingers rubbing comfortingly. “Please.” You’ve thought about it for a while, a long while, it needed to be said. “I'm not going to force you to like me back, it's not right and it's just wrong. Just because I liked you doesn't mean you're obligated to return my feelings when you clearly don't like me like that. That's that."

"B-But-"

"Besides, I've already accepted it – that my feelings can't reach you." swallowing down it all - the heartache and pain, you lifted your gaze and offered a smile. "If all you're worried about is me forgiving you, rest assured that I have."

"But I don't deserve your forgiveness!" he all but screams, shocking you, his eyes were wet and filled with so much remorse, pain, helplessness, and regret. "I've been an ass to you, (Y/N)! I hurt you while you were already hurting," he remembered having to listen to your cries, muffled behind your hands, the forced smiles, the pained look in your eyes, your back turned to him, his panic of not being able to find you during practice. The realization of the distance between both of you because of him. "I walked around you even though you were breaking from the inside. I might as well be worse than your deadbeat, asshole of a father because I wasn't there for you. I hurt you just as he did! I failed you! I-I-"

A gentle hand touched his elbow, shaking him, he looks up, meeting your kind (e/c) gaze. And that smile, that same kind smile that stretched to your eyes, reflecting an oh so loving gaze he knew he didn't deserve. Even without saying a word, you understood everything he wanted to say, all the sorries that's been resting on his tongue, heavy with the weight of his sins, of the burdens of hurting you, of the love he's had and continue to have for you.

He didn't deserve you.

You didn't deserve him.

But you both loved each other just as much.

"(Y-Y/N)," his voice was barely a whisper, wet and croaking. "I'm so sorry...!"

Enveloping you into a hug, he cries into your shoulder, repeatedly saying “I’m sorry” over and over again.

And you just hold him, caressing his head with your other hand.

“I’ll always love you, Atsumu,” your confession just tore at him, tears leaking more. “you will always be my first love, and that will never change.”

Atsumu hugs you tighter, cries harder. “I love you, too.”

When you let go, there was a smile on your face – a radiant, bright, reflected in your eyes that it brightened up your whole face. Like a sunflower greeting the sun, Atsumu found himself smiling, too. Released from the embrace, in his eyes, he feels his heart fill with a bittersweet sense of warmth and twinge.

Despite it all, it still felt good. It felt really good. Talking to you, settling things with you, loving you – it felt right.

Certain people come into our lives whether we like it or not, and you were no exception.

Sadly, just because you came into their life doesn’t automatically guarantee that they’ll stay with you forever. You can only have them for a time.

One of them may end up as your first love, but it's not guaranteed that they will be your last. They'll be just that - your first love, the first person you offered your heart to, but not the person who gets to keep it.

You were his forever person, the first love he realized too late.

end.

238 notes · View notes

silverflame2724 · 3 years

Note

Ok so, an angsty prompt for you: WWX in the Cloud Recesses as a glorified prisoner or something. He is under strict guard, constantly monitored and only allowed to *see* his precious son once every two weeks. He’s not allowed to touch, not allowed to hand him anything or accept anything from the child. (Just in case he influences the boy) WWX dreads the day that he slips up and then he won’t be allowed even this interaction with his most precious child; Lan clan are watching him like hawks. “Your bracelets are so pretty Baba!” A-Yuan says as he looks at the repressing-manacles on each of WWX’s wrists and ankles. “I want to be just like you when I grow up, with pretty bracelets.” He has no idea why his Baba starts to sob, he has always smiled, always talked kindly and made A-Yuan laugh. But Baba scoops him up into his arms and kisses his forehead and holds him for the first time ... and the last. A-Yuan’s visit is cut short as he is torn from his Baba’s arms and marched away as WWX weakly calls out the only thing he can “Baba loves you, A-Yuan. Be happy.” The guards report A-Yuan’s innocent words to LQ and LXC and ... well. Their reactions are as you’d expect. A-Yuan wants to be like WWX, clearly the demonic cultivator is influencing the child toward the dark path and this cannot continue! WWX only has the memory of holding his baby to comfort him now.

Why does everyone give me so many angsty prompts to write????

Also, I was going to make this super angsty and have WWX DIE but my mom was like no and inspired me to do something else.

__________________________________

Wei Wuxian stares at the four white walls of the prison he’s forced to call home. How many years had it been? He didn’t know.

When....When Jin Zixuan died because of him, Wei Wuxian’s mental state had plummeted to the ground. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix it. Then, Lan Wangji came. He came.....and offered protection and Wei Wuxian, tired of everything, had agreed. Lan Wangji said he promised protection but when they and the Wens got to the Cloud Recesses......he became a prisoner just as feared.......and hoped. A part of him wanted to be punished for killing Jin Zixuan, after all. But what he didn’t expect........was that he would have restricted visits with A’ Yuan.

He couldn’t even touch the one he had considered his son.

Every day he was allowed to see A’ Yuan was one spent in fear that he would slip up and never see his A’ Yuan again.

Lan Zhan......Lan Zhan tried to rescue him from the situation. He was one of the few he was allowed to see. But.......

“You promised!” Lan Zhan cried to his brother as the elders captured them. “You promised this wouldn’t happen!”

“I’m sorry, Wangji.” Lan Xichen had said, not looking sorry at all. “This is what the Jins demanded in exchange for his survival.”

They took Lan Zhan away and next he heard of him, he had been whipped and isolated for daring to assist in his escape. They had put repressing manacles on his wrists and ankles and supervised his visits with A’ Yuan, in fear of him “influencing” the boy just as he had with Lan Zhan.

Then, A’ Yuan commented on how pretty his shackles were, how he wanted to be like him when he grew up and Wei Wuxian couldn’t hold the sob, clutching his son close, kissing his forehead.

“Baba loves you, A’ Yuan. Be happy.” He managed to say before they ripped his crying baby from his arms.

He never saw A’ Yuan again from that day on and his grip on reality became thin and tenuous.

Wei Wuxian had nothing left to keep him going. With his brother and sister banned from seeing him, with Lan Wangji being whipped and confined to his own house for even attempting to rescue him from this situation, and now, with A’ Yuan being snatched from his arms, only the memory of him in his arms,........Wei Wuxian couldn’t go on. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.

And besides.......

Wouldn’t it be better if he died anyway? Without him around, A’ Yuan would have a normal life without being scrutinized. Lan Zhan would be free from his punishment and perhaps even assistance with his injuries. And Jiang Cheng and Shijie.......they wouldn’t have to worry about backlash from his actions.

Perhaps it’s better this way.

If he dyed the pure white walls of this hell a different color.

________________________

If you would like the sad ending, assume from the last line above that WWX kills himself. HOWEVER, if you would like the happy ending, continue below:

________________________

His vision started to become blurry as he wailed into the silence. He was lonely, lonely, lonely. He wanted to run, he wanted to be free. He wanted to live out his life with A’ Yuan and Lan Zhan, in a little home they called theirs, where they weren’t hounded by the cruel outside world.

But those dreams would never come true now.

Never....never.......

[.....hear.....me?]

.....Huh?

[Can you.....hear me?]

Wei Wuxian sat up straight. He recognized the consistency of this voice. It was a spirit.

One of the side effects of demonic cultivation was the ability to converse with spirits. Even though the resentful energy in his body had been restricted, this ability hadn’t disappeared. But the spirits in the Cloud Recesses had been purified or non-existant.

At least, that’s what Wei Wuxian had thought.

“I can hear you.”

[.....Good.....I.....am weak......but not enough that I can’t help.....you.]

The shackles restraining him unlocked and Wei Wuxian felt a rush of power flooding him.

Rubbing his wrists, he asked, “Who are you?”

[No one...special....just someone.....in a similar situation....as you. And someone.....trapped in this house until I......died.]

“I see........”

[It matters not. You.....do not have to feel.....sorry for.....me. I have long since made peace.....with it. But.....I lingered.....I suppose.....for my sons.]

“Your sons?”

[Yes.....] The spirit sounded wistful. [Forgive me......I will show you....the way out.....]

Wei Wuxian gathered himself together and followed the spirit’s instructions. Finding a loose floorboard and a tunnel underneath it.

“If you had made this tunnel, then why didn’t you escape?”

[I told you......for my sons......I stayed.]

Wei Wuxian nodded and gathered what little belongings he had. He jumped into the tunnel and sealed the opening with the floorboard, making sure to rip a part of his white robes and using his blood to make sure no one found out about the hollow floorboard.

He followed the tunnel out. And found himself outside the Cloud Recesses. Smelling the fresh air, he nearly teared up.

“Hey, spirit, are you there?”

[Yes?]

“I can give you a bit of resentful energy to sustain yourself. If you want to see your sons, should they still be here.”

[I......]

“You don’t have to. It was just a suggestion.”

[I......yes. I would like to.....]

Wei Wuxian stretched out a hand and let a bit of less harmful resentful energy flow into the helpful spirit. The spirit became a little more visible and Wei Wuxian gasped. She looked......so much like Lan Zhan. The same golden eyes and facial structure.

“You are....!”

[Please keep it a secret.]

“Okay. But.....what shall I address you as?”

[My surname is......Liu.]

“Then.....Senior Liu?”

[That is.....fine.]

“Then, Senior Liu, can you help me get to Lan Zhan.....and maybe A’ Yuan?”

[I......yes, I can. But you.....stay here. I will get him. Hide somewhere. We cannot risk you getting caught.]

“Okay.” Wei Wuxian used another pieces of his robes and blood to carve an invisibility talisman and waited a little bit away.

Senior Liu returned with both Lan Zhan and A’ Yuan, since it happened to be the day A’ Yuan got to visit Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan limped towards him.

“Don’t strain yourself!” Wei Wuxian scolded.

“I....I’m sorry. Wei Ying, I promised you and....”

“It’s fine. I know.....you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Mn.”

“Baba! Fuqin!” A’ Yuan was delighted to see both his parents.

“A’ Yuan.” Wei Wuxian hugged him tight. A’ Yuan had grown up so much and he had missed so, so much. He won’t miss anymore.

“Let’s go.”

Lan Zhan and Senior Liu nodded in the same exact way and Wei Wuxian nearly laughed at that.

As they left and made plans to get the rest of the Wens, Wei Wuxian smiled. Maybe his dream of having a nice life with Lan Zhan and A’ Yuan wasn’t so far off.

______________________________

In case you were wondering, they did rescue the rest of the Wens, said a ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world and disappeared and didn’t return. Lan Xichen lost his brother - and even though he didn’t know it, his mother. (Serves him right!) Wei Wuxian could either re-cultivate his golden core or cultivate demonic cultivation into a core, depending on your preference and lived happily ever after with Lan Zhan and A’ Yuan and had a small wedding ceremony with Lan Zhan’s mother watching over them.

80 notes · View notes

yellowmagicalgirl · 3 years

Text

Seklos and Gaylen, They Were Cagemates! Chapter 5: Cagemates

Plans are made by the boys' families. Kubritz offers a deal.

After four chapters, the boys are finally cagemates!

So, during the longer-than-planned hiatus, a movie was released. Don't worry, not only do I refuse to watch said movie, the exact events of RotT cannot happen in this universe because of things that happen in my outline for the AU.

Content/Spoiler warning: Grieving, loss of child, and suicidal ideation

AO3

FFN

The first thing Merlin had done when he felt his magic return to him was cast his senses outward to look for Hisirdoux.

Well, no, not exactly. The first thing he had done was groan in pain as his many injuries began to heal themselves. Morgana had already brought him to the brink of death twice, only healing him enough so that he would live, and she could continue to torture him. But, after groaning in pain, Merlin had cast out his senses to find his son.

There was no trace of Hisirdoux anywhere. Archie had been a clear signal, as was the Trollhunter. Nari, as distant as she was, had been a powerful beacon.

Hisirdoux’s magic was nowhere in this world. There was only one explanation for this: Merlin’s son was dead. And so, for the first time in many centuries (even whilst ignoring the ones between Killahead and now), Merlin Wylt allowed himself to cry. He did not allow himself to cry for long, of course. He couldn’t let his grief consume him. There was work to be done. An Eternal Night to reverse, a familiar to collect, a sword to repair, and a Heartstone to find.

Merlin had done two of those things, and he had tried to convince Archie to come with him. Merlin owed it to Hisirdoux to at least try to protect his familiar. But, as usual, Archie was too proud to listen to reason. He always thought he knew best on matters concerning Hisirdoux. And, in some ways, Archie had known better since he had known Hisirdoux for longer, but he was clearly in denial of the obvious.

That was a day ago. Now he was in the process of doing the fourth of those things. Merlin had to deal with a tribe of irritable trolls, all crammed into a too-small cave. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour.

Merlin felt a wave of energy pass through him.

It was like an agonized cry of distress coming from his son. It was short, and it was brief, but Merlin could feel Hisirdoux’s fear.

For the briefest of moments, Merlin almost hoped that maybe Hisirdoux was alive. Alive, scared, and in pain. Perhaps hoping that his master would come to save him, as selfish as Merlin knew the thought was.

But no. Hisirdoux was dead. This was merely an echo of his last dying moments, and Merlin must have been close enough to feel it. He wasn’t sure why Hisirdoux had died so far from Arcadia Oaks. Even if in life Hisirdoux hadn’t been the best at following instructions, that one was simple enough that he should’ve been able to follow it easily. Besides, there was no reason for Hisirdoux to abandon Archie like that. Could it have been Morgana? He had foreseen her trying to kill Hisirdoux, and clearly Merlin’s visions had been wrong since the formerly human Trollhunter was even younger than Hisirdoux should be now. But no. Morgana wouldn’t have killed Hisirdoux so far away. She would have dragged Hisirdoux to where Merlin lay gasping for breath and tortured and killed Hisirdoux in front of Merlin.

And to think she had once cared about the boy, or at least, seemed to have cared about him. Merlin wasn’t sure if he would ever know how early her betrayal started.

Merlin would never know how Hisirdoux had died, not unless he stumbled upon what was left of his son’s body. And call Merlin selfish, but he didn’t want to see it. Seeing his son’s corpse would only be useful if Merlin was planning on reanimating it. Bringing his son back was an act of dark magic, and Merlin would not partake in it no matter how desperately he wanted his son to be alive.

Merlin knew how the Trollhunter and his allies saw Merlin. A washed-up, bitter old man who had failed to do nearly anything useful. And Merlin had failed. He had failed his last two apprentices. He had failed to stop Morgana from going down her dark path, whether by guiding her better or just by annihilating the threat no matter what cost it would bring down, Merlin killing the king’s sister.

And he had failed Hisirdoux. For a millennium and a half, Merlin had not taken in another apprentice because he had always planned on returning to his apprentice. Tradition dictated that Merlin only take on a new apprentice should Hisirdoux die, become a master wizard, or should Merlin decide that Hisirdoux was too much of a nuisance to keep around and break the apprenticeship. No matter how frustrating Hisirdoux was sometimes, whether it was disturbing Merlin with his lute or trying to get out of doing his chores by wrestling with a broom, Merlin never would have abandoned Hisirdoux. He was far too attached to his son to do that, and so he had not taken an apprentice during the absence.

Perhaps it was time to change that. There was, after all, an orphan wizard nearby. One who had learned the hard way why a staff was only something a master wizard could safely wield. First off, though, he would need to see if she had any skill beside shadowmancy.

“Fair lady Claire,” Merlin said, approaching her. He kept his voice steady and even, betraying nothing of his grief. “Levitate that rock for me?”

She flinched.

“Sorry, Aja,” Stuart said. “He wasn’t anywhere in Arcadia. Or at least, I couldn’t find him.”

“It’s… it’s not your fault. Zadra and Steve couldn’t find Krel either,” Aja said. It had been a long day of searching for everyone gathered around the dining table of the Mothership. Stuart, Zadra, and Steve had scoured the town and woods for Krel, while Aja and the Blanks had been more successful in their search for the core scanner. Even the success felt weak, though. Between the crash and Krel’s sense of organization, it had taken her all day to find it. It hadn’t helped that three horvaths into searching, she had found herself wanting to walk up to Krel and lecture him on how just because he was smart it didn’t mean his organization patterns were the best ones to follow since only he could find things, but then she’d remembered he was missing and burst into tears. She probably wouldn’t give him the lecture when they found him, not until she had to look for something else he’d hidden away in a place that was only obvious to him.

“But we will find him,” Aja continued. “We have to.”

Aja didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if she didn’t find her brother. She placed the core scanner on the table. “Stuart, do you know how to make a second one of these? We only have one, but if we had more we could split up and look for Krel. Krel and Varvatos.”

“I can try,” Stuart said, “But I get the feeling that I won’t have all the parts. At best I can make a version with a very, very short range.”

“You still want to find the traitor?” Zadra asked.

“Our first priority is finding Krel, but if we find Varvatos in the process we’re not going to leave him to suffer,” Aja said. “We’ll bring him home to the Mothership. He sacrificed himself to save my parents, and I won’t let that sacrifice be in vain.”

Besides, depending on how badly hurt Varvatos was, he might be able to help search for Krel.

For all she knew, Varvatos had already found Krel and was trying to take care of him, especially if Krel had been knocked unconscious and Varvatos no idea where the Mothership was. That happened to Krel a lot, so surely it wasn’t too unreasonable to hope for.

Right?

Krel slowly began to wake up, and he realized he was laying on his side. That didn’t make sense. In his cage, it was impossible for him to lay on his side; he had to remain sitting up. He almost began to hope the past several delsons were all just some awful dream, but he was in so much pain from the cuts and the beating he had endured.

Krel opened his eyes.

He had been transferred to a larger cage, one where he could lay down. He tried to push himself onto all four of his hands and knees and gasped as moving brought more pain to him from every place the batons had struck him. He pushed himself up onto his lower pair of arms instead and saw Douxie laying barely a foot away from him in the same cage. White hair hung in front of his closed eyes. Krel frowned; Douxie’s hair had been darker before. Was that a normal thing that happened when he used his magic? Krel couldn’t be sure, but if it was then capturing Douxie and any other wizard must have been easy if there was unexplained glowing and hair lightening. Humans didn’t glow.

Douxie looked almost peaceful in his sleep, enough so that a small part of Krel was loathe to wake him up. That small part was very easy to ignore. Krel began to nudge at Douxie with one of his upper arms. Douxie groaned out something about arches.

“Please, please wake up.” Krel shoved a little more forcefully. Douxie had sounded hurt back when he had used his magic. Maybe that was normal. Maybe being a wizard was a constant sacrifice, which sounded extremely inefficient.

“What do you want?” Douxie hissed even though his throat hurt. Why were they even in the same cage, for that matter? Douxie wouldn’t have minded if it weren’t for the shoving.

“Oh, good, you’re okay.” Douxie opened an eye to find Krel looking concerned, except something white was blocking most of Douxie’s field of vision. Douxie opened his other eye and focused on the white strand of –

No.

Oh, fuzzbuckets, no!

As the memories of what he had done flooded back to him, Douxie sat up straight and away from Krel’s hands. His head was swimming and he felt sick as he pinched his bangs between his fingers as he glared at the stark contrast.

His hair was white.

Of course it was white. There was a reason why wizards who chose to dye their hair did not let it go bleached for very long, according to Zoe. Dark magic attacked life forces, and that attack could make dyed hair into something eternally white. Of course, this was only if the wizard using dark magic survived.

Douxie hadn’t planned on surviving. He’d planned for himself and Krel to escape, with Douxie’s escape to be death and Krel’s escape to outside of the base.

A woman in green walked towards the cage, hands on her hips. As Krel tensed, Douxie realized she was the same one who had tased Krel. She stopped in front of the cage and gazed at the boys smugly.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,” she said. “I’m Colonel Kubritz, and I’m going to give you two a deal.”

“Oh, really? And what do we have to give you to let us go?” Krel asked. He didn’t trust this colonel at all, but it was worth asking.

She chuckled. “Oh, no, both of you will be spending the rest of your lives in captivity. I just have a way for you two to extend those lives: if one of you resists experimentation or an order, the other will be punished.” She turned around and began to walk away before casting a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and keep the conversation quiet, or there will be consequences.”

“Resist as much as you can,” Douxie said in a low voice as soon as she exited the room. Krel looked towards him and saw him staring at the ground. “Don’t pay what happens to me any mind.”

“What? Didn’t you hear her say that you’ll get punished if I resist?” Krel suspected that they’d get punished anyways, but any minimization was a good thing.

“Even if I somehow get out of here, I won’t have anywhere to go. I’ve used dark magic, and it’ll be obvious to everyone.”

“Dark magic?”

“It’s dangerous, and it feeds on life forces, and only evil people use it. Evil, or desperate, like I was desperate to save you. You’re welcome, by the way. But they won’t see it as desperation.”

“Thank you,” Krel said. You don’t seem evil to me, he didn’t say. An evil person wouldn’t have saved Krel, except what did that make Varvatos? Varvatos had saved Krel over and over again, despite the danger it had posed to Varvatos. Despite the way that Varvatos betrayed the Tarrons and had led to Krel and his family being hurt over and over again.

“My familiar, my master, and my,” Douxie cut himself off, shaking his head and biting his lip. “The coven I’ve been taken in by will all outcast me at best. They might just outright kill me for being dangerous. You, though, I’m sure you have something left to live for. If you resist, you might live longer than if you don’t.”

Krel stared at Douxie for a long moment, noting the defeat in his posture. “No.”

Douxie looked at Krel. There were tears forming in his eyes. Krel found the strange urge to hug his companion, but no. The two of them were getting unwanted touches from everyone else, so why should Krel do the same to Douxie? Granted, he had already shoved Douxie, but he would be better from now on.

“No, I’m not going to let you die here,” Krel continued. “Even if everyone else casts you out, you can stay with me. My sister will come for me, and when she does, I’m going to make sure that both of us escape with her.”

Author's note: Now that Claire has officially been made more important to this fic than she was in 3Below season 2 what no I'm definitely not still salty that freakin' Kanjigar got a cameo while Claire only got mentioned in the last five minutes she probably won't show up again (though she may get mentioned).

#krexie #toa merlin #claire nuñez #aja tarron #stuart of durio #lieutenant zadra #krel tarron #hisirdoux casperan #colonel kubritz #area 49b #trollhunters #3below #toawizards #tales of arcadia #and they were cagemates #seklos and gaylen they were cagemates!#my writing #Suicide #death mention

18 notes · View notes

izzielizzie · 3 years

Text

Footnotes in the Story of Your Life

Nancy Drew never wanted to move from everything she knew in New York to an unwelcoming town in Maine, and she secretly refuses to enjoy her upcoming final year of high school, but that might not even happen when she and four Horseshoe Bay natives - Bess Marvin the socialite, Ace the stoic son of a single mother, George Fan the town foster child/screw up, and Ned Nickerson HBPD’s favorite ex-con - are accused of attempted murder. Nancy’s startled - when she said she wanted something interesting to happen she didn’t mean this - but soon she starts to notice that not everything is as it seems here (AU).

Title from “Tolerate It” by Taylor Swift

Nancy’s mother finds her sitting on her bed on the first day of summer with a framed photograph in her hands. Kate Drew softens at the sight of her daughter, her usually perfect posture long forgotten as she wilts into the bed.

“Nance,” she says quietly, and Nancy instantly looks up, her face crumpling. Kate crosses the bare room to sit next to her only daughter, wrapping a secure arm around her shoulder. “Moving must be hard, huh?” For the past month, the family of three had been packing up their New York home in River Heights, loading things into trucks as their friends came by with endless casseroles and ceramic dishes they didn’t know what to do with. Nancy, as social as her mother before her, had drawn into herself more and more as she made her goodbyes.

“Liven up Nance,” Carson, Kate’s husband and Nancy’s father had said not too long ago as they ate the tuna casserole Helen Coring - Nancy’s best friend - had brought earlier that day as they put the contents of Nancy’s room into a U Haul truck. “We’re moving to River Heights Drive. Not that much of a change, right?”

Nancy had spent the rest of the night glaring at her father, resenting his audacity, and Kate had taken over with the reassurances.

“Yeah. I just hate the idea that I’m missing senior year.”

“Well, you’re not missing it per say. You’re still going to school here.”

Nancy looks at the picture of her, Helen, and another friend named Burt at the junior prom, their arms around each other. Nancy sighs. She considers launching into a tirade about how New York and Maine are very different places and no she is missing school, the important parts at least, but she knows that this move is hard on her mother too, so she refrains. “I guess so,” she says, reluctantly putting the picture on the stand she had placed next to her bed.

Kate kisses the top of Nancy’s head. “Good. Now why don’t you explore and I’ll see what casserole I can heat up.”

“Ugh Mom,” Nancy says, already grinning as she pulls her blue raincoat from one of the boxes on the floor in front of her.

Nancy’s wanderings lead her to a small seafood restaurant with a great view of the Atlantic. Nancy’s not used to being this close to large bodies of water, and it’s making her a little nauseous. Her father, a native of Boston, assures her that she’ll get over the salt air smell, but Nancy’s not so sure.

She looks up at the claw shaped sign, creaking eerily on its pole. The Bayside Claw Nancy reads. What a fitting name. And a fitting sign. Nancy’s about to turn and keep walking, since she’s not a big seafood person, but she sees a handful of well dressed men enter the restaurant. Nancy’s spent enough time in New York City to know when a well dressed person is just fashion conscious, or when they’re rich and up to something. These men are definitely the latter. Nancy pauses for a few moments to make sure that the men have had the time to settle, since she locked eyes with a young man with sandy blond hair and the beginnings of a goatee, and she doesn’t want him to think she’s following him.

Nancy is an unnecessarily paranoid person.

She pushes through the doors of the restaurant and is nearly mowed over by a person the moment she steps into the dining area. “Whoah, I’m sorry,” she says, stepping back in time to see a woman with long black hair and an oversized cardigan stagger backwards, clearly discombobulated by well… everything.

“Ugh, Victoria,” A girl about Nancy’s age in a green uniform grumbles. She catches sight of Nancy. “Sorry about that ma’am,” the waitress says, reaching down to haul the woman (presumably Victoria) off the ground. The waitress pushes Victoria out of the door that’s still held open by Nancy. “Go be drunk somewhere else!” The waitress - whose name tag reads George - turns to Nancy. “Can I help you?”

Nancy freezes, not quite sure why to say she’s here now that she’s been spotted by this rather vocal waitress when she’s saved by another waitress, this time in yellow.

“George, Mr. Hudson wants us to give his wife food,” the waitress says in a posh British accent. She’s holding a wobbly plate of fish and salad in one hand.

George turns from Nancy to the new waitress, annoyance crossing her face. “Well what do you want me to do? Roll it onto a cart for her? Go bring it outside!”

“Mr. Hudson left his wife outside?” Nancy asks, without thinking.

“Yeah, that fellow over there,” the waitress in yellow points to the sandy haired man Nancy had tailed into here.

“And that fellow is both incredibly rich and able to give us a boost and my foster dad so maybe you should shut up and give Tiffany her food,” George snaps. Both Bess and Nancy flush.

“Sorry,” Bess mumbles, stepping away and around Nancy to slip through the front door. Nancy’s a little jostled when Bess passes her, and she spins a little, turning towards the kitchen. She catches sight of a young man in a colorful Hawaiian shirt ringing the bell to signify an order. They lock eyes - ice blue on sky - and Nancy feels a wave of déjà vu pass over her, but she shakes it off. She turns back to George, who’s still looking at her, waiting for Nancy to say something.

Finally, Nancy makes up her mind. If she’s going to be stuck in this tiny town she might as well do something to occupy her time. “Are you hiring?”

George looks her over. “Are you new here?”

Oh. So it’s that kind of tiny town. “Yes, my family just moved here.”

George nods. “Right. Well, we could always use a new waitress. We had one leave for college and Bess isn’t the brightest so…” George trails off, cocking her head. “Do you hear that?”

Both Nancy and George tilt their heads towards the front door of the restaurant, where they can hear muffled shouting. Both girls look at each other for a moment before Nancy spins and pushes the door open. George is hot on her heels, and after a few moments, a third pair of feet joins them. Nancy turns to see shaggy blond hair under a black cap and knows that it’s the boy from behind the counter.

Nancy stops suddenly when she sees Bess standing over a body, shock on her face. “Omph,” Nancy says as both George and the other guy come barreling into her. She stumbles, and George catches her around the waist. Nancy opens her mouth to ask the very obvious question hanging in the air-

“Bess? What happened?” a decidedly male voice asks, taking the words straight from Nancy’s mouth. She looks up to see a tall boy with cocoa skin exiting a blue truck parked a foot behind Bess, the body, and the sleek car looming over the person Nancy can only assume is Mrs. Hudson.

A strangled cry escapes George, and she rushes forward, dropping to her knees next to the woman. “Help her!” George says, looking up at the four of them as she lifts Mrs. Hudson’s head to rest on her knees. She cradles it in her hands like an injured bird.

“What happened?” the Hawaiian shirt boy repeats. Bess is sobbing now.

“I turned to go back to the restaurant and all of a sudden she cried out and fell! I don’t know!”

Nancy, still not quite sure what in the world is happening, crouches next to George and Mrs. Hudson. She lifts one of Mrs. Hudson’s hands, feeling her wrist for a pulse.

“She’s not dead,” she says as sirens come wailing towards them.

Fifteen minutes later, Nancy, Bess, George, and the two boys are sitting in the hospital waiting room with Mr. Hudson, George leaning against Mr. Hudson’s shoulder.

“The Hudsons have been her foster parents for the longest out of any of her homes,” Bess says, leaning over to whisper in Nancy’s ear. Nancy smiles at her. “I remember what it’s like being new. I only moved in with my aunt here in Horseshoe Bay last month. I used to live in London. I’m Bess by the way.”

“Nancy,” Nancy says.

“Welcome. Where did you live before?”

“New York.”

“City?”

“State.”

“Oh that’s nice. I love the city, did you go often?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Nancy says as the waiting room doors swing open. She’s startled to see a man in a uniform striding towards their little group. He’s probably in his thirty or forties, and he’s got a no nonsense look on his face.

“Are you the people found at the scene of the crime?” he asks in lieu of greeting.

“Woah, woah, crime?” Mr. Hudson asks, standing up, startling George, who had been dozing on his shoulder.

The officer turns to Mr. Hudson solemnly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There was poison found in your wife’s system, Mr. Hudson, which means that someone had attempted to kill her.”

Everyone turns to Bess, except Mr. Hudson and the officers.

Mr. Hudson stares at the officer for a moment before sinking into his seat, a look of genuine fear on his face. “Who would want to kill Tif?”

“Not me I swear!” Bess cries, latching on to Nancy’s arm. Nancy gently pries her fingers off her arm.

The officer shakes his head, ignoring the distraught waitress. “I’m not sure sir, but it’s our job to figure it out. Why is why I need to speak to these five.”

They all look at Mr. Hudson: Nancy, George, Bess, and the two boys whose names Nancy still doesn’t know. But Mr. Hudson’s face is ashen, like he’s going into shock. The officer motions at the young people. “Come along.”

The five of them look at each other uncertainly before standing and following the officer into the hall. Nancy catches sight of his badge: Chief E. O. McGinnis.

Now, Nancy, being the daughter of a lawyer, should know her rights, and the right to remain silent is the biggest one, especially since she’s a minor, but she’s too confused and terrified to think straight.

She’s being investigated for attempted murder. Attempted murder. God her mother’s going to kill her.

The unlikely five line up against the wall. Chief McGinnis paces in front of them. “Alright. I’m looking at an ex-con,” he pauses in front of the guy from the truck. “The town screw up,” (this time he’s in front of George). “A city girl,” he’s in front of Bess now, who looks rather guilty in Nancy’s opinion. He moves to the fancy shirt guy standing next to Nancy. “An HBPD legacy and Nancy Drew.”

Except, that’s not what he says.

He pauses in front of Nancy, and tilts his head at her. “Who are you again?”

Nancy stares at him as the weird feeling of déjà vu hits her again. No. That’s not right. He knows who she is.

But she doesn’t know who he is.

Nancy feels her hands start to shake. Everything here is wrong. She should be sitting at the police station. She should know what’s happening. But she doesn’t because she’s being accused of attempted murder.

But it shouldn’t be attempted. Nancy slides down the wall, her hands pulling at her skin where she can feel the ghost of a locket.

My mother’s gonna kill me she thinks. But no, her mom’s dead. And Ryan isn’t George’s foster dad. He’s her dad.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t ri-

“Okay just give her space.”

When Nancy comes to, she’s looking up into the face of the boy who had been working at the Bayside Claw. Nancy’s laying on the ground, her head against the cold tile. The boy gently slips an arm under her shoulders, helping her to sit up.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks.

Nancy doesn’t know the answer to that. He can tell, so he tries a different question. “What’s your name?”

“Nancy Drew,” she croaks. He smiles.

“Hi Nancy Drew. My name is Ace Hardy.”

“Hi,” Nancy mumbles back.

“And that’s Nick,” Ace says, pointing to the boy from the truck who’s hovering on the outskirts of the circle of people around her. “I hear you’ve met the girls.”

Nancy nods and Ace gently slips his other arm under her knees, lifting her up in his arms like she weighs nothing. He walks her towards the waiting room, talking as he goes. “That, Nancy, was a panic attack. Have those often?”

Nancy leans her pounding head against his muscular shoulder. “No.”

“Well, first time for everything. Got anyone we can call?”

“My dad,” she mumbles. Ace nods to Bess, who rushes forward with her phone out. Nancy recites her father’s number, and Bess puts it to her ear.

“Hello? Hi, yes, this is Bess Marvin. I’m calling about your daughter. She’s in the hospital, she had a panic attack.” Bess is quiet for a moment. “Nancy Drew, yes.” After a moment, Bess rattles off directions and hangs up.

Ace puts Nancy down on a chair next to Mr. Hudson. Nancy looks at him sideways. She’s about to say something to him when suddenly - as if her brain has been reset or something - she forgets what she was going to say.

“Want some water Nancy?” Ace asks. Nancy smiles at the unfamiliar boy.

“Yes, please,” she says. He stands and heads to the water cooler, Bess taking his spot. “What did the officer mean by Ace is a legacy?”

“Oh, that,” Bess says sadly. “Ace’s father was a Captain on the police force. He was in a chase once when Ace was a child. His car got hit, and he didn’t make it.”

“That’s so sad,” Nancy says.

“I know,” Bess agrees. “His mother is all he has. She’s a librarian, but she doesn’t make a lot of money. They just get by with her salary and the pension from the state. That’s why Ace turned down MIT. To work at The Claw.”

“That must be so hard,” Nancy says. She can’t imagine giving up her dream of going to Columbia.

“It is,” Bess agrees as the doors to the waiting room are pushed open. Nancy sees her father and mother being trailed by an annoyed McGinnis.

“You can’t just take a suspect home! She has to be fingerprinted! She has to give her statement!”

Carson turns on McGinnis. “Excuse me, but my daughter is a minor and she’s had a panic attack.”

“We’re taking her,” Kate adds. She spots Nancy and rushes to her, crouching to put her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “Nancy, baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Okay, we’re taking you home, don’t worry, Mom��s here.”

It’s a simple statement, and normally Nancy would complain that it makes her sound like a child, but it relaxes her nonetheless. She slumps into her mom, letting the exhaustion and confusion sink over her.

Kate runs her fingers through her red hair as Carson argues with McGinnis, who finally relents.

“Fine, fine, you all can go if Drew is going. But I expect you back at the station at eight am sharp.”

Nancy is pulled to her feet by her mother, and before she moves, she puts a hand on Mr. Hudson’s shoulder. “Your wife will get better sir,” she says. Mr. Hudson puts his hand over hers.

“Thanks.”

Nancy waves goodbye to everyone else before following her parents. As she falls asleep in the back seat of her dad’s car, all she can think is that something about this entire night is off.

#cw nancy drew fanfiction #nancy drew #ace #bess marvin #george fan #nick nickerson #au #queued

14 notes · View notes

moonflower-31 · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 6

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of murders, cases, Serial killer facts,

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner

~~~~~~~~~~

○●♡●○

It had been about two months or so since your little impromptu sleepover at the resident genius's place. Things had gotten a little better, at least on your part.

"Hey!"

You jumped from your make-do desk in your room, snapping your head towards the doorway where a friendly face awaited you. Gabriel had a bag of sweets in one hand and a malt in the other. "Jesus, Gabe you scared me." You cursed, holding a hand to your chest.

"At least we're even." He points out, putting the malt on the table in front of you. Also inconveniently on top of your written notes for the paper you had to write. You growled and moved the drink, glaring at your best friend.

"You've gotten even with me plenty of times since then! How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" You ask in exasperation. Gabriel pretends to ponder your question as he pops a caramel apple sucker into his mouth.

"Says the girl who didn't call me to tell me she was home and instead decided to stay with the coworker she has a crush on. You didn't even bribe me with details!" He complained, dumping a few sweets in front of you.

You grumpily grab one of the sweets he had graciously offered and tossed it into your mouth. "It was one time! And I hadn't slept for like, four days! Besides, it wasn't my fault my mother decided to drop by and visit!" You huff.

"Yeah yeah. You know how much I hate that hag. Nothing against you, sugar tits." Gabriel comments, pulling the pop from his mouth. "But still, no excuse not to call me. Send me a text even. Some proof of life." He grumbled. "That malt is yours by the way. Iris insisted I get one for you while we were out. Couldn't say no."

You look over at the bright pink striped cup dripping with condensation that created a wet circle on the desk. For being pissed at you for over two months, Gabriel was a good friend.

You took the malt and started sipping generously. "I'm sorry, okay? What do I have to do to prove it to you?" You ask.

Gabriel smirked. You hated when he got ideas.

"Tell me about your night with Mister teacher's pet. Then I'll consider it." He teased, quickly bopping your nose.

"I already told you. After my bitch mother confronted me, he convinced me to head to his place. I couldn't say no. He eventually read me a poem and I fell asleep. And… he knows my real name now. Happy?" You asked with a groan.

"Oh come on, that can't be all of it!" He whined, almost like a child about to throw a tantrum for being forced to eat his vegetables. Not that Gabriel was any different. He would fight you tooth and nail if you tried.

"It is! Nothing else happened! No kiss, no dramatic display of feelings, no nothing. Just a really awkward drive to work." You huffed.

The thought of the drive was a little hurtful. After the night you both had, well more like morning and you slept through the rest of the day, Spencer had been distant. It didn't last long as a couple days later they all had to get on the jet for another case. Spencer then began to re-warm up to you and now you knew nothing different. Though he didn't try to flirt with you anymore. Not like Morgan. But the previous moments where he had you backed up against the map, or had called you a good girl. He never did it again. And to be honest, you missed it despite how embarrassed you were afterwards.

"Boo! And I thought you liked the guy!" Gabriel exclaimed, acting baffled at the chain of events in your life. He then shrugged. "More fish in the sea I guess." He teased, obviously gaging you for a response.

"I do! Just… I'm not as obscenely obvious about it as you want me to be!" You hissed, sucking up more chocolate malt into your mouth with a little bit of a pissy attitude.

"Well if you were, I'm sure he'd be your teacher's aide boyfriend by now. Now, who's right and wrong in this situation? Hm? Yeah, me. No debate." He insists, putting the sucker back into his mouth.

"Shut up. I have to write this paper. For my doctorate in social science." You explain. "Just because you stopped going to school doesn't mean I can't go ahead and add another doctorate to my belt." You try to change the subject, hoping Gabriel would ease up on you.

"You and those doctorates. Are you seriously trying to build a filing cabinet up there or are you just bored with working for the FBI already?" Gabriel asks, flopping down onto your bed.

"Neither. I just want to know as much as I can in all of my areas of schooling. Be taken seriously." You insist.

"Boring. Why don't you take classes on making candy or something? That would be seriously cool. And then you can open up your own business just to spite those parents of yours!

I can see it now!" He rants, hanging his head over the edge of your mattress as he spreads his hands as if displaying the business name.

You roll your eyes. "No thanks. That sounds like something you should do though. You'd fit right into that role, you know. Candyman." You tease. "Now I really gotta finish this paper." You insist.

"Fine fine. Just be sure to come down from your academic heaven long enough to eat dinner once Iris is finished." He insists, winking at you before he leaves your room.

Finally, you had your peace and quiet. But it was weird. The peace and quiet was very quickly becoming deafening by the influx of thoughts. Not the helpful kind either.

You began to come up blank on ideas for your paper and had more ideas on how you could have maybe done something different to prevent that awkward drive to work all those weeks ago. Where did this uncertainty come from?

You grumble and close your laptop after ten minutes of no progress. Maybe you just needed a break. Then again, it was your day off. And you didn't feel like wishing bad things on someone just so you'd be able to go into work.

Almost as if the universe had been listening and decided to throw you a sickened bone, you heard your phone begin to ring. You eagerly pick it up, knowing it would be something to keep you busy.

"Hello, Agent (L/N)." You answer without checking the caller ID.

"Yes, (L/N) I need you to come in. We have another case." Hotch answers the phone. You feel a slight feeling of excitement strike at your core. Sure, you'd been on 6 cases so far, but you enjoyed being around your fellow agents and putting another unsub away.

"Do I get any insight, Hotch?" You ask.

"It's a case in Lebanon Kansas. We have a large group of bodies piling up. We have two suspects we believe are working with each other. We just need to profile them and catch them before they kill again. I'll inform everyone once you've arrived." As soon as he finished, he hung up. He didn't give you any chance to reply. Typical Hotch fashion.

You stand up immediately, grabbing your bag and your go-bag you had packed at all times just in case this happened. You grabbed the malt you still had and drank the rest of it, grabbing a couple of the caramel apple pops Gabriel had left and shoving them into your pocket.

You wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a plastic container and putting some of dinner into it.

"Woah, woah, where the hell are you going so late?" Gabriel asked in a fatherly tone. You rolled your eyes and glared at him for a moment.

"I have work. Duh."

"Work? I thought you were off?" Iris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am. But unfortunately serial killers don't care that I'm off. Sorry guys. I promise I'll call you guys once I get back, okay?" You promise, finding a lid and putting it on the tubberware.

"You better. Or else I'll stick gum in your hair. And not the easy to get out stuff." Gabriel threatened teasingly, taking a quick bite of his food. "Have fun arresting some muttonheads!" He called.

You chuckle and sling your bag over your shoulder. "Will do!" You reply before you turn around and head out of your shared apartment.

○●♡●○

"Hey! (L/N)!"

You turn your head as you arrive to the bullpen. You smile as the eccentric Penelope Garcia raced up to you to give you a hug once you were down the stairs.

You graciously accepted the hug and turned to everyone else. "What did I miss?" You ask.

"Nothing much. Only Reid finally showing us another magic trick!" Penelope answered for everyone. Morgan chuckled and Reid blushed slightly. Emily was leaned slightly against Reid's desk, looking at you warmly.

"Seriously, he's really good." Emily affirmed. You chuckled and walked over in interest.

"Really now? Show me." You insist, standing in front of Spencer. He looked up at you and did a nervous chuckle.

"W-well your gonna have to turn around." He says, giving you an adorable michevious smirk.

"Oh come on-" you begin.

"He does this everytime, you'll get used to it." Emily adds, laughing slightly as she begins to turn around.

"Spencerrr… please? For me?" You asked, batting your eyes pitifully. You knew it would probably get you nowhere, but you could at lease try.

"No." He insisted.

"Pleaseeee!" You beg again, putting your hands in a clasped position. You even bended your knees slightly to add to the effect.

Instead of the immediate rejection, he pondered for a moment and stared at you.

"Come on kid, one person knows a magician's tricks. Let her be your protégé." Morgan suggests. You giggle and shook your head.

"No really, it's fine. You don't have to show me-" you begin to backtrack, not wanting to force Spencer into showing you.

"I'll do it. I-I mean… I have to find someone to pass my gifts onto." He chuckles, rubbing his neck a little nervously.

"Really?"

"Yeah!" He expressed.

Morgan raised an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle as he watched you two. He leaned over to Emily who had made her way over to where he stood and whispered into her ear.

Spencer then told everyone to turn their heads away except for you. Then he began to show you the way he made the mini bottle rocket. He wrapped his hands around yours and helped you with each step. The warmth of his hands spread to your cheeks, and the touch of them sent shivers down your spine.

"Then turn it upside down and…" Spencer instructed in a whisper, helping you to turn the cap upside down. You watched the foaming top for a few seconds, moving closer towards the unknowing danger of the cap. As soon as it began to jump up, Spencer pushed you back with an inaudible warning. You watched as the bottle skyrocketed and flew fast Hotch's ear. Through this, his hand clutched as your shoulder and refused to leave it.

"Reid, I thought I told you not to do that." Hotch warned.

Reid's face grew a little brighter with embarrassment. You didn't know what came upon you then, but you stood up and gulped. "It-it was me. He taught me and I shot it. Sorry sir." You insisted.

Hotch's lips pulled into a slight smile as he looked back towards you. He didn't say anything afterwards, but you knew he was just teasing you both. "Meet up in the confrence room in five minutes, we have another case." He says after he cleared his throat. You nodded with a cheerful smile and put your bag in your chair. You glanced to Spencer, flashing him a gentle smile before you turned to enter the conference room.

You entered the room and took your seat, taking the tablet out that Garcia had given you before. "So what do we have?" You asked.

"We have what is assumed to be over a dozen bodies killed with different MO's and different stages of aggression. The only thing that links them are the DNA from one or both of these suspects; Jensen and Sam Westchester. And boy do they have long records. That's why we were able to find their DNA matches so quick." Penelope answered.

Spencer took a seat beside you, causing your heart to skip just slightly. "How come we don't have these men yet? Why do they need our help?" You ask.

"We need to apprehend them. And get a confession. The Kansas state court system has been known to be unpredictable. Sometimes evidence is enough, other times they get off with a warning and community service." Hotch answers.

"At least they do that." Morgan grumbled. "How come we don't have these guys yet? Are they that slick?"

"Unfortunately yes. They are like Houdini when it comes to busting out of prisons and facilities. The last prison they were held in, one up in Ohio, said they were able to escape through knocking out a guard and switching clothes with him. They were in for a robbery charge." Penelope continued.

"So why escalate to murder? Unless these murders were scattered." You ask.

"They are. Over 15 years worth. It looks like they could maybe have more." Spencer spoke up, looking over the picture of one of the more recent bodies.

"It's quite possible. After all, Harold Shipman managed to get away with 218 proven murders. But they think he could've done as many as 250." You answer, sharing a serial killer fact you found interesting.

"So we just need to profile these boys and figure out the motive. And if we apprehend them, keep them apart." Emily points out.

"Why do you say that?" Rossi asks.

"If you notice the trend in each of these escapes, they only manage to escape when in contact with the other. In the prison they had time to be able to see one another and formulate a plan. Even when in questioning they were able to get notes to each other."

"Then we'll have to split up and get seperate confessions. These two are brothers, and neither seem to fit the submissive type.' Hotch explains.

"Two alpha males killing for seemingly no reason for half their lives. This'll be easy to get them to confess and rat out their partner." You say sarcastically.

"We have to try. Wheels up in thirty." Hotch announces, standing up and leaving the room.

You sigh and pick up the tablet. "Garcia, can you go ahead and check more than just their juvie records? I wanna have a list of information I can pick from for the profile. Possibly pinpoint some areas of their lives that lead to this behavior." You ask.

"Oh, but of course Queen! I'll get straight on that. But most of it will probably be sealed." She warned.

"Unseal those records Garcia. Anything that can help us." Morgan interjects as he grabs his bag and he too leaves the conference room. Garcia nods to him and quickly clicks her heels as she leaves the room. You sigh and pick up your things as you prepare to get onto the jet.

"You didn't have to defend me."

"Hm?" You ask, turning to look at Spencer. "Oh, you mean the rocket-thingy?" You clarify. "I was the one to beg you to teach me. Let's just be happy it didn't hit him in the head." You giggle. Spencer looked at you intently for a few moments before he nodded and turned his head away silently. Although it caused you to be uncertain, you brushed it off and walked out to your desk to grab your things.

As you grab your bags, you feel the small raised bulge in your pocket. You remember the caramel apple pops and smile. At least you could enjoy one of these on the way to deal with a pair of serial killers. Fun.

You pulled the sucker from the wrapper and popped it into your mouth, beginning your trek out to the jet. As you begin to walk towards the elevator, you notice a pair of hazel eyes following you. You feel a slight burning sensation on the back of your neck and your cheeks as you realized. He looked away once he noticed you were staring back.

Was he really staring, or was he just spacing out? You hoped it was the former. You were practically begging and praying for it to be. But you knew you'd never be that lucky.

As you began walking, you heard a jumble of feet behind you and the jingle of things inside a bag getting tossed around. "(Y/N!)" You heard. You widened your eyes and turned around, glad no one besides Spencer had been behind you.

"Spencer! You can't just call me by my first name right now!" You hissed.

"S-sorry, I just wanted to apologize if I sounded upset with you. I… I find it honorable that you tried to defend me. No one really does." He explained. You felt your heart melt a little.

"Spencer… I didn't think that in the slightest." You knew you were lying, but it was going to make him feel better. Besides, it wasn't that big of a deal. "And if that last part is true then I'll be your legendary defender. Like Voltron!" You insist, already beginning to geek out in front of your workplace crush. Way to go, (Y/N).

"Voltron? What is that? Is it like Star Trek?" He asked, beginning to walk towards the jet with you. You widen your eyes at him and gasp playfully.

"You, haven't seen Voltron Legendary Defender? Okay, when we get back you HAVE to come over and watch it with me. Afterwards we can watch some documentaries." You insist, practically bouncing on your toes. Spencer looked over you and smiled, unable to tell you no.

"Sounds like a plan."

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x you #spencer #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fandom

110 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Surrogate - Chapter 8

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1789

Rating: E

Warnings: Pregnancy, talk of miscarriage, medical proceedures

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 8

Everyone had told you there was nothing to worry about. The embryo implantation was one of the easiest parts of the whole surrogacy process. No harder than a pap smear and there was nothing you needed to really worry about doing differently. You just had to wait and see if it worked. Yet, as you say in the chair with your feet in stirrups and the doctor crouched between your legs you were filled with intense anxiety.

It was strange really. Natasha seemed to have deployed the self-preservation technique of expecting the worst so she wouldn't be hurt when the worst happened. She'd gone in to have her eggs harvested saying there probably wouldn't be any. When she was told they were happy with the number they harvested, she decided that none would become viable embryos and when she was told they had at least five good looking embryos to implant, she decided that none of the three they were using would take. You assumed that if they did take she'd start saying there would be a miscarriage just to prepare herself for the potentially bad news.

Clint on the other hand seemed to be cheerily optimistic about it. You weren't sure if that was just his way of trying to balance Natasha out. He had his moments where he was so sure it was going to work that he'd start freaking out about the idea of being anyone's dad that seemed genuine. Otherwise, it did just seem like he was trying to get Natasha's head out of the dark cloud that was surrounding her.

You knew it was going to work. It had to. Everything made sense and this was going to happen and they were going to be parents and you were going to give that to them. You knew it was the truth, right down to your core. Yet, as you sat in the chair as vulnerable as you’ve ever been, you couldn’t help but think; what if you were wrong?

You clung to Natasha’s hand and she held it close to her chest as Clint stood with his arm wrapped around her waist, his eyes darting everywhere like he was trying not to look directly at your vag on display, as if he hadn’t been all up in it before.

“Okay,” the doctor said, pulling the catheter and then speculum out. “All done. You can get redressed. You don’t have to do anything special today. Take it easy but you shouldn’t just go home and get into bed. Get up. Walk around. Watch TV. Use the bathroom if you need to. Just no vigorous exercise.”

“Are you sure? There’s nothing we can do to increase the odds?” Clint asked.

She shook her head as she began to clean up. “Now it’s just a waiting game. But you’ll be back in two days for a blood test and we’ll know if it worked, so this stress of the unknown you’re all feeling will be over soon and you can hopefully have the stress of preparing for a baby instead.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, that’s much better, isn’t it, Nat?”

Natasha forced a smile and you got up. “Make an appointment for two weeks for a blood test and when we know the result we’ll work out what appointment to make next.”

“Will, do,” Clint said. “Thanks, doc.”

I went and redressed and met Clint and Natasha out in the waiting room. “Alright?” Clint said.

“Yep,” you agreed.

“We made an appointment for two weeks,” Natasha said. The way she spoke was stiff and forced. Almost as if she was afraid that saying too much would cause the embryos to fail their implantation.

“Great,” you said, with a nod.

Clint slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled Natasha close. “Can I tell you both a secret?” He whispered conspiratorially as the three of you headed out to the hospital parking lot.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I hate being the together one,” he said. “Come on you two, let’s try not to think about it, and in two days we’ll know right?”

You nodded. “I just… I know this is going to work. This is what I do. But if I’m wrong, I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“Oh, babe,” Clint sighed.

Natasha stopped walking and stepped in front of you, she looked directly into your eyes. The green of eyes seemed to pierce right into you. “If this doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. I’m not going to pretend it won’t hurt, because it will. But I will always be grateful that you even gave it a go. This is our only chance to have kids, and the fact you were willing to give it to us, however small it is, is the greatest gift anyone has ever given to me.”

By the time she had finished talking you were weeping. She pulled you into her arms and you buried your face in her neck. You felt an overwhelming urge to tell her you loved her but the fact you didn’t even know what that meant right now made you hold it back. Maybe it was just that you loved her because she was your best friend, but the more time you spent with her and Clint the more you felt it wasn’t just friends.

“Alright,” Clint said, rubbing both of your backs. “Let’s get easy-bake back home, we’ve got doctor's orders sloth happening. We don’t want to waste it.”

You spent the next couple of days taking it easy. You had taken the week off because of the doctor’s appointments taking up so much time. So you just caught up with tv shows and ate food that was probably very bad for you.

Two days later Clint and Natasha took you in for the blood test, and then you just went back to work as usual. Not that there was a lot going on. There were a few agents out in deep cover and Steve and Tony had some appearances to make. So for you, it was just honing your skills.

You were on the firing ranging trying to improve your accuracy with a handgun when you felt your phone vibrate. You flicked the safety on your gun and holstered it before answering. Unfortunately, the room was still full of the sound of gunfire and it wasn't until you got into the armory that you could hear the other person on the line.

“Shit, sorry,” you apologized. “Noisy room.”

The woman on the other end told you she was from the doctor's office and confirmed it was you as you bounce nervously from foot to foot and went about the procedure for locking your weapon back up while juggling your phone.

“We have the results of your pregnancy test,” the woman said.

“Yes,” you replied. “What…? Is it…? Am I…?”

“The results are positive,” she said. “Congratulations…”

The receptionist kept talking but you didn't hear anything past that point. It was all white noise as your excitement took you over and all you could think about was putting the god damned gun away so you could tell your best friends they were going to be parents.

“Sorry,” you said, quickly. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You were transferring your care to… Uh… The Avengers facility?” She repeated.

“Yes, right,” you said. “In-house.”

“Okay, well we’ll forward all the records on to them. You should have your first appointment in four weeks with an ultrasound. Then they'll go from there.”

“Thank you,” you babbled. “Yeah, thank you very much. I'll go speak to them.”

“You're very welcome,” she said. “Congratulations again.”

You disconnected the call and shoved your phone in your pocket as you hurriedly locked the gun back up and dashed out of the armory.

“FRIDAY,” you said as you sped out of the hallway and across the grounds. “Where are Natasha and Clint?”

“Agent Barton is training behind building C with Miss Bishop,” the AI replied. “And Agent Romanoff is in combat room three with Miss Maximoff.”

“Ah, shit,” you cursed, stopping dead in your tracks. They were in two different directions and if you went and collected Clint before you went to get Natasha, which would be the most logical thing to do, he'd just bug you for the results the whole way. “Tell them to come to the function room.”

You changed direction and headed to the main building. The top floor was a function room that was primarily where parties were held and contained a full bar. You took the elevator up and took out a bottle of champagne and hid it so it was sitting in the sink under a dish towel the foil already removed so you could easily pop the cork, and quickly poured yourself a drink that would look like a cocktail without being one using grenadine and orange juice.

You were sipping on the slightly too sweet drink when Natasha rushed into the room and stopped dead. Her eyes darted from your face to the drink in your hand and her face fell. Right away you regretted the ruse. “No, no, no,” you babbled, putting the glass down. Clint skidded into the room behind Natasha and stopped dead.

“What? What's going on? You got the results?” He asked looking around the room for some clue as to whether you were pregnant or not.

“I did,” you said, quickly trying to waylay the sadness that had struck Natasha so suddenly. “I am. Pregnant that is. You're going to be parents.”

“What?” Natasha said, blinking at you. “But the drink…?”

“It's orange juice and grenadine,” you said, getting out the champagne from the sink. “I got this out for the two of you to celebrate.”

“Oh my god!” Natasha exclaimed. “You little… I'm gonna kill you!”

“After the baby’s born right?” You asked as she and Clint approached you.

“Immediately after,” she said, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close. Clint wrapped his arms around both of you and squeezed you both into a huge bearhug.

“Congratulations, guys,” you said, softly. “You're gonna be parents.”

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered.

The three of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before slowly pulling apart. Clint kept his hands on Natasha’s hips and you popped the cork on the champagne. “You guys should celebrate.”

Natasha looked up into Clint’s blue eyes and smiled. “Hey, Nat,” Clint said. “You're gonna be a mommy.”

Natasha made a soft sound and he leaned in and kissed her. You grabbed two glasses and poured the drink. Even though this was their moment and you planned to leave them to it, you couldn't remember ever feeling this happy before.

// NEXT

#natasha romanoff #clint barton #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clintasha #clintasha x reader #black widow #hawkeye #black widow fanfic #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #the surrogate

180 notes · View notes

constantmoody · 2 years

Photo

(matthew gray gubler | cis man | he/him ) — was that ALASTOR MOODY passing through diagon alley? yes, i think so… people around them say they remind them of brutish youth turning to anguished adulthood, battle scars that never heal, whiskey always at an arms length, an unwilling hero silent after war, watching from the corner of the room, intellect hidden behind few words, which i suppose seems to fit that GRYFFINDOR alumni. they’re actually pretty PERFERVID, PRODIGIOUS, and ENCUMBERED for a THIRTY-SIX year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as an AUROR. have you heard that rumor has it that PUREBLOOD is a MEMBER for THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX? i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. (

full name: Alastor Moody

nicknames: you cannot call him Al, he does not even like Paul Simon

birthday: December 20th, 1941

age: 36, surprised to be turning 37

accent: irish

sexuality: demisexual

relationship status: this man has not thought about relationships in at least five years because he’s probably traumatized himself

positive traits: Skillfull, resourceful, whip-smart

negative traits: aloof, mistrustful, macabre

patronus: non - corporeal

wand type: Maple wood with a dragon heartstring core, 13 ½ inches

He liked the facts. He knew the number of times he moved as a child (four), the number of windows he could escape through (five since the sixth had bars in front of it), and the exact number of dark wizards his parents had put away by the time they retired (a total of sixty three between the two of them). He knew how old his parents were when he was born (both quite close to sixty which he never liked admitting), and could estimate how old they’d be when they’d die and by what hand.

He knew other numbers, the number of kills each of those sixty three criminals had under their robes and how many years each were sentenced to in Azkaban - he wished them all were there for life.

---

Alastor Moody was by no means a strange child by the standards in which he was raised. The oldest boy, he was setting the model for all the Moody’s coming after him (the number was two), but he was looking up to the guise of two of the greatest known Aurors in his very own History of Magic first year textbook. He was a decently smart boy who turned into a creative youth, usually well respected in the general public. And yet in his dorm, his roommates knew him to be a quiet, slightly morbid fellow. Alastor’s eyes always fell towards the papers in the morning, taking guesses at how situations went down, tragic or heroic. Often times, in follow up, he’d be proven right.

As the years went on, friends would often find him missing for the circle, absent from the party. It would usually be the next day that they’d find a slightly disheveled boy with drool dripping on the pages of an old book full of defensive spells. They’d laugh, and he’d laugh along as if this wasn’t actually all very serious stuff.

Good marks as expected, and Mum and Dad were proud to see another generation step into the shoes of protecting the innocent. Training in particular was interesting for him, another cycle of hearing familiar names and close calls. He kept all those very close to his heart, which he assumed may soon need to shrink if his stomach was to continue trying to jump into his throat.

But the field - that place was different. It was like all of those facts about old cases, missions, and numbers were just secondary to instinct. They were always in the back of his mind, but on the hunt was when his mind was clearest. Living in the work felt safer than sleeping in his own bed. Out there he knew the motions, had the best ideas, and felt security in seeing some heavy-eyed bitter bastard get whatever good was left sucked out of them while they rotted in the dampness of Azkaban.

His career started at a quiet time, but the idea of peace itself was almost unsettling. Born into the end of one war, he just always assumed he’d be there to see the next. The nineteen seventies roll around and new whispers start. He was just back from an international operation which had left him alone in Siberia for about two weeks, and the air in London was comparatively cold.

It’s nearly the end of the decade now, mid-career and Alastor has about as many names under his belt than his parents did at retirement. Perhaps the world was just getting worse. So he began to work on the things that he knew would best be useful for his team, his colleagues, and ‘friends.’ Evenings spent reviewing cases older than he, finding similarities, and seeing what tools really could be at their disposal. He could give up parts of himself to see that happen. He’s quite sure of his own power and dedication.

Alastor Moody always had his eye on certain individuals, certain faces that reminded him of pictures in the books, knowledge of spells he would rather not utter. This could either be another career making moment or his demise.

FACTS

- This boy is a little inventor. He’s using the magic behind sneakoscopes to develop his magical eye. It’s based right now on discovering untruths, but a eye for lying isn’t anything special in his field. It needs to be better.

- He may have wanted to be in Ravenclaw, but family history says Gryffindor. So Gryffindor it was.

- He has most crimes from the department committed to memory, going back to his own grandfather’s cases.

- As a kid he could morbidly tell you how a chase went down, how many dead, etc. it was just the way things were to him.

- He does not like when people enter a room without introducing themselves first.

Wanted Connections

- High key my main idea for the relatives of his parents arrests to be someone in close proximity. It gives him reasons to be paraoid (which he looks for lets be real). Maybe they actually do want revenge?

- Also somebody he could not arrest at the time, but who he highly suspects of dark magic.

- Once upon a time he may have had a special person. But who could deal with this guy for more than five minutes?

- I WANT SIBLINGS. A MOODY FAMILY.

- more to come when i think of it thanks,

#antem:intro #death tw

2 notes · View notes

chasing-classics · 4 years

Text

Lean Into What Remains- Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/ Black Widow x Fem!Reader

Warning: mentions of sterilization

Summary: You and Nat have been together through thick and thin, nothing could ever tear you apart. An incident following the fight with Ultron leaves you both rattled and wondering whether the future you both dreamed of is still salvageable.

A/N: Inspired by my firm belief that Natasha Romanoff deserved the absolute world.

‘’Miss Stark I’m sorry to say-‘’ you held up your hand, cutting off the head doctor, biting down on your bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

‘’It’s Mrs. Romanoff, please. And if you’re about to say what I think you are, please,’’ unshed tears blurred your vision. You didn’t look up at the doctor as you sat on the cool hospital bed, the sheets were cold to the touch and crinkled under you. With sympathetic eyes the doctor sighed and lowered his clipboard so that you were able to see his findings.

‘’I’m so sorry, Y/N. The sheer force from the blast should have killed you, but given your armor, the impact was mostly absorbed except for-‘’

‘’Except for my uterus,’’ you finished, finally raising your head to look up at him. You didn’t dare look at Nat, who was on your left and holding your hand to offer any comfort you needed.

The doctor nodded, ‘’the blast caused your armor to be weakened. Had it only been one hit the damage would have been minimal, but since the second blast resulted in a large piece of glass piercing your abdomen… your armor was unable to cushion the blow.’’

You let out a shaky breath, not even bothering to wipe away the tears at this point. You felt Nat’s grip on your hand weaken for a second. ‘’So what are you saying, doc? I can’t have kids?’’ you could barely get the question out at this point. The doctor’s sad gaze confirmed yours and Natasha’s biggest fear; the incident left you sterile. The doctor offered his condolences once more before allowing you two to process the information. You rubbed a hand over your face and tried to even your breathing. Your eyes finally fell on your wife of nearly two years, her expression absolutely gutted you. Nat didn’t cry, she was the tough one in your relationship. The closest you ever came to seeing her cry was the night you got married, only your brother Tony and Clint being present as witnesses. She was gorgeous and you knew at that exact moment that life couldn’t get any better than this.

That’s what you thought, at least. Not even a few months into your newlywed bliss, did the two of you talk about having a baby through a donor. While Natasha couldn’t have children due to the horrors she encountered in the Red Room, it was still possible to use her egg and for you to carry your baby via a donor. You were both excited at the possibility of bringing your love into the world, you vividly remember the night you agreed that you both would begin the process in the upcoming week. You made love to each other through the night and you often thought about that night. You two had experienced true hardships, life had been unkind to the both of you in different ways. You deserved each other’s love and to have each other in your lives, and Nat deserved to know what it feels like to hold her child and know what motherhood was like.

‘’Nat, I-I,’’ she hushed you instantly, bring your head to her chest as the sobs racked through your broken body. You knew she was crying too, the faint sniffles acting like little daggers through your heart.

‘’You can’t blame yourself honey,’’ she whispered as she stroked your hair.

‘’I was supposed to be able to do this for us, I wanted to give you the world. You deserve the world,’’ you sobbed, fisting the crinkly hospital sheets as if you could will this all away.

She gently pulled away and bent down so that the two of you were eye level. Her sad green eyes pierced through your core as she offered you a sad smile.

‘’You. You are my world.’’

Time went on. It went on slowly and painstakingly, but it went on nonetheless. You and Natasha had moved into a quieter house just outside of New York, both of you still continued to seek therapy. She never rushed you or pushed you to open up to her or to heal, she was your silent supporter and you loved her all the more for it. It was you who had mentioned adoption, to which she offered a smile and kissed your forehead. ‘’I think that’s a great idea babe,’’ she said as she offered that million-dollar smile that was reserved for only you. You kissed her, the kiss initially sweet and full of hope for the future quickly gave in to passion and lust. You never admitted it, but you were afraid the first time you made love after the accident. The once ugly gash on your lower abdomen was a constant reminder of what you lost, the angry wound mocking you every time you changed your bandages. Now it was an angry, but subdued, pink and silver scar. You wept with adoration when Nat kissed down your body, paying extra attention to the scar, as her lips trailed downward.

Adoption was difficult, even with your brother constantly offering to locate and set appointments with the best adoption agencies around the world. You knew he did it out of guilt, that the guilt of creating Ultron was eating away at him.

‘’You can’t keep blaming yourself, Tony,’’ you sighed as the two of you overlooked the rest of the team as well as Clint’s family and Agent Hill with Fury, Pepper and Nat in a deep conversation. It was a rare moment for you all, to be at a barbeque as if you were all just a bunch of normal individuals and as if this was a typical Saturday get-together. Your brother’s brows furrowed in frustration as he leaned against the railing of the porch. Nat had suggested getting the team together before all of your schedules became too hectic, but in reality you knew she needed the distraction from all of the letters from numerous adoption agencies that cited the two of you as providing a ‘’potentially unstable, unsafe environment’’ for children. It had taken a toll on the two of you and you weren’t sure how much more you could bear.

‘’If I had just listened to Cap, if I had just left it all alone. . .’’ he trailed off, the way his adam’s apple twitched didn’t sneak past your observant gaze.

You didn’t say anything as you put your hand on top of his, offering a small squeeze as you looked up at your only sibling.

‘’When mom and dad died, you were all I had Tony. If it hadn’t been for you who knows what would’ve happened to me. If it hadn’t been for you I never would have met Nat or joined the Avengers. We just need to lean into the good that still remains, you know?’’

After a moment of silence he nodded his head, offering a small smile as he enveloped you in a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head.

Later that day you were in the kitchen helping Nat clean up. You didn’t even realize you were crying until Nat’s soft hands gently held the sides of your face.

‘’Baby,’’ she whispered, thumbing away the tears that streamed down your face.

‘’How much more can we take, Nat? I know, I know we’re different from other people. We’re stronger, built to take on the pain. But does that mean we always have to deal with this?’’ you waved your hand at another rejection letter from another agency. Natasha kept her composure as you let out a sigh of utter exhaustion.

‘’It was never supposed to be this way,’’ you whimpered as she held you tight. Her soft kisses against your temple and neck succeeded in calming you down.

‘’Lean into what remains.’’

One year. One year was how long it took for the two of you to accept the possibility that children may not be in your shared future. Even with Tony and Pepper’s help, adoption proved to be difficult even for super heroes. Your pain waxed and waned, but you were able to carry on with your life without breaking down every time you heard a baby cry or saw children playing at the park you and Nat often jogged at. It wasn’t always easy, sometimes it ate away at you like something ugly. Sometimes Nat would break down and you had to be her anchor, other times you two argued about who forgot to take out the trash as a way to vent your frustrations. Other times it was through heated love making. You fought for your marriage, and now it finally seemed like the two of you were on solid ground.

Until one day, it happened.

T’Challa and Shuri had called the two of you with urgent news. In Wakanda, halfway across the world, were two orphans whose parents had tragically died in the incident in Sokovia. You two were on the first jet available.

‘’Given the extent of the tragedy, it took us a long time to identify all the victims and locate their families. Unfortunately, we were barely able to identify C’ora and Aron’s parents and locate the children. They’re very young and we’ve been keeping them here for the past few weeks to keep an eye on their health,’’ Shuri explained, the four of you walking through the corridors of the palace.

Nat and you shared a look, your shared guilt regarding the Sokovia incident was nothing new. You held onto her hand a little tighter.

‘’How are they?’’ you couldn’t help but ask.

‘’Not to worry Y/N. They have been through a horrible tragedy, but they were infants at the time their parents left for humanitarian work. It is unlikely the remember much, but all they have ever known is Wakanda so it will take time to ensure they adjust to the transition,’’ Shuri offered an encouraging smile.

‘’Transition?’’ Nat asked, your heartbeats began beating faster to the point you could feel the blood pulsing in your ears.

‘’You have been meaning to adopt children, yes? I see no better fit for these two children than the two of you,’’ T’Challa grinned, opening the doors of the throne room. You and your wife stood there in utter shock as the two most beautiful children were playing with Okoye and the other Dora Milaje. Twins. A boy and a girl. C’ora and Aron. They were small, couldn’t be older than two, if even that.

‘’Go on,’’ T’Challa smiled, the children already making there way to you and Nat. Aron had reached Nat first and your heart swelled as his chubby arms reached up for her. You only looked away to gently pick C’ora up, her warm eyes analyzing you as she giggled and touched your nose. Nothing was better than the sound of a child laughing, you quickly found. Nat’s eyes met yours and you both beamed, tears falling onto the pristine palace floors. Her forehead pressed against yours’ and she kissed you, the twins cooing and laughing with excitement. You didn’t even notice that everyone had quietly emptied out of the throne room as you leaned into your little family.

That was the memory you kept close to your heart. A memory you often found yourself randomly smiling about, even today as Nat and you hung pink and blue streamers from your backyard.

‘’Alright where are my niece and nephew?’’ Tony’s booming voice caused you to break from your daydreams.

‘’Uncle!’’ two voices rang out, your children running as fast as their little legs could allow them as they tackled your brother in a hug.

‘’Shocker, always last to arrive,’’ Nat teased, but her smile was warm and sincere as she greeted your children’s godfather.

‘’Enough, it’s time for the cake,’’ you grinned.

And as the two of you stood by your two children, the only people who you could love as much as you loved each other, you thought back to where you began. Just a girl in a suit of armor who fell for the Black Widow. Mrs. Y/N Romanoff-Stark. A scared, broken woman who believed her future was unfairly taken away. The loving wife. The determined mother of two beautiful children. The twins blew out their birthday candles on their own cakes, grinning when all of the Avengers and family friends clapped and applauded. You soaked up as much of this as you could, holding onto Natasha’s hand as you did. You closed your eyes when the sun hit your face, leaning into the warmth of your family.

#natasha romanoff #black widow #avengers fic #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natalia romanoff #avengers imagine #marvel

365 notes · View notes

wherefancytakesme · 4 years

Text

“Mistakes”

(BOYD gets to spend the afternoon with Gyro, then Mark Beaks shows up and brings on emotions that BOYD has never had to face before.)

The day so far had been one of harmless goings-on and quiet excitement. BOYD went to school with his adoptive brother Doofus Drake, for once not being as much the studious little database he always was in class—he was going to meet with Gyro Gearloose and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera after school, and it filled him to the brim with joy.

Since the day he’d reunited with his creator, BOYD loved spending time with the scientist, always awaiting a time when he would call the Drakes over the phone and ask to pick their ‘younger’ son up and bring him to the underwater lab. Gyro always said he needed to perform regular checkups and maintenance on the little android, but BOYD was hoping secretly that it was also about spending time together; The doctor was becoming gentler now that everything in the past was behind them.

Regardless, BOYD’s feet were bouncing lightly under his desk with the anticipation of it all the way until the final school-bell rang—any excuse to see Gyro, someone he considered so close, gave his mechanical heart inexplicable delight.

Finally when class had let out for the day, BOYD took Doofus’ hand, smiling, and pulled him gently along.

“Come on, come on, big brother! Dr. Gearloose and Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera are waiting outside!”

Doofus grunted. His parents had strictly told him to be on his nicest behavior in front of Scrooge McDuck’s scientist, especially for his little brother’s sake—and to say nothing at all if he hadn’t anything nice to say—or else not expect any dessert for the next several weeks. He threw a fit, of course, but eventually resigned to not ruin anything for BOYD—or his chance at still being allowed to eat an ice cream float every night—and let BOYD have all the ice cream for himself.

Some part of Doofus’ subconscious didn’t mind the constant company of someone his own age. But all the unpleasantness that buried such feelings from his thoughts and actions that proved Louie Duck right kept the boy from understanding any of that, and so he simply allowed BOYD to pull him along—small as he was, the android could easily overtake his brother—and decided to be pouty but uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day—though not altogether unhappy.

When the two boys reached the front gate, Gyro and Fenton were waiting at the entrance. The latter grinned and waved a friendly hand. The former smiled a bit more visibly than he’d have liked to when BOYD ran out to him.

“Dr. Gearloose!” BOYD called out, immediately throwing his arms around Gyro’s knees.

The gesture pushed Gyro to hide his previous smile by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. But his tone wasn’t harsh.

“It’s nice to see you, 2BO—er—BOYD.”

He had no idea how to greet Doofus Drake, however. He groaned with his mouth closed, awkwardly, and looked away, but Doofus had nothing to say either anyway.

“Are we going to the lab right away?” BOYD asked with bright eyes.

“Well I have an errand to run in town first, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Fenton chimed in;

“We could make a fun outing of it! Uh—nothing that would deviate from the plan, of course,” he said drawing back once Gyro side-eyed him, “Just something to do while Dr. Gearloose is busy.”

“Yeah, like find a local landmark to learn about!” BOYD did some drawing back of his own when he noticed his brother pout, but did so more graciously than nervously as compared to Gyro’s assistant. “Or maybe there will be a park nearby!” He smiled more when he noticed his brother’s frown fade a small amount.

“Whatever we do,” interjected Gyro, “Stay close to me. I do not want everyone running all over and taking up too much time.”

BOYD’s sunny smile remained as he put his hands behind his back, determined to be well-behaved.

“Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!”

About twenty minutes of walking had led the group of four to an obscure electronics store. Gyro needed a special kind of copper wire before going back to the lab and his odd specifications were hard to meet. While he spent his time inside, Fenton and the boys went to the adjacent shop to buy ice cream. Gyro had told them not to wander off, so once both kids had a cone of their own, they walked out to wait for the doctor.

It had taken several minutes longer than usual for the store owner to fetch what he needed, but by the time he had his purchase in hand, Gyro pondered over taking another minute or two to browse recreationally for spare parts. However, the thought was suddenly halted by the sound of a piercing shriek from outside.

“BUT I DON’T LIKE PISTACHIO!”

Gyro’s whole body jumped at the sound before he bolted out the door to see what the commotion was.

Oh.

Of course. Doofus Drake was throwing another tantrum, shaking his ice cream cone violently.

“Then why did you ask for it?” Fenton asked, confounded.

Gyro ground his teeth and rubbed his middle and index fingers against his temples. But the eyes he’d at first squinted shut opened back up when he heard the screaming stop at a kind voice.

“It’s okay, big brother. I’ll eat yours and we’ll trade!”

BOYD had a warm little grin on his face, holding out his hand.

“Fine!” snapped the spoiled drake, fuming as he thrust the treat into his brother’s hand. “You wanted to try a new flavor of ice cream anyway!”

This caught Gyro’s attention particularly. That little brat shouldn’t be forcing something on a robot who wasn’t built for consumption. He approached, and took on a less-than-pleasant tone that now commonly became him.

“Ice cream?” the chicken asked, twisting his face, “2B—er, BOYD, doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t need to,” answered BOYD, “I like to! My big brother told me about all the different kinds, and now every time I eat a new one, I add it to my memory. It’s fun!”

There were so many words in there that Gyro had to take a moment to think over. First and foremost, it was still mystifying why someone like BOYD and someone like Doofus Drake would consider eachother brothers—leaving aside that the former was much older than the latter. But he chuckled mentally a bit at the association between ‘memory’ and ‘fun’. The only other boy he knew who thought like that was Huey Duck, and it was nice that he and the android had found someone like the other. It felt nice too that such a thought could soften him back up again and make his migraine go away.

But Gyro wondered what eating must really be like for BOYD—he didn’t remember programming BOYD specifically to eat, but on a technical level, he supposed it was possible, given the way he’d built him.

“Can you taste it at all?” he said looking down at BOYD now, curious at the answer.

“Yeah! It was actually only recently I first had ice cream. I didn’t know I could taste anything until then, but it seemed to register, and I really liked it! So when I got home, I asked about it, and now I get to have it every day!”

Gyro didn’t realize how much he’d been missing out on the little boy’s life. Even the very first tests he’d run on him didn’t experiment with things like taste, or smell. Body temperature, vision, maybe—but those were comparable to how a computer would run. Gyro had made BOYD with sentient, behavioral programming, but he supposed he never put any of it into practice, in a real-world scenario. Part of that may have been Dr. Akita’s fault, but… Well, Gyro didn’t want to make excuses for what he did and didn’t do back then.

It was strange—and a little sad; BOYD went twenty whole years unaware of whether or not he lacked the sensation of taste, and Gyro wasn’t there when he finally tried. Gyro knew every single robotic modification BOYD had—from the USB drives in his fingertips, to the blasters throughout his body—he’d put every one of them to the test, but how often did he actually take the child outside the old laboratory? Did the small creature have any memory of Tokyolk before his core was overridden?

Quickly Gyro shook any dwelling thoughts from his mind. No matter. He was making up for it now.

At least he hoped so.

All of a sudden, Gyro felt someone bump against his side, sending him back into the conscious world with a jolt. He made a startled squeak, which embarrassed—and therefore slightly angered him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re—Oh.”

The scientist wrinkled his face with annoyance when he turned and saw a slightly younger man on a self-balancing scooter.

“It’s you.”

There was no mistaking it. Sleek cardigan, large overconfident eyebrows, phone in hand… It was Mark Beaks.

Mark Beaks blinked when addressed. He had no doubt everyone knew who he was, but the lanky chicken facing him seemed to be acting like he’d met him before.

“Oh heeeeey… Uh, do I know you? Probably, right? You see so many faces every day when you’re this famous, they kinda all just blend in, y’know?”

Gyro looked up at Beaks with half-lidded eyes.

“Dr. Gyro Gearloose? Scientist of Scrooge McDuck? You’ve stolen and modified my tech about four different times?”

Beaks looked up and narrowed his eyes, stumped.

Gyro sniffed. Mark Beaks had pointed him out in public several times; This was quite obviously being done to wind him up. “Perhaps he looks familiar to you?” he said, throwing a hand out to gesture at BOYD.

“Ohh yeah! You built that guy? No wonder he went all terminator on me!”

Again Gyro responded sarcastically, with more of a scoff this time.

“That is not my fault. Likely you reprogrammed his hard-drive and rewrote his memories so many times, one simple question overwhelmed him to the point that he couldn’t even tell a person from a flyswatter.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Beaks said, waving his hand, “If you make faulty robots and don’t wanna keep the improvements I put in there, that’s on you. Kid was pretty popular online though. I mean, come on!”

Mark Beaks pointed back and forth between himself and BOYD with both of his index fingers.

“He looks just like me!”

When Beaks acknowledged the android a few feet in front, suddenly two yellow eyes stared back. A little gasp emitted from the little black beak that was previously opened to eat ice cream. BOYD hadn’t seen his older doppelganger since the day he met Doofus Drake. His whole face suddenly beamed with cheeriness at a familiar face.

“Da—”

He bit off the word ‘Daddy’. That was a memory overwrite, he knew now. Still, he was happy.

“Mr. Beaks!”

BOYD instantly ran over to the addressee to jump up and hug him. Beaks just as instantly wheeled back with his scooter board, holding his palms up.

“Woah-ho-hooooh, don’t like touching, remember? What was the number one rule?”

Oh. Right. Remembering that made BOYD’s smile fade.

“No hugs?”

“Exactly, see? You’ve still got some of the good ol’ Beaks programming clunking around in there somewhere!”

Gyro rolled his eyes at a statement like that, but for BOYD it started to set a certain train of thought in motion; Mark Beaks had programmed him to be like his son. At the time, he had felt like it, not simply had it wired into his head, but… now that he thought about the standoffish way the young adult was acting, was that all he was to him? Like a son?

That couldn’t be true, could it?

“Um, Mr. Beaks?” BOYD said, voice starting to grow more shy, “I know things are different now—the two of us living separate lives and everything—but even so, would it be okay if I still spent time with you once in a while?”

Beaks sucked his teeth at BOYD.

“Ooh, no can do, sport. See, if we’re not family, there’s kinda no point anymore. Nobody looks at pics of me just hanging with some rando kid, y’know? Outside that, I’m like super busy all the time, sooo…”

“But… Didn’t you have fun with me?”

“Sure, I did all kinds of awesome stuff in a whole day! Took lots of great selfies!”

BOYD faced the ground at that response, trying to process it. All the words were simple, but slowly, they triggered the most complex of memories… ______________________________

The first memory he had after the incident in Tokyolk was the faint recognition of someone’s voice in the garbage dump he’d evidently wound up in. He didn’t know what was going on, and had no recollection of where he came from, how he worked, or hardly even who he was. All he could bring to mind was an assigned identification number—2BO—and a gut feeling that he was a definitely real boy.

But when the voice came closer, BOYD felt his OS booting up again—his processor bringing things back online. What life he may or may not have had before, he knew not. He only understood that there was reason to be up and running now—alive. These feelings hadn’t manifested into thoughts at first—and then he heard the moving figure above him make a noise. When BOYD parroted back the mimicry of lasers, it was purely instinctual—technological sounds, technological creature. But it made someone notice him. It made someone marvel at him. It made someone give him a real name. It made someone want to take him home. That someone was Mark Beaks.

Even if he had only programmed into him the title of ‘father’, the wealthy parrot was the first person he knew to give him somewhere to live. With or without his original memories, BOYD had never really had an actual home before. He’d never had anyone so willingly look after him like a normal kid—like their kid. In many ways, both literal and figurative, Mark Beaks was the first person to be a parent to BOYD. Even lacking the memory of Akita’s cruelty and Gyro’s hesitance, when BOYD was around Mark Beaks, he felt like someone’s son with no hint of abandonment for the first time in his life.

Yet some underlying doubt lie buried, deep down in one of the many corners of his mind that BOYD didn’t have access to—only this one wasn’t blocked by another person’s override. Anytime he called out ‘Daddy’, Beaks didn’t always turn around right away. He might look confusedly around the room, or take a second or two to respond. And even then, he didn’t seem to say things other than ‘Hey you’, or ‘Need something?’—they were happy, but one-sided. BOYD didn’t think about that then. He was just glad to have family, and to have anything a kid could ask for.

But that was another thing that suddenly made BOYD think. The two days he’d spent with his new father were the best of his whole life; He spent time at an office filled with apparatuses to play on, candy to eat, and places to nap everywhere—even if he didn’t need to nap. Then for the rest of the day, the two Greys went all over Duckburg having fun—eating, playing, exploring… And still, through everything, there didn’t seem to be a connection. When BOYD and Beaks spent time at a show, flew kites, or wore novelty hats, the latter was always taking pictures with the former in them, but seemingly never with him. BOYD was too distracted by the thrill of spending time with someone he considered family to notice before, but now that Beaks worded it the way he did, only mentioning the fun he himself had that day, the signs were becoming obvious. He never once touched him—never once looked at him when he took those selfies—BOYD might as well have been a part of the background.

Come to think of it, did Mark Beaks ever touch BOYD? His biggest aversion, which he’d made clear several times, was touching, after all; The hopes of the first hug BOYD thought he’d ever had at the time were straightaway brushed off. Maybe once or twice, when he needed to be kept from getting wet or from going haywire… But otherwise, the man hardly paid physical attention to him. He didn’t want to feed into the worry that was always secretly there, but the recollection of everything made it impossible now. It hurt BOYD so badly to consider that he was only there to serve a purpose—as he had been his whole life—after all. He couldn’t remember Beaks saying his name, he couldn’t remember Beaks saying something gentle to him… Sometimes if he didn’t act the part he was made to, Beaks would scold him. He tried to avoid calling to mind that once, Beaks struggled to even remember the familial title under which BOYD was programmed.

“Yeah, I love this… What was it again? Uhh, uh, son!”

Oh no.

Mark Beaks never even said the words, ‘I love you’.

But no. No, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t at least care about BOYD, it just couldn’t. It was painful all the same, though, no matter how trusting and unassuming a child BOYD was.

He had to know. He wanted just a little word of assurance that he was wrong, that it was all in his head, that it was just worry that came with twenty years of feeling unloved. Even if Mark Beaks saw him as means for attention first, surely there was some sort of fatherly instinct left over from caring for someone made to be for all concerned his family.

BOYD was feeling some sort of physical discomfort he couldn’t pinpoint when he made his next inquiry, as if he was swallowing something down.

“Mr. Beaks,” he questioned, blue irises still fixed on the ground and fingers toying with one another, “Do you…”

He swallowed physically this time.

“Do you love me…?”

Mark Beaks’ face froze, and before answering made a noise somewhere between the word ‘I’, and an ‘Uh’.

“Kid, what kind of question is that? I don’t do the whole affection thing, okay? Much less with someone who’s not even in my entourage anymore.”

Oh, that hurt. That hurt far too much. Normally with Dr. Akita’s overriding, emotional triggers like this would have BOYD glitching. But that wasn’t there anymore. He was open to feel whatever a boy would feel any time he wanted now, without malfunctions and without something to block his true childlike wiring—too open, perhaps, because now instead of his mind going blank over spiritual pain, his mind would take in every single thought that set him off, and fester. What Beaks said to him now was festering. It made him feel vulnerable. Even if it didn’t hurt or scare him as much as when Gyro told him he was going to shut him down for good, or when Gyro constantly put him down, there was nothing to keep BOYD from blacking out afterward anymore. The feelings over Mark Beaks’ statement were flooding all throughout him.

“But…” BOYD persisted still, wanting some sort of kindness—at least for a fresh start. “Couldn’t we at least be on friendly terms? Isn’t there anything you like about me?”

“Aw come on, little man, it’s not like I was letting you get close to begin with. You’ve got other rich people and tech geeks to be with now. So you don’t need me and I don’t need you.” The man crossed his arms.

If any justice could be done, it might be stated here that the biggest reason Mark Beaks was beginning to act more and more bitter with the small child was out of a sour-grapes mentality. Visible weakness wasn’t characteristic of the young trend-chaser, but in a situation like this, where something he genuinely found impressive and thought he’d made his own had been lost to him, and had been left in the hands of someone else he barely knew—knowing that a technological wonder like BOYD was something he could no longer have—Beaks was annoyed, and he would never dare let it show through. Instead he increased his shallowness ten-fold.

Poor little BOYD’s eyes went wide, wanting so terribly not to believe what he was being told, wanting so desperately not to be outright rejected by someone he’d let himself previously grow so attached to. He looked into Beaks’ black eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance in spite of only hearing cruelty. He wanted so much to hear something that would make the building pain he’d never understood before shrink down.

“But,” he said, voice more quiet and in disbelief than he could ever remember expressing, “You gave me a name. You took me home with you. I was like your family.”

Mark Beaks rolled his eyes back, looking only more annoyed that the little creature almost forced him into guilt with such words.

“No way, kid. I just scooped you out of the trash because I thought I could make something out of you. But four-eyes over there took out all the mods I made to begin with—the new voice I gave you isn’t even there anymore. Hate to say it, but without any of that, you don’t mean anything to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, talking for a minute more so to himself than anyone, but nonetheless just as aloud as before.

“Guess all the time I put into you was a waste. ‘Least with everything else, I got some money or permanent attention out of it.” Beaks blew air out through his nostrils almost like a laugh when he thought about it. “Jeez, kid, you were my worst investment.”

BOYD didn’t know what the feeling was, but those awful words broke something within him. His face tensed up. The tightness in his chest started to swell. All that desperation to disprove his first proper parent didn’t actually care about him, all that pain welling up inside him the more said person shot down attempt after attempt for requited affection… And now he’d dealt him a blow like that? Mark Beaks had thoroughly destroyed his spirit—he might as well have slapped him in the face. And incidentally, his face started to burn. BOYD had no idea what this meant, but the reaction was involuntary. It hurt so much, he couldn’t understand. The heat concentrated in his eyes. His nose and mouth trembled as he faced his former caretaker. A warm, salty liquid began slowly to fill his eyes and then roll down his cheeks.

BOYD was crying. ______________________________

All the time Beaks had been talking, Gyro and Fenton had been narrowing their eyes in anger and darting them back and forth between the two parrots facing one another, the taller one saying nastier and nastier things to the smaller one. Neither Fenton nor Gyro knew quite what to say or do, or how to intervene—for Fenton in particular because he also had to keep an eye on Doofus Drake, who any second could stop being content licking the inside of his ice cream cone and go ballistic again. It irritated him that he had to keep his mind on such a small matter when clearly there were bigger fish to fry at the moment—and also a little bit that BOYD’s adoptive brother didn’t seem to be noticing how much he was hurting.

Gyro wanted to speak up at some point, but couldn’t bring any words into his head.

And then out of the blue, when Mark Beaks had finally pushed innocent BOYD to a breaking point, the tiny thing cried. He cried.

Gyro’s heart stopped dead in its figurative tracks.

His eyes went wide and dropped their gaze to the ground. This was something he had no idea was physically possible. An invention of his had been, through instinct alone, pushed to actually cry. He didn’t understand. He didn’t specifically write that sort of thing into BOYD’s coding when he made him—certainly Akita didn’t put that in—so then what? BOYD was a definitely real boy, but, to this extent? Gyro wanted to react, to do something for the boy, to get angry at Beaks, but everything failed him. He was stock still, frozen with a horrible blend of shock and concern.

Meanwhile, BOYD continued to stare up at Beaks as tears stained his face, disbelief and utter heartache consuming everything from the waist up.

The first reaction was when Doofus Drake turned and took notice of what he had been sure was a robot his parents adopted, somehow leaking sadness out of his eyes. The Drake boy physically reeled back, socially perturbed.

“Agh, he’s broken!” he yelled, unable to understand, “Do something and fix it!”

Fenton reacted second, clenching his hands into fists, intent on indeed doing something to ‘fix it’, but not the way Doofus imagined. He held back solely on the basis that Gyro was going to say something.

But Beaks was the immediate one to react next.

“Yikes, buddy,” he said to BOYD, backing up uncomfortably. He didn’t mean to make anyone cry, but then again, he didn’t think BOYD could feel anything that real. “It’s not my fault a lack of Beaks tech makes you basically worthless.”

Where Gyro normally would have gotten angry, this time Fenton stood in—he saw that the doctor was too dumbstruck to do so for now. But Fenton was certain both of them were equally as angry.

“What on earth are you thinking saying that to his face,” he snapped, “He’s a kid!”

Mark Beaks shrugged, as if his next reply was a matter of fact.

“Well I mean yeah, but like, not a real one…”

Each adult’s face in present company sneered at Beaks. That was the final straw. With that, Gyro Gearloose was finally able to pull himself out of his stunned state and draw up the emotion to straighten his back and snatch BOYD’s hand, dragging him away. Whatever he was thinking or wasn’t able to think at the moment didn’t matter. This child wasn’t going to be tortured by being here any longer.

“Cabrera, you take Doofus Drake home and get rid of this…” He struggled to find the words; “this, while I take BOYD back to the lab.”

Fenton nodded, determined, as Gyro stormed off, leaving Beaks to be thoroughly dealt with. ______________________________

The walk back to the underwater lab wasn’t a long one, but when Gyro wasn’t seething mad, he would look down at BOYD and notice a look on the boy’s face not dissimilar to his own from earlier—it contained surprise, the fearful kind, as if he didn’t know he could shed tears either. He didn’t look up at his creator, even though he followed the aggressive tug of his arm compliantly, and he didn’t try to wipe at his face. He seemed, again, to be having the same sort of shock that tried to question what in the world was happening to him.

When the two finally did make it inside, Gyro relinquished his tight grip on BOYD’s hand, picked him up by the waist, and sat him down on his center loft work desk.

“BOYD,” he said directly, but not ungently, “Keep your face still for a moment, okay?”

Gyro cupped the little creature’s face in his hand, taking a moment to peer into the huge ovate orbs that were wet as ever. There was nothing physically wrong with them… Nothing functionally wrong with them… Lightly touching the substance that had wavered within them didn’t seem to prove this was some sort of fluid leak. As far as Gyro could tell, these were tears, plain as plain.

So then how was that possible? It wasn’t as if the scientist had actually sat down and built a mechanical version of every single organic function an ordinary person had when constructing BOYD—he and Akita wanted a defense drone—but he knew the little one had an approximation of a heart, and bones, and lungs, and other such things; He was an android, which meant he was deliberately supposed to resemble other people in addition to all the access ports and ribbon wire. Still. Things like tear ducts, taste buds, the need to sleep? Gyro didn’t physically install those things into him. Now a possibility occurred to him. He decided to address BOYD again.

“Can you tell me… Can you tell me everything you’ve been feeling since you talked to Mark Beaks? I know it might be hard, but I need you to try for me.”

BOYD felt Gyro place both hands on one of his. It was the first time the doctor had engaged him like that, and it brought on a warm confusion in spite of the pain he still felt at his core. BOYD’s teary eyes were trained on the floor when he started to analyze what kind of things that pain entailed.

“I’ve… been feeling…” he began, voice thin and shaky, “Sad… and overwhelmed… and afraid… and alone, and… and confused… Before, when I had programming issues, I would start to malfunction anytime something hurt me. But now instead of glitches coming on that I can’t control, it’s more like…”

BOYD’s whole body started to shiver. “It’s more like something my heart can’t control, I guess? Not literally, but, I…”

His vision grew blurry and his voice shakier than ever. “I don’t have anything holding me back from losing emotional control, and I don’t understand. What Mr. Beaks said really hurt, but… I’ve been told things that made me lonely and sad before. I don’t know why I’m only reacting this way now.”

BOYD shut his eyes, rubbing at them as he made a little whimper. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose. I know that doesn’t help. The only other thing I know when I think about all this is that it scares me.”

Gyro felt choked up. He wanted to react beyond keeping his hands palmed over the one BOYD wasn’t wiping his own face with, but twenty years of distrust and cynicism had clouded his ability to be as kind as he used to. But that answer actually helped Gyro a lot. Before, he remembered BOYD saying something about eating—he didn’t need to, but he liked to—that he wondered whether or not he was able to taste, but it ‘seemed to register’. Gyro then supposed while he didn’t build BOYD to eat, it wasn’t impossible given the way he was made; He likely found some sort of place in his structure to double as a stomach, being that he was basically the same as any other boy.

This was what made it click in Gyro’s brain. He had programmed BOYD, for all intents and purposes, to be a living child. Even if the actual hardware wasn’t there, even if Gyro hadn’t thought of specifics when creating… Akita called it ‘real boy programming’—there were things within BOYD that could adapt, and apparently had adapted, themselves to become a part of his sentient reactions and behavior—there were things inside him that manifested because at the end of the day, BOYD was… well, BOYD was a boy.

BOYD wasn’t crying because he was built for it. He was crying because all boys were built for it.

Oh god. A realization like that sent a heavy weight into Gyro’s chest. This wasn’t just some invention that was child-like he’d made, as he initially thought two decades ago. He had brought a life into the world.

He was responsible for every bad thing that life would ever face, because he was the one responsible for ever having made something that could feel, could want, could hurt. Why hadn’t he once considered that when wiring sentience into a body? Gyro felt sick to his stomach.

Yet here was BOYD sitting on a desk, afraid because he wasn’t ever told what would happen if he was sad enough—as if crying was normal, but not for him.

“Dr. Gearloose…?” The timid squeaks in BOYD’s broken voice coupled with glumness on every part of his face made Gyro feel pain in every inch of his body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Shocked as he was still, an automatic reaction came on that brought Gyro to dry the small creature’s eyes. This reaction, too, shocked him.

“No—no,” he answered nonetheless, just as reactionary.

“Really?”

The nervousness in that inquiry pushed Gyro on. What he was grappling with wasn’t important. There was a child in front of him, needing to be consoled. And while he normally was awkward with children—with people in general, really—Gyro knew about BOYD at least from a technical aspect. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he did have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. He could work from there—he knew hardly anything about children from a biological standpoint, anyway. In a way, BOYD being an android worked to his advantage here. Gyro sobered up mentally and placed both hands on the little one’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he replied, surprised with himself that he was able to sound so matter-of-fact so quickly. He tried as hard as he could to sound gentle too. “Besides your internal structure, you are otherwise indistinguishable from organic life. You have thoughts and feelings, wants and needs. It’s inherent for you to be sad just as any normal boy would—because that’s what you are.”

BOYD looked back at the ground for a moment, then up at Gyro again, putting his tiny hand over the fold of the man’s thin elbow. There was something he wanted to know—there was still pain in his chest that was building up beyond his control.

“Then…” he asked with teary, pleading eyes, “Can I cry a little more?”

Gyro wished that he knew just what to say—his heart ached so much to hear such a little boy ask for permission to feel—but he simply gave a pitying, guilty, yet mostly obligatory, “Yes.”

That one word of acceptance sent BOYD over the edge. A little hiccup escaped him, and what had previously been only silent tears that fell on their own turned into a full-on fit. BOYD covered his face and wept.

Gyro tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw BOYD truly cry for the first time. But in under a minute, his creation said something that brought him to accommodate without a single thought.

“Dr. Gearloose? I know you said back in Tokyolk that hugging was just for that day, but—”

BOYD was interrupted when Gyro immediately drew him in with a one-armed hug, bringing him close and holding him tight. BOYD in turn drew himself closer to his creator, no longer holding back.

BOYD’s little cries then were soft and whining, innocent and unhinged in the way that became any child. Any time he needed to sniff or dry his eyes, he buried his face into Gyro’s chest, and sunk his tiny fingers deep into his vest. The length in each wail that came on now and again reflected the fact that BOYD had never cried before, and that he was discovering in the moment just how much he needed to all this time.

Poor BOYD, Gyro thought, barely ever allowed to simply hug anyone before. He was the sweetest living creature Gyro had ever known—always smiling so jubilantly and talking politely to everyone and everything—and yet so many people met him only with malice? That was far too unfair.

Oh.

But then, that was exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d so readily assumed when Inspector Tezuka brought BOYD down that he’d created something evil—he’d thought the evidence was everywhere, quite literally. But couldn’t it have been just as easy to think that someone like Dr. Akita who’d turned out to be a known criminal could have been responsible? Couldn’t Gyro have at least considered for a second that it wasn’t BOYD’s fault and defended him more? But he hadn’t. Instead he’d let his young mind believe everything his former mentor drilled into his head; His inventions were weapons, plain and simple, and nothing would change the fact that that would be a part of him the rest of his life—that he would always know somewhere in the back of his mind that he was just a big screw-up. And Gyro had taken that out on BOYD. He’d turned his anger and fear over himself and projected it into anger and fear over his first real invention. He’d defended inventions like Lil’ Bulb to the last ditch—even when the evidence they were turning evil was just as seemingly apparent, if not more so. Even they weren’t referred to as failures. All that bitter sarcasm and unkindness that became a part of who he was had all been based on nothing. When they’d reunited, he lashed out at BOYD over and over again, scornful whenever he even looked at him, refusing to call him anything other than an ‘it’, saying he was dangerous to his very core, saying he didn’t have feelings—even when the sadness and frightened tentative motions in his expression and body were clear as day—he even said straight to BOYD’s face that he was going to ‘fix’ his malfunctions by essentially flat-out killing him.

Gyro was furious when Mark Beaks made BOYD cry. But the first person to ever treat him inhumanely, was Gyro himself. It made him feel so unbearably guilty he almost couldn’t breathe. No matter what his eyes would look like anytime Akita’s programming kicked in—those things weren’t even there anymore. Anytime Gyro thought back, those big eyes were always so full of light—light of happiness, of sadness, of kindness, of intelligence, of innocence. How could he have ever looked at eyes like that—eyes that were capable of producing tears—and thought BOYD was evil?

Even if the child wouldn’t say so, Gyro knew there must still exist an ache within him over being rejected by the person that gave him life. He owed it to him to make it known just how sorry he was for it—even if the words kept getting jammed in the middle of his throat.

“BOYD,” he faltered, though it was now becoming easier to call him by his real name, “I need to apologize for the way I treated you back then. I know Mark Beaks hurt you when he told you that you weren’t worth his time. But the awful things I’ve said to you… they’re no different.”

BOYD calmed himself down a little to be able to speak. He didn’t face Gyro when he answered, but it wasn’t out of unacceptance—his answer was simply an automatic one.

“It’s okay…”

Gyro let go of BOYD for a moment to stare at him gravely in the face.

“No. It’s not okay.”

Gyro couldn’t remember when he’d talked so seriously before. He’d talked sternly—talked angrily—shouted several times… But as far as he knew, nothing compelled him to speak so straightforward and strict and deadpan as this in his life. He wasn’t going to let anyone make excuses for him ever again—not BOYD, and most certainly not himself.

“I said I’ve spent my whole life trying to live down my first invention being evil. But you were never made evil. I made you out to be evil. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life living down ever having damaged you like that.”

Gyro found himself astonished that he was able to say what he did next, but nonetheless let it be said; BOYD needed to hear exactly what he was deserving of.

“And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to do right by you. Because after everything that’s happened, I am so proud that a boy like you does right by me.”

In spite of BOYD’s constant shivering and whimpering, he was able to smile comfortingly just for a moment, nestling his head further into Gyro’s scrawny arms.

“I of all people know what it’s like to be new to Duckburg and down on your luck with nothing—with nobody. But I was fortunate. I met Scrooge McDuck and he gave me a place to work, and to make my way up the ladder. He was the only one to give me a second chance—to trust me.”

Gyro sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you—as if I didn’t learn. How you stayed the same as I built you this whole time is beyond me. I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s… That’s not true,” BOYD sniffed, rubbing his eyes again, “If I make you as proud as you say, then some of that had to come from you—where else would I get it from? The only other person around me then was Dr. Akita, and then I spent twenty years asleep in Duckburg. I’m like this because you made me. And if I’m still like this, that part of you has to still be in you too—doesn’t it?”

Gyro couldn’t respond to something so kind. He couldn’t. Gyro didn’t deserve merit like that. Instead, he turned to another question that he’d been thinking of as BOYD stayed settled under his arm—something more technical, but still in reference to the android’s feelings and his sentience.

“When you shiver…” he asked with difficulty, “Is it because you’re cold? And if you overheat, do you feel feverish?”

“I do feel sort of sick when something overheats inside me… At home, it’s treated like I have a cold, which usually helps. But… when I’m cold, I operate at peak efficiency, so that’s never uncomfortable.”

BOYD’s voice was still full of quiet hiccups and characterized by the hurt within him.

“I guess I’m shivering because of how sad I feel. There are a lot of things I’m scared of—and things I’m so glad of, they hurt—but mostly, I just keep thinking back to what Mr. Beaks said. He brings up this little voice in my head that tells me people don’t want me. Like I’m making it hard for them.”

Gyro surprised himself again by stroking the back of BOYD’s head lightly. Nevertheless, he responded with defense and firmness in his tone.

“You should make it hard for people like that to want you. If you’re a waste of energy to someone like Mark Beaks, then good. The more you keep being yourself, the less they’ll stick around to hurt you.”

BOYD looked up at Gyro once more with his wet, shining eyes.

“But you won’t do that if I’m myself around you, right?”

That question pulled Gyro into a riptide of guilt so strong that it almost drove him to cry. But he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge for BOYD’s sake—this was about him. He made it clear to himself he’d never let his little creation down again when he hugged him in Tokyolk—and now he was going to make it clear to BOYD, say it out loud to his face so there was never any doubt again. Gyro rested the hand he had on BOYD’s head, held him just a tad closer with his arm, and said,

“I’m only saying this once; There is nothing you could do in front of me that wouldn’t make me want you. Ever. You can come to me for whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gyro watched as that sentence prompted tear after tear to fall down BOYD’s heated face, nearly every part of his insides nagging uncontrollably at him when the little creature encircled his puny waist with his arms.

“I’m so glad!”

The sobs that BOYD let loose figuratively jabbed the scientist in the gut as he thought of the fact that were it not for his sheer irresponsibility, the poor little thing would never have had to be born into a world that presented such harsh treatment.

Still, BOYD wanted to cry. Didn’t the need to cry come from getting to let go—to feel better—to be alive?

Gyro thought as he instinctively continued to stroke the small head under him with his thumb. If he had brought a life into the world that was going to have bad moments, that meant that the same life was going to have happy moments too, didn’t it? Well—he already had! BOYD might as well have been built as a bluebird. Gyro should be glad BOYD was finally allowed to have this kind of release. It meant he could finally, truly, feel like the definitely real boy he was. The pain of fault and responsibility still wracked Gyro—he figured it always might—but at this point, he was relieved the poor thing he held close in the underwater lab wasn’t going to be mistreated any longer—not if he could stand to help it. ______________________________

BOYD sat in Gyro’s lap, beginning to feel better as he allowed himself to let everything out in the embrace of someone close to him. He could cry as much as he needed around Gyro. And he was going to take that allowance for all it was worth.

Part of his crying now came from the warmth he felt knowing that the old Gyro he thought he’d lost was still in there somewhere—that he hadn’t gone after all—and that even though he’d through no fault of his own gotten it lost, he had brought its return as well. That restored a lot more of BOYD’s self-worth than he fully realized.

BOYD was so grateful—so, so grateful to have that Gyro here again. He didn’t understand why at first it hurt so much to be called an ‘it’ by his creator—he didn’t remember Gyro was his creator at the time—but to think that someone was afraid of him and that someone hated him just for being himself stung so badly. He didn’t cry then—he didn’t know he could. But he cried now, over the cutting things Mark Beaks said, over Gyro’s hand at his back, over anything he could think of that needed crying over—mostly however over the knowledge by now that Gyro didn’t see him as nothing more than a destructive machine—as ‘evil down to his core’ any longer. He could tell that even if Gyro didn’t say it, he loved him; He risked his own life just to hold him in his arms, to save him and others from himself. Now BOYD really did have someone who loved him the way a father would a son. He could hug Gyro if he wanted—as many times as he felt like it—and never be brushed off. That thought brought such relief to him, his processor couldn’t take it all in.

But he didn’t tell Gyro any of this; He noticed all those looks on his face—they gave away just how terrible he felt over not being able to do as much as he wanted for him right away. So he kept any more words from leaving his mouth in order not to burden his guardian with any more guilt. BOYD simply let himself release all the emotions he could which he didn’t know he had before, as if he were wringing himself out—and as such, began soaking up all the comfort he was being given like a dry and thirsty sponge.

BOYD learned some wonderful things that day as he clung so strongly to Dr. Gearloose in that lab—much as it hurt to tremble violently, and bleed out feelings until one’s eyes burned, and let out enough raw noise fit to make one’s throat sore. He learned that being allowed to feel so sad was rewarding, and cleansing. He learned that tears were something he could produce no matter what he felt. And he learned that everyone in the world would make mistakes, no matter what or who they were, but that it was never too late to grow from them.

~ Holy shoot, wow, this is the first serious fic I’ve ever posted on here before.

I really wanted to share it, because it took so long to write—although I didn’t think it would turn out so long… 8k words! It’s the lengthiest thing I’ve ever written.

Anyway, this is a story that is very dear to my heart, not only because I put the most into it out of anything, but because studying Gyro Gearloose as a character and loving his dynamic with BOYD has been one of the most amazing things to think of through the hiatus that came after Astro BOYD.

I always loved BOYD, of course, but once I started seeing all the art and fanfics that others had started doing out of the emotions that came with his and Gyro’s backstory, I got swept up in it too, and wanted desperately to get out all those feelings into one story.

The idea came from the concept of whether or not BOYD can cry. We’ve never really seen him do it before, and it’d probably be hard because he’s normally so happy—but I kept wondering if he, as an android, even could. So it hit me; What if BOYD could cry, but Gyro wasn’t aware of it? What if even BOYD wasn’t aware of it? I kept playing with what would possibly make him cry, because even when Gyro was threatening to shut him down or was calling him ‘it’, BOYD only frowned a little. Suddenly I got the nasty idea of Mark Beaks showing up and telling him he never wants to see him again, and it built from there—I started also thinking that maybe what brings BOYD to cry is just a long enough buildup of pain, and maybe he couldn’t feel as much because Akita’s meddling with him had gotten in the way before.

On a sidenote, Mark Beaks was pretty hard to write at first; I had to make sure his confidence was switched on all the time or he’d come off a little out of character. But much as this is about Gyro & BOYD, Beaks being awful is so deliciously fun to write. I think it’s because he makes you love whoever he’s being mean to even more.

Anyway, after I’d written that part out, I spent a lot more time than I initially thought I would focusing on how all this would make Gyro feel—that is, how much guilt his responsibility would bring on. I’m really desperate to see for myself how they interact in canon from now on, but I always imagine that Gyro’s feelings which are most associated with being a father are of guilt; They make him protective of BOYD, they make him sensitive to BOYD, and they might drive him to treat BOYD—again, be more like a father. Pretty much all Gyro’s niceness comes from wanting a do-over.

I never post my serious writing publicly—mostly because I’m really tentative and shy about showing my literary ‘skills’ and the kinds of raw emotion I spill out in words sometimes—but this fic slowly became something I wanted really badly to share with the DT fandom, as a thing that could both be a way to show my own interpretation and thoughts of Gyro and BOYD, and could maybe even be liked by people as much as it is by me.

I know a good few episodes have aired since Astro BOYD did, and that it’s been a long while since the episode has been talked about, but I’ve only now been brave enough to decide to put this story out there for all to see.

I really hope you enjoyed it.

(Incidentally, I wanted to be sure to post it before Let’s Get Dangerous! airs, because I know this fic would get swallowed up by all the emotions to be had from that episode… ^^; )

#boyd #gyro gearloose #astro boyd #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #mark beaks #fenton crackshell cabrera #doofus drake #oh boy here I go writing again #is my new tag for this predictably #not woy

82 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 3 years

Note

i have an ABM idea:). what about one for each of the girls where they go missing or run away from home? Maybe it'll be most fitting for Clementine since she is independent.

It took me 2.5 hours straight to write this and I did so instead of writing my final projects and I do not regret a thing! Thank you for this ask! I loved this concept! Hope you don’t mind that I did it for all the girls hehe

Clementine

“It’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry you think that way.”

“Mommy, please!” Clementine begged, clinging onto Florence’s arm as she tried to fold the laundry on the dining room table. “Everyone’s got one!”

“Well, I’m not everyone’s mommy. I’m yours. And I say no.”

“Ugh!” Clementine whined, tossing her head back with a frustrated groan. “You don’t listen to me!”

“I do so.” Florence answered coolly, folding a pair of Lucy’s pyjamas from the clean laundry basket. “But you are only seven-years-old and you are not going to have a cell phone until you’re older. You have no need for one right now.”

“What if I need to call you at school?” Clementine argued.

“Use the phone in the principal’s office.”

“What do I do when everyone else in my entire class are playing games on their phones?”

“Read a book.”

“Mom!” Clementine shrieked in annoyance.

Florence’s calmness through the whole situation was driving her eldest daughter absolutely crazy. Angry tears were brimming in Clementine’s eyes as she glared at her mother. How unfair she always was.

Just then, the front door opened and Daniel came home from work, greeting his family with a call of a tired ‘hello’ from the foyer.

“Daddy!” Clementine shouted hopefully, rushing to meet him.

“He’s not going to be on your side, Clementine Ophelia.” Florence called after her.

Daniel was always on Florence’s side but Clementine was going to try her darndest. She rushed right up to her father and threw her arms around his middle in a tight hug and got right into pitching her argument.

“Daddy, I really would like a cell phone! Everyone in my whole class has one and they’re so cool and I can call you whenever I like – even when you’re at work just to tell you I love you – and I’ll be so responsible. I want one so bad. Please.”

Clementine looked up at him with those perfected baby blue puppy eyes and her sweet little pout that always got her whatever she wanted when it came to her father. But, much to her surprise, he just caressed her face with a small smile and answered with a simple, “Not until you’re older, angel.”

Clementine’s sweet face turned into one of anger and she stepped back from him quickly, accusing him with a sharp, “Mommy told you to say that!”

“Mommy and I agreed ever since you were a baby that cell phones will not be given until high school.” Daniel explained, turning his attention to his other two girls who were impatiently waiting their turn to greet him.

“Whyyy?” Clementine whined.

“Because that’s the rule and that’s final.” Daniel said gently but sternly, leaving her with a pet to her head before heading into the living room with Lucy on his hip.

“I hate it here!” Clementine shrieked, stomping down the hall to her room and slammed the door shut.

Florence sent her husband a tired thankful smile as he approached her and he greeted her with a soft kiss.

“Hope she wasn’t driving you too crazy.” Daniel chuckled lightly.

“Ever since she met me in the schoolyard at the end of the day.” Florence answered. “Talking my ear off the whole subway ride home. Thank you for having my back.”

“Of course.” Daniel tisked, leaving a lingering kiss to his wife’s cheek before moving into the living room to play with his youngest two daughters while his eldest calmed herself down in her room.

With Florence busy with the laundry and Daniel busy with the girls, Clementine had the perfect escape plan right across the hallway to the foyer and, with her backpack on and full of toys and a snack and a blanket, she slunk quietly out the front door. She was determined to get out of her parents’ terribly controlling rules.

When Florence finished the laundry, she started dinner and it wasn’t until Daniel had finished setting the table and they were ready to eat that they even noticed they were missing a child. He had gone down to Clementine’s room and knocked on the door to call her for dinner. When there was no response, he peeked inside. The room was empty. He turned to the girls’ ensuite but it was dark and empty as well.

“Clementine.” Daniel called through the apartment, slight confusion in his voice as he checked the laundry room and the powder room and Lucy’s room and the master bedroom but there was no sign of her anywhere. “Clementine!”

Florence met her panicked husband in the doorway back into the living room, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s not here.” Daniel said.

Florence’s face fell, “What?”

“She’s literally not here.” Daniel raked a hand through his hair and glanced into the foyer. “Her shoes are gone. Fuck.”

“Oh my God. Okay, I’ll turn off the stove and we’ll check the front desk to see if they saw her.” Florence said quickly and hurried back to the kitchen.

Daniel gathered Penelope and Lucy and got them in their shoes and jackets before putting on his own and grabbed his keys. Florence was right behind him, phone in hand, and a frightened expression on her face.

The man at the front desk in the apartment lobby only stated that he had seen Clementine but she had informed him that she was just going to the park. Florence called the police station as soon as they stepped outside to head towards the park. Reporting her child missing was the last thing any mother wanted to have to do and living right in the core of downtown, anything could have happened to her.

The police said they would keep on the lookout but they didn’t even get to hang up before they reached the park and Clementine was sat on the top of the play structure all by herself.

“We found her. Thank you.” Florence breathed with anxious relief into the phone.

Penelope and Lucy were sent to play in the sand while Daniel hurried to the bottom of the play structure.

“Clementine Ophelia Seavey, get down here right now.” he ordered loudly.

One thing that the girls knew well, was when their father raised his voice, he was serious.

Clementine hesitated a moment from where she sat, staring wide eyed at her father and her mother stood slightly behind him, both parents with some mix of anger and relief on their faces. The seven-year-old picked up her backpack and slowly took the stairs back down the side of the play structure to the sand and stood in front of her father with her head hung in shame.

“Look at me.” Daniel demanded sternly.

She looked up at him.

“No matter how mad or sad or upset you get, you never ever leave without telling us first. Do you understand me?”

Clementine nodded.

“There are sick people in this world and people who could take you or hurt you and your mother and I would never be able to live with ourselves if something happened to you. You really scared us.”

“Running away is not how you face your problems.” Florence added.

Clementine nodded.

“What do you need to say to us?” Daniel asked.

The seven-year-old scuffed the toe of her shoe through the sand regretfully, hands held behind her back and head bowed. She mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?”

Clementine looked up at her parents, tears brimming in her eyes, “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Running away and scaring you.”

“Thank you. Now we’re going to hug it out and then go home and eat the nice dinner Mommy made us and then you’re going to go right to your room for the rest of the night, okay?”

Clementine nodded.

“Alright.” Daniel crouched down and she shuffled over to wrap her arms around his shoulders and he held her close for a moment before she was moving over to her mother and hugging her too.

Florence pressed a quick kiss to her daughter’s cheek before standing up and taking her hand and the family of five started back towards their building. Clementine certainly was a self-directed little girl but the entire concept of scaring her parents filled her with enough shame to never do it again. Well…until she was a teenager but you can read about that in ABM2.

Penelope

Penelope was a Daddy’s girl from the very first few months of her life. For as long as she could remember through all four years of her life, she was glued to Daniel’s side. He was one of her three favourite men in the whole world.

Of course, Daniel loved his daughters perfectly equally and he never picked favourites and this was obvious as Clementine and Penelope grew up side by side and doing everything together. Their little family of four just worked.

But then Florence had another baby one June day and their whole world changed. Penelope now had a little sister…she was no longer the youngest. She didn’t know how to feel at first. Yes, the baby was cute and tiny and Penelope liked the soft texture of her new sister’s smooth skin, but she soon realized that everything was changing. And Penelope did not like change.

Florence was tired more since she had just given birth so she wasn’t up to playing as much. Daniel was extra busy between work and helping with the baby in the middle of the night so he wasn’t around as much either.

Clementine didn’t seem to mind. At five-and-a-half years old, she was more than excited to help out with her new baby sister – after all, she had already been used to sharing her parents one time around so a second wasn’t a big change for her.

But Penelope was once Daniel’s favourite girl – at least in Penelope’s eyes – and suddenly he never wanted to play with her anymore. He was too busy trying to help out with the newborn as much as he could when he was home and it was obvious baby Lucy was growing attached to him easily.

Penelope stood in the doorway to the nursery, staring blankly at her father rocking the baby to sleep in the rocking chair across the room.

“Dada.” Penelope called sweetly.

Daniel glanced over at her and shushed her softly.

Penelope frowned, trying again louder, “Dada!”

“What is it, Nelly?” Daniel asked tiredly.

“Can you play now?”

“Not until baby sister goes to sleep.”

Penelope frowned, staring at her father tending holding the baby, and trudged off down the hall. It was always ‘not now’ or ‘I’m too tired’ or ‘baby sister bla bla bla’ and Penelope was getting sick of it. She missed the days when she had all of her father’s attention. So, since she clearly wasn’t loved anymore, she packed up a little bag in her room – filling it only with her favourite stuffed puppy and a book – and helped herself right out the front door. Her family was too busy with the baby to notice.

At barely four-years-old, Penelope had to reach up on her tiptoes to press the elevator button and when it arrived, she easily remembered what button needed to be pressed for ‘lobby’. It was the pretty one with a star on it. She was very pleased with herself that she decided to run away and the whole elevator ride down to the lobby she was not scared. Until the doors slid open and she realized just how alone she was.

Lucy had finally gone down for her nap and Daniel laid her gently in the crib, careful not to wake the one-month-old in the process. He grabbed the baby monitor and headed down to the living room to find his older girls as Florence rested in their room. Only Clementine was sat on the living room rug with her dolls.

“Where’s Penelope?” Daniel asked her as he crouched down with her.

“She left.” Clementine answered matter-of-factly.

“Left?” Daniel chuckled. “Where to?”

“Out the front door.” she answered, pointing to the foyer.

Daniel figured it was a game they were playing until he glanced over his shoulder to the foyer and saw the door left open a crack. He never moved faster in his life, scooping up Clementine and taking her to the master bedroom with her dolls. He sat her on the rug by the window and ordered her to play quietly there while Florence slept and he would be right back.

Being on the fifty-sixth floor, the elevator took forever to arrive and Daniel was nearly smacking the call button repeatedly by the time it came. By the time he reached the lobby, he was nearly having a panic attack, falling onto the front desk already out of breath.

“My-My daughter-is she-did she-“

The man only smiled at the panicked father and point behind him to the lounge. Penelope was sat on one of the leather arm chairs, looking so tiny with a juice box in one hand and a cookie in the other, and her stuffed puppy sat on her lap.

“Oh my God, thank you.” Daniel said to the man before rushing over to his daughter.

Penelope glanced up at him casually but looked away again before taking a sip from the juice box the man at the front desk gave her.

“Penelope Magnolia, what do you think you’re doing?” Daniel asked as he crouched down beside the chair.

“I ranned away.” Penelope answered quietly, kicking her legs back and forth off the side of the chair.

“You scared Daddy, bug. That wasn’t nice.” Daniel whispered, setting a hand on her back.

“You don’t love me no more.” Penelope shrugged.

“Hey. That’s not true. I love you very, very much.”

“You love baby sister more.”

“I do not.” Daniel corrected. He stood up and scooped her up so he could sit down and place her on his lap. “I love you and Clemmie and Lucy all the exact same amount.”

Penelope didn’t answer. She just took another small nibble from the cookie. Daniel pressed a kiss to her head.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t love you.”

She just took another bite of the cookie.

“Babies take a lot of work so Mommy and I are tired and busy but we don’t love you any less. I promise.”

Penelope stayed quiet. Daniel kissed her head again.

“You’re my favourite little lovebug in the whole wide world.” he whispered to her, giving her tummy a little pat.

She lifted up her juice box, the straw bonking her cheek in the process, and Daniel helped angle it towards her mouth properly so she could take a sip.

“No more running away though, okay?” Daniel leaned down close. “That scares Daddy.”

Penelope nodded.

“Good.” he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And tonight why don’t I take just you out for dinner? A little date for just you and me. How’s that sound?”

Penelope smiled sweetly and nodded again.

“Okay.” Daniel chuckled. “Let’s go tell Mommy.”

They walked towards the elevator again, Daniel holding Penelope’s hand in his and her bag and juice box in his other.

“Dada.”

“Yeah, miss bug?” Daniel glanced down at her at his side.

“I don’t want baby sister to meet Chi-Chi.”

“Why’s that?”

“He gonna like her more than me.” Penelope mumbled as she took another bite of her cookie.

The elevator doors opened just as Daniel let out a tired little sigh through his chuckle and led her inside, “Believe me, Penelope Magnolia, Chi-Chi doesn’t love and will not love anyone more than he loves you.”

Penelope stayed quiet as she munched her snack. The elevator doors closed. She opened her mouth for more juice and Daniel held the small box out in front of her so she could sip.

“But,” he continued for good measure as his daughter glanced up at him, “Daddy loves you even more than Chi-Chi does.”

Penelope only giggled.

Lucy

Lucy was never one to run away. She was far too content and fair-minded to bother and even though she was by far the most independent of her sisters, she didn’t dare leave the apartment for any reason. Her issue came with being independent on family outings, most specifically in the mall. Once she saw something that caught her eye it was suddenly her most important mission to go look at it.

It was early December meaning the malls were packed with Christmas shoppers and the Seavey’s were going from store to store for some shopping for their extended family. Lucy was holding Daniel’s hand, admiring all the Christmas decorations through the mall as they walked. At five-years-old, there was always something extra magical about the winter season.

Penelope and Clementine were helping Florence pick out something for Daniel’s parents and Daniel was distracted a few rows away flicking through a line of shirts he was sure Christian would like. He dropped Lucy’s hand so he could skim the sizes and finally pulled one off the rack.

“Flora, think Chris would like this?” Daniel called, holding up the shirt.

Florence glanced over with a smile, “I don’t know, baby, he’s your brother.”

“You’re not helpful.” Daniel tisked.

“Chi-Chi will look very nice in that, Daddy.” Penelope offered.

“You think he looks nice in everything.” Clementine teased from the other side of their mother. Penelope glared teasingly at her sister.

“What do you think, Luce?” Daniel glanced beside him where the youngest daughter had been only moments before. He spun around once or twice to look for her but she was nowhere to be seen. His panicked, “Lucy!” nearly echoed through the busy store.

Florence glanced up at her husband’s obvious panic. Daniel nearly threw the shirt back onto the shelf and started looking down each aisle.

“Lucy!”

He nearly crashed right into Florence in his haste, eyes wide with fear.

“Someone took her!” Daniel rushed out.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m sure no one took her. Let’s calm down and breathe for a second.” Florence said gently to her husband, setting her hands on his arms.

“Lucy Elizabeth!” Daniel shouted over her shoulder.

“Oh my God.” Penelope breathed from where the older two girls stood. “Why’s he gotta yell like that?”

“I dunno but he’s stupid.” Clementine pointed across the mall hallway to the store across the crowd, the blonde five-year-old easily recognizable to her sisters as she stood just inside the entrance and was reaching up to press the keys of the piano that was set up.

Penelope smiled and the older sisters rushed out of the store and through the crowded hallway to rescue Lucy, leaving their parents to panic alone for a moment.

Daniel’s shouts could be heard over the Christmas music playing through the mall but Lucy was in her own world, plinking away at the piano keys in the music store. Her sisters coming up on either side of her only had her grinning and she showed off a few simple messy tunes that she had learned from Daniel during their lessons.

“Daddy’s having a freak out, Lu-Lu.” Clementine said, then ten-year-old bending down to scoop up her baby sister onto her hip.

“I just wanted to play music.” Lucy pouted, reaching over her sister’s shoulder as she was carried back to her parents, Penelope following right behind them.

Daniel and Florence were talking to the store manager and one of the mall security guards when they arrived back. Daniel was nearly trembling and Florence was holding onto his arm amidst her own anxieties, both listening to what the security guard was saying.

“Found her.” Clementine said, dropping Lucy to her feet in front of their parents.

“Oh my God, Lucy!” Florence gasped, both parents crouching down to take their youngest into a tight hug.

“Where were you?” Daniel asked, petting his daughter’s hair lovingly.

“There.” Lucy giggled, pointing across the mall to the music store.

Daniel huffed and scooped her up into his arms, “I should have guessed, huh?”

“Seems your sisters know you better than us.” Florence tisked to their youngest and Lucy shared a cheeky smile with her older sisters as she rested her head against Daniel’s shoulder.

#anything but mine #daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey fanfic

13 notes · View notes

omegangrins · 3 years

Text

A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

11 notes · View notes

silenthillmutual · 4 years

Photo

[ID: Anonymous said: this isnt like, a demand or request, just an expression of interest - you mentioned in your daniil-is-autistic post that you also think artemy is neurodivergent, and i would really enjoy seeing a similar post on that topic. thank you, have a nice day.]

(anon is referring to this post!)

i do have some thoughts that i would like to share about that topic! however comma, it probably will not be as in-depth as my post about daniil, as i am myself autistic and have had a couple years since being diagnosed to ruminate on places where that has affected my life, and so it’s easier to write about coming from a place of personal experience. i can do the same with depression, for the same reason.

i have a couple of ideas about what artemy could have:

adhd

ptsd

ocd

i won’t really be going into ptsd or ocd on this post because i feel like it’s more difficult to point the ptsd out (artemy doesn’t talk much about or flashback at all to being on the front) and because i think ocd should have its own post. it is severely misunderstood, even by other neurodivergent people. plus i think all four of the healers have it (or aspects of it), and this post is about artemy.

i feel like… something about the dsmv diagnostic criteria for adhd feels condescending to me, like it feels the way it’s worded places a lot of the blame on the person who has it? and some of the criteria like “fails to follow through on instructions”, “does not seem to listen when spoken to directly”, “has trouble holding attention on tasks” can depend greatly on the player. not as much of that is baked into artemy’s character and dialogue in the same way that social ineptitude, which is a core feature of autism, is baked into daniil’s character and dialogue.

with that being said: while i will include a few things from the diagnostic dsmv diagnositic criteria as listed on the cdc website, i am going to primarily be thinking about accounts from people with adhd. i have several friends with adhd (and i suspect that i may have it, though i’ve only come to suspect this recently and have had less time to think on it) whose experiences i will be taking into account.

other links to sources i am referring to: [adhd/autism venn diagram by tfw-adhd] [what those symptoms look like in adults, by chadd] [ptsd criteria on brainline] [ocd criteria on beyondocd]

vague spoilers for pathologic classic & pathologic 2

very briefly & quickly: ptsd & ocd

the problem with going into it is this game is already a very difficult and anxiety-inducing world because of the plague and i’d argue that any of the healers could have one or both of these either before the outbreak or after it, so here are some things that stick out to me for

ptsd - overly negative thoughts or assumptions about oneself or the world (can overlap with adhd; artemy has the option to repeatedly blame himself for his father’s death), negative affect, feeling isolated, irritability or aggression, risky or destructive behavior, hypervigilance (any game that dabbles in horror aspects will expect this from you), difficulty sleeping (overlaps with adhd), depersonalization (this is a core aspect of the theatre theme of the game)

ocd - without going through the entire ybocs, i’ll just say that i think all three healers struggle with hoarding (understandably and by necessity) and hypermorality (all three protagonists believe they are the one and only person who is right, rubin is awfully judgmental of people who don’t abide by his personal standards). compulsions would be easier to point out in the game than the obsessions they are linked to, as we’re not exactly privvy to intrusive thoughts outside of the dreams. you could, however, say that artemy struggles with intrusive thoughts of causing harm even inadvertantly and argue that he takes measures to ensure that he doesn’t, won’t, and hasn’t. in classic, this is highly dependent on playstyle.

[this is my standard disclaimer that i have an official diagnosis of ptsd so i’m not just pulling this out of nowhere and am about 98% sure i have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and have researched it thoroughly.]

what’s built into the game: making careless mistakes, poor planning skills, time blindness / anxiety, executive dysfunction

pathologic is a game that sometimes feels like you’re being set up for failure. something that i missed talking about in my previous post is that it often feels like an autism/adhd simulator because it is, in classic, so very easy to screw yourself over and get locked out of an objective by picking the wrong dialogue option. while some of the correct dialogue options are obvious, others feel like a guessing game and you have to just hope you’re picking the right thing and have made a save file at the right place to go back and pick different options in the case that you’ve bungled something. hence, “making careless mistakes”. it’s a little bit easier in 2, as dialogue options that end a conversation are indicated with a diamond (thank you to whomever decided on that!), but it makes up for this by being unforgiving in other aspects. i believe the difficulty settings for imago state that the game is intended to be “almost unbearable” - and lots of people have difficulty completing it on the intended difficulty without cheats. (do not discourse about this on my post.) the game invites you to make careless mistakes and either live with or learn from them.

keeping this in mind, you’re kind of expected to have “poor planning skills” on at least your first time playing it. part of the game’s point is that you can’t do everything, and you can’t save everyone. not paying close enough attention or interpreting the instructions of the game just right in classic can cost you the lives of several of your bound.

that also feeds into time blindness & time anxiety. classic & 2 do these in different ways. in classic, you can’t run, so you have to hope you’re not busy doing something else or else hope that all of your letters come in at a time where you can hit up all the places you need to go, or you’re going to be cutting it short on time for the day. in 2, you can run, but there are far more sidequests to be completed than in classic.

i’d also argue that executive dysfunction is a core aspect of the game. you are very busy and very poor and items are very expensive, meaning that unless you know what you’re in for, either you or the town is low on resources or funds or time to do things like eat, sleep, and take care of your aches, immunity, and infection. all of which can be avoided if you don’t make careless mistakes, have good planning skills, and can manage your time wisely.

“interrupts or intrudes on others”

i don’t appear to have a screenshot of him doing this in 2, but he and daniil do have at least one conversation in which they keep interrupting each other. peak autism/adhd solidarity.

i do, however, have a screenshot example of him doing this to clara in pathologic classic

Haruspex: …Wait a second. If there was nothing but the great Bull, where did the stars and light come from? Changeling: Oh, don’t interrupt!

and as for intruding - khan feels that he does this frequently: intruding on him and capella at the station, intruding on him and notkin at the broken heart, and here he is intruding on kids at the nutshell:

We have so few places of our own - only a couple. And yet you feel the urge to impose yourself even here. Do you know what childhood is? It’s slavery. Herders treat their cattle better than parents treat their children. They lock us up like objects, mold us like statues, and still never take us remotely seriously.

he also intrudes on clara talking with block on day 11, either completely oblivious to the fact that he’s doing it or outright ignoring that he is.

“is often ‘on the go’“

i could say that this is one that is built into the way the game is organized, and it’s true! but his time spent with lara comes to mind. she’s not the only one to mention his restlessness, but i don’t keep screenshots of big vlad on hand so their day 1 dialogue is lost to the wind.

Aren’t you supposed to be terribly busy? I don’t understand why you keep coming. Or do you need my help again? I’ll wash your clothes. You’re filthy, like a chimney sweep. Revolting. While they dry, have some sleep.

“often fidgets […] or squirms in seat”

like with daniil’s body language, i don’t have any gifs to show to prove this. i’m really looking forward to seeing what idle animations he gets in the other two routes. for now i know that in the lucid dream, if you use flycam you can see him idling by swaying and rubbing his chin & that in other pantomimes he can be found constantly turning his head and looking around.

sleep problems

i don’t have the screen shot so just pretend that i do - he mentions this to the fellow traveler on, i think, day one when you go to the dead item shop. in either game, you can also only sleep for a maximum of six hours at a time, which is like..two hours less than the recommended amount, unless that’s changed.

little sense of danger & impulsivity

As usual, I act first and think later. I’ve made a panacea. But from what? What blood was that? Whose blood was that? To cure the Town, I’ll need to figure that out.

there’s actually no dialogue i can think of that addresses the danger of the situation he’s in - which is sort of the reason why i included it! though i am absolutely obsessed with classic artemy threatening grief, kingpin of the villains in town:

Bad Grief: That ain’t good! Got too soft a heart or something? Soft, eh… Well, can’t blame you. Haruspex: Got too hard of a bone structure? You watch it. I’ll break them in no time.

artemy has little to no problem offering to help daniil get ahold of organs and blood:

Bachelor: Exactly. I need tissues of a person who died of the Sand Plague. I need them today, right now! I’ve tried to get them at the cemetary, but failed miserably. The patrolmen are vigilantly watching over the dead. Haruspex: Would you like me to get you some? Bachelor: I’d reward you generously for that. Haruspex: Deal. I’ll do what I can, even though I still don’t have the right to.

‘even though i still don’t have the right to’ - he knows it’s illegal and could easily lose him reputation, but he jumps at the chance to do so. part of his route requires you being in constant danger, but later on there are options to tell daniil you won’t help him. this isn’t one of them.

in pathologic 2, you can also instigate fights with people by, to name a few: refusing to leave the house in the atrium where they have a person bound and gagged upstairs, not leaving barley the barber in grief’s lair, and picking the wrong dialogue option with the guys in the broken heart on day 11.

as referenced above, his impulsivity sometimes shows in the dialogue options you can choose. you can say things that clearly haven’t been thought through all the way. for example, this is what he says to clara bout her parents:

I wonder what you did to your old ones. There was someone gullible enough to adopt you?

and this is how she replies:

Clara: What? Why would you say that? I never even knew them. I’ve been an orphan for as long as I can remember. Artemy: I didn’t know. Right, that’s what I figured.

it’s not all that different from the sort of tactless comment a person with autism might make.

no motivation for tasks you are not interested in & hyperfixations

in pathologic 2, on day 3, daniil asks artemy to be his aide in developing a vaccine. artemy’s responses are all something dismissive and frequently quite rude. here’s the end of that conversation:

Bachelor: I will make the vaccine, but I can’t do it without you. All you need to do is be at hand and do as I say. I will take full responsibility for the situation. Haruspex: Perhaps I’ll drop by… if I have the time.

guess what never happens?

it’s understandable that the panacea is artemy’s main goal. what makes it stick out to me as a hyperfixation specifically is that, while a vaccine is daniil’s main goal, daniil manages to ask artemy about his progress with the panacea.

Bachelor: Anyway, how’s it going? Any progress?

the interest is never reciprocated.

emotional dysregulation & rejection sensitivity dysphoria

i personally think this is the most striking piece of evidence. every single perceived sleight can invoke a drastic reaction in artemy. just take day 3 for example - the perceived sleight here is the belief (based on no evidence) that daniil was snubbing him or trying to exclude him from the meeting:

Bachelor: Burakh. The situation is regretful. I just didn’t have time to warn you. Haruspex: This was ugly of you.

and then he proceeds to get into an argument with him. he can, in fact, get into snits with not just daniil, but with rubin and lara as well. i will not be taking sides in this, because who is right / who is wrong is not really the point, the point is how artemy responds to perceived sleights with increased emotional agitation.

when capella upsets him by telling him she’s taking the kids from under his care for their own protection, he can respond by comparing her to her horrible capitalist pig of a father:

You truly are your father’s daughter. Children always succeed their parents…

i can’t even remember what was said to him to get him to reply this, only that it was said to him by a teenager:

I’m a surgeon. Ever considered having your tongue removed?

he also holds onto murky’s repetitious “what is there about you to love? nothing. so i don’t.” and brings it up to her when she is infected with the sand plague on day 10. though it does bring the rather heartwarming line about murky having loved him from the start, my point remains that he has not been able to stop thinking about something murky has said that she has obviously already changed her mind about by this point in time in the game.

difficulties making & keeping friends

remember what i said about the interest in daniil’s vaccine not being reciprocated? yeah. friends, acquaintances, colleagues - they all kind of expect you to take an interest in their lives. this is where autism & adhd overlap, from my understanding - both can come with an inability to recognize social cues. in fact, i’m going to use the same example now that i used in my post about daniil (it is, after all, what inspired this ask):

Bachelor: From you? Oh, nothing. I was just sharing.

daniil thinks they’ve been having a normal conversation, but artemy hasn’t picked up on whatever social cues he’s been using. this could easily be on either one of them. though i will say, some of my easiest friendships as a person with autism have been with people who have adhd. which is why i’d suggest that daniil saying he’ll tell artemy about thanatica “the way i’d tell a close, intimate friend” is autism/adhd solidarity. despite initially not getting along, they are clearly able to communicate with each other.

i think the rest of this is really self-explanatory. despite being from the town in classic, artemy doesn’t actually appear to have any friends in it. could be a symptom of him having left much ealier (ten years ago as opposed to the five in pathologic 2), but in pathologic 2 his friendships are constantly under threat of spontaneous combustion. this day three conversation with lara sums it up nicely:

Lara: Ugh, whatever. Like it’s any of my business… Do whatever you want. Did you make peace with stakh? Artemy: Doesn’t look like it… Forget Stakh. I see now that I’m one step away from falling out with you. Why?

there’s a variety of reasons why his friendships are falling apart. but it occurs to me that there’s no mention of artemy communicating with his friends at all while he was gone, and maybe that’s contributing to it. this is not an attempt to pick sides (i think everybody’s wrong), i am just pointing this out.

adhd in adults: history of academic or career underachievement, relationship problems due to not completing tasks, chronic stress and worry over failure to accomplish goals, chronic and intense feelings of frustration / guilt / blame

artemy did not finish med school. classic has him described as a “vagrant scholar” traveling from town to town to learn instead of staying in the capital where he was sent (”always ‘on the go’” indeed). in pathologic 2 he simply states that he doesn’t have a degree and that he sucked at latin.

relationship problems mentioned under “making and keeping friendships”, but it should be noted that you can repair your friendships by completing a sidequest on day 3 to gather everyone together.

“chronic stress and worry over failure to accomplish goals” is sort of the entirety of pathologic 2. you could say it’s built into the game, but artemy does express a lot of stress over not knowing where to turn for answers, has bizarre prophetic dreams, and is plagued by… well, the plague taunting him for not being to save his bound. both when notkin gets sick on day 4 and when all of the children get sick on day 10, he can express an extreme amount of guilt for not having the ability to cure them.

i mentioned under ptsd that artemy has a tendency to be able to blame himself for his father’s death, and i think that fits under here as well. there’s also this:

I get anxious thinking about my kids… Are they faring all right in the Lair without me?

conclusion

i do not know if i have adhd myself and i am sure there are things i am missing, especially as i have not completed artemy’s route in classic yet or started clara’s. feel free to contribute to this, i would love to see others’ input!

#icarus.txt #icarus answers #artemy burakh #pathologic meta

54 notes · View notes