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writinground2 · 7 months

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Not a Threat - Jessie Flemming

Based off this request - Jessie gets tackled badly leaving her unconscious and reader is really angry and protective.

“Not worth the card Y/N,” Jessie pushed both hands into Y/N’s chest, pushing her away from the ref.

“There needs to be a fucking card, and he knows it!” Y/N let herself be pushed away, but still motioned to the ref over Jesse’s shoulder to the ref.

The game was only twenty minutes in, but there were several hard tackles directed at the Chelsea offence. The ref had only given the Arsenal players warnings, being far more generous than he should be.

“The cards will come, just play your game,” Jesse pushed Y/N back into position.

Y/N huffed but gave a stiff nod and made her way to line up for the free kick.

The rest of the half continued the same fashion. Chelsea players spending more and more time on the ground, some slower to get up. Jessie having taken the brunt of the Arsenal defence. They tried sending Flemming on quick runs in, hoping keeping her in motion would prevent the defence from sticking to her. After a few full speed tackles, sending her skidding across the pitch, they dropped her to midfield. Midfield wasn’t any better, if gave Arsenal a chance to mark her tighter, bodying her around.

As the players made their way back out of the tunnel to start the second half, Y/N stepped into McCabes space, stopping her just out of the sight of the field.

“You even think of touching Flemming again, I will put you down like a fucking dog, you hear me?”

McCabe didn’t say anything, just tilted her head up, working to keep her glare in place. Y/N stepped closer, chests touching and forcing McCabe to step back to avoid her toes being stepped on.

“I said, do you hear me?”

“Don’t threaten my players,” Leah came around the corner, McCabes glare slipping the longer Y/N towered over her.

“I’m not threatening anyone,” she kept her eyes firmly on Katie’s, “just telling your girl here what will happen if she doesn’t clean it up.”

Y/N gave her a smirk when she saw the crack in McCabes tough exterior, turning and running to join her team on the field without another word.

It seemed Y/N’s words had their desired effect, McCabe actively avoiding Flemming, giving her more chances to run into the box. Quickly putting Chelsea ahead.

Y/N could see the frustration mounting on the Irish player. She could see that Katie wanted to run and mark Jessie quicker, but there was a hesitation before taking off to cover her.

Chelsea uses this to their advantage, pushing their line high, forcing Arsenal on their heels and to drop their line back. Jessie was able to slip in behind their line as Y/N chipped the ball over the defenders.

Jessie can tap it forward enough with her chest before side stepping the keeper, pulling her out of position, she’s able to casually strike the ball. Just as the ball leaves her boot, studs connect harshly with her planted leg, sending her tumbling forward. Her momentum sends her into the keeper her had been rushing to get back into position, sending both tumbling in a pile.

Celebration for the goal abruptly ends when Flemming doesn’t get up when the keeper gingerly climbs off her. Y/N immediately at her side, helping her roll over.

The medics are already running onto the field as Jessie is looking around bleary. Y/N explained that she had been unconscious for a second before coming to again. The medics motioned her out of the way to fully assess the midfielder.

Y/N immediately turns and sets her sights on the Irish woman that’s arguing with the ref. She can see Arsenal players pulling her away, trying to direct her to leave the field. Y/N ignores it all and narrows her eyes.

A strong arm curls around her waist, lifting her off her feet and pulling her away before she can move towards the group. She tries to fight the grip unsuccessfully, thrashing wildly.

“She’s already got the red, don’t do anything stupid,” Millie shouts at her, struggling to keep her in place.

“Fuck that!” Y/N doubles her effort as Katie makes her way past to leave the field, “I told you what would happen McCabe!”

Sam appeared in her face, helping Millie contain Y/N, “Jess is up, go check on her.”

That deflated Y/N’s anger instantly, she stopped resisting both players and turned back to see Jessie getting to her feet. Wobbling in place for a second while both medics kept her balanced. Y/N walked backwards with them, eyes scanning up and down Jessies body, looking for injuries.

“I’m alright,” Jessie whispers, she keeps her eyes down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

Y/N just looked to one of the medics for a better answer about what was wrong.

“Probably concussion, we’ll do a full check in the back.”

Y/N nodded, she paused at the sideline, watching helplessly as Jessie slowly continued down the tunnel.

With only minutes left in the game and Arsenal down a player and a few goals, the reds dropped to focus on defence, wanting the game to end without any more goals.

Y/N takes off down the tunnel as soon as the whistle is blown, ignoring the calls of fans or other players, only focusing on finding her girlfriend.

The lights are off when she gets to the medical room. She softly closes the door behind her, toeing her cleats off, wanting to avoid any additional sound she possibly can. Jessie is still fully in her kit, arm thrown over her face.

“I’m alright,” Jessie mumbles, pulling her arm, looking over to Y/N.

“Liar,” Y/N grins at her, “how’s the noggin?” she places a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Muffled,” Jesse shuffles to the edge of the bed to press her forehead into Y/N’s stomach, “little headache, but the ringing is really bad, stuffs really bright and loud.”

Y/N nodded, gentling massaging the back of Jessie’s neck. They stood wrapped in each other for a moment, “let’s get you changed and ready to go before anyone else gets in.”

Jesse nods but makes not move to pull away. Y/N chuckles, nudging her away slightly, “I’ll be right back,” she drops a quick kiss to her forehead before rushing out of the room.

She pushed through the doors leading to the change room, ripping her jersey off as she walked. Throwing her dirty kit into the laundry, she pulled on her own clothes, shoving her everything in her bag before grabbing all Jessies clothing too. She forced herself to slow down and not slam the door open on her return to the medical room.

Jessie is sitting up when she comes back in, elbows resting on her knees. Y/N gently drops the bags to the floor next to the bed.

“Ready?” Y/N tugs the bottom of Jessies jersey, signalling she’ll start there to change her.

Jessie straightens up a bit, helping pull her jersey and then undershirt off while Y/N pulls out a clean shirt and hoodie.

Y/N pulls the wheelie stool over and grabs Jessies booted feet to rest in her lap to unlace both before gently pulling them and her socks off. Jessie hisses as the sock coms past the bruise from McCabes studs. Y/N muttered an apology, dropping a delicate kiss to the centre of the bruise.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“You’re much too picky an eater for jail,” Jessie teases.

Y/N pushes the stool out of the way as she stands, guiding Jessies hands to her shoulder to help balance her while she stands. Keeping her in place, she pushes her shorts past her hips to pool on the floor. Jessie sits back down while Y/N bunches her pants around her ankles, so they just need to pull them up when she stands up.

Sitting back down, Jessie watches Y/N rummage around her bag, pulling out a pair of sunglasses for the walk to the bus.

Millie is quick to take both their bags from Y/N as they walk through the change room, telling her to focus on getting the midfielder to the bus. Both offer a thanks and make slow work of the walk to the bus.

They both ignore their names being called in the hallway and outside. Some fans quickly quiet down seeing the discomfort Flemming is clearly in, some shouting louder their displeasure of being ignored.

Flemming lets out a sigh of relief as soon as she settled into her seat. She struggles to keep the sunglasses in place while settling on her side with her head in Y/N’s lap, but eventually finds a place.

Everyone is quiet as they make their way on the bus, gently patting Jessie’s shoulder as they walk past. Y/N works her fingers into Jesses neck and shoulders, her other hand rubbing up and down her side.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie flemming x reader #jessie flemming imagine

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0strawberrysorbet0 · 12 days

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𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐼𝑠 𝐺𝑜𝑑.

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑉𝑜𝑥 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

This is based of the song from Heathers! Enjoy!

PLS PLS PLS send some suggestions I'm out of ideas and wanna start writing more!

Summary: Vox finds out you've been a victim of two perverts from Valentino's dungeon, and he has a little.. Fun with the demons who did it.

Warnings: Talk of death, murder, mention of suicide, yandere, vox is a little mad, hitting, stabbing, blood, violence, pervert shit, groping, undressing

Vox wiped the tears off your face, examining the bruise, you had been helping with Valentino, even though he had been forced to release you from the contract you still had a few odd jobs to do in his so-called 'sex dungeon'.

While you were helping on set two perverts came up to you, groping and running their hands on your flesh, squeezing you till your skin had bruised. They had dragged you to a separate room but you had managed to escape before they could do anything.

It had been a few days but some of the marks were persistent, at first Vox had called you a cheater once he spotted them. Screaming and babbling nonsense.

"You.. Yøū cHëætîñg lītTlë SlûT!" He had screamed, voice glitching wildly as he grabbed your arm, however things had changed as soon as a tear slid out your eye and onto your cheek.

"No. Darling, I'm sorry... Shhh shhh it'll be fine" he said, pulling you close as if he wasn't about to hit you two minutes ago

"Now.. Who did this?" He asked, voice stern as he held you tighter.

After you had given the names he told you to go get yourself dolled up, after finishing you went to him. He led you to a large grassy area outside of the tower, the sky was filled with stars.

"Are we.. Having a picnic?" You asked him, head tilted as he pulled something from his pocket.

"Oh? Oh dear no.. It's far too late for that" he smiled a toothy grin, he pulled the object in his palm to his face, a gun..

"What are you doing with that?"

"Hunting Filth."

Filth? That wasn't really an answer, he pulled his watch out and called Valentino and asked him to send the perverts outside.

Holy shit.

The demons could be seen walking out of the building, disgusting smirks across their faces.

"Wonder where the bitch is waiting" one said before laughing "Can't believe that whore wants us both at the same time.. Score!" The other one fist-pumped the other.

Vox hid himself in a bush as they approached you.

"Hey hot shit~ so.. How are we doing this?" He said, already unbuttoning his jeans.

"Well... I was thinking you could.. Strip?" You said awkwardly, trying to okay along with whatever he was doing.

A few minutes passed and now both demons were in their boxers gripping your waist when suddenly..

BOOM!

The bullet fired straight through the first demon's head, blood splattering across your skin.

"Bro?.. Holy shit! (Demon 1 Name)! FUCK!" The second one screamed, pulling away from you as he looked around, spotting Vox behind him,

He began to run, through the field and to the street, this demon was fast but luckily Vox could bounce through each screen he passed until he had him cornered, he was back right next to the field, he had led the demon in a circle,

Like his prey almost.

You had spotted them as they came back, walking and peaking through the corner of the wall to watch.

Vox had a sadistic smile on his face as the demon begged for mercy.

He wasn't given it.

Vox pulled out a knife and ripped the demon the fine pieces of meat, making him unidentifiable.

"Darling? You don't need to hide in the corner! You can watch if you'd like" he smiled sweetly at you.

"Okay" you said as he pulled you to in front of the sliced-up demon.

"He should've just let me shoot him" Vox muttered

You didn't respond, instead letting him engulf you in a tight hug, both demon's blood mixing onto eachother.

"You didn't have to do that" you whispered, wiping blood off his screen around his eyes.

"But I did. Our love is god after all, isn't it dearest?" He smiled.

You simply nodded, accepting they you'd be stuck with him for all eternity.

#vox x reader #vox x male reader #vox x fem reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin valentino #valentino #hazbin vox x reader #vox hazbin x reader #x reader #Hazbin hotel #fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic

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red-n-stuff · 1 year

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Thunder Only Happens When it’s Rainin’

The morning after the interrogation, Darlin wakes from a dream reliving their past. Guilt ridden and aching though they are, Sam is always there right when they need him.

It was some time towards the end of May. They remembered the time so clearly because the school year was coming to a close. DAMN was closing into summer break and Graduation caps had been ordered. The fields of wildflowers up on the foothills were starting to go to seed. All except the late blooming yellow asters.

Those yellow asters stuck out vividly in their memory. The smell of them often followed them home. Crushed into the grain of their skin. The petals finding their way into the edges of their shoes only to fall out and scatter the floor with small reminders of him. To their keen nose, Quinn always sort of smelt like the asters. Like something tangy and tart. Not fully there unless you were looking for it.

Strange, that a fragrance-free flower held such a scent based memory for them. Though, truthfully, they weren’t sure if Quinn smelt like the flowers- or if the flowers just smelt like Quinn.

The day leading up to their time on the hill was a haze, they couldn’t remember if it was a weekend or a weekday, though in the end it didn’t really matter. The setting was the important part anyway. The sky was orange and growing purple around the edges. A warm summer evening, the sun finally gone enough to be safe. Quinn’s Mustang was parked at the bottom of the hill by the trail they climbed together. Quinn playfully shoving their shoulders, and Darlin trying to trip him as they raced. They sat were it was flat, shoulder to shoulder. Asters brushing at their legs.

They were sharing a cigarette. The last of what they had been able to nick from their mom, lit with the lighter Quinn said he had stolen from his dad some long, forgotten time ago.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. Up here, looking out onto the distant city lights, the rest didn’t matter. Not the hurtful words, or their family falling to pieces. Up here, they were something Precious. Two best friends on a perfect day.

At some point, they leaned their head onto his shoulder. Both their fingers brushing as the second-to-last drag was passed over. Quinn’s shoulders rising on the inhale, cheeks filling with it followed by a slow exhale chased by smoke. Handing it back to them, where they left the butt between their lips to ruminate.

Self destructive habits always seemed less unhealthy with a friend, and wrapped in the last of the days light, even adverse things felt healing. Even looking back on it now, they struggled to find the warning. The stop sign. Any indication of what would happen the deeper they fell. They couldn’t stop their reactions to him- not even the way their heart leapt as Quinn reached between them to curl his hand around theirs’. Not even when he rotated his hand to clasp their fingers. Not even the fact that, deep down, they knew the meaning of the gestures were wildly off balance. They didn’t regret a second of it- and maybe that was what made the truth of it so hard to swallow.

They remembered the way Quinn looked at them. The feel of his thick hair as it brushed against their neck when they turned to look up at them. His eyes were mischievous. Sort of on just this side of hazy. They had an oily sheen that made him look…tired- but then again- that wasn’t something that ever really changed. At the time, seeing him on that hill was their favorite. He looked…at ease. Relaxed and in turn, that made it easier for them. He was still and calm, and that was enough.

They often wondered if maybe they’d smiled with too much truth at the time, and that’s what caused it. If they’d flashed some semblance of the carefully repressed longing they’d been concealing. If there was some fatal flaw they may have missed. Either way, they were sure the outcome would have been the same. The atmosphere was too strong. It didn’t really matter who leaned in first.

Quinn reached up unexpectedly, fingers deftly plucking the cigarette directly from their mouth in a bold gesture that took them slightly off guard. They couldn’t take their eyes off Quinn’s lips as he took the final drag- not even as the smoke escaped in whisps like a promise from the back of his teeth. Exhaled like a question. Eyes not leaving theirs’ for a moment.

They had frozen, but they hadn’t tensed. Their cheeks had darkened. Eyes unwavering as Quinn crushed the cigarette into the dirt and shoved the butt in his pocket of his jacket.

Without a scrap of forethought, they had suddenly reached over with their hand curling around Quinn’s nicotine-stained fingers. They had guided his palm to rest firmly in place against thier cheek. Holding him there as their gazes held. Quinn’s breathe caught audibly in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t scramble back in a moment of panic. The dare to hope coiled around their bobbing throat like barbed wire. The chance at fulfilling that ever present something ache that had burrowed in their chest. It was there- right in front of them in the form of blinking eyes full of tension, and raw stress-bitten lips half parted in apprehension.

They leaned in before they could talk themself out of it. Under the internal assurance that they’d come too far to stop now, they pressed their lips chastely against Quinn’s. A soft brush, a question.

Quinns hand tightened where it held his in the dirt between them. They could feel the soft gasp of air after the single second of pressure.

They didn’t recall when they’d shut their eyes, but they held them tightly closed. Unwilling to face the potential negative consequences they may find when they opened them. However, instead of a firm slap, they instead received an answer. Quinn had shifted closer, their foreheads pressing together solidly.

There was something akin to a fatal moment of hesitance in the breath between them in that moment. Like the feeling of knowing what you’re doing is wrong but falling headfirst into it anyway.

Quinn kissed them soft and sweet and slow, and of course they were weak to it. They couldn’t stop the rush they felt, the sparks that crackled behind their eyelids. Couldn’t stop the way they drew Quinn closer.

Their lips met and parted in quick succession, lengthening with each fresh press that Eventually dissolved into an extended kiss. One that felt like their lips were magnetic, both pulled and pushed by the force of suppressed want, and, oh how badly did they want him. They wanted to gather him up by the scruff and kiss him again and again and again until they were drunk on it. They wanted to taste all the bittersweet honey of nicotine and brown sugar.

Quinn shifted to press in closer, and they happily fell back against the ground. Those sunny-faced asters bobbing around their head as their lips slowly began to part. Above them, Quinn offered a breathy laugh, tinged by his accent. Their eyes opened just long enough to see the full force of Quinn’s quirked smirk before he laid down, tucking his nose against their throat.

“Tell me precious….Have you ever been bitten by a vampire?”

The scene faded around them, and their fluttering eyes slowly peeled open to the light that filtered in through the honey colored curtains like water. It bathed the room in warmth and comfort. Beside them, Sam was still asleep. Back pressed against their own. They could feel him breathing steadily.

For a moment, they were still disoriented. Lost between their past and their present. They inhaled slowly and exhaled again quietly.

A dense ball of prickling dread solidified in their stomach. Guilt made their scalp prickle.

They smacked their lips- expecting the taste of iron and nickel that accompanied their nightmares, but instead found only dryness and the memory of the cheap cigarettes they’d long since given up. They held as still as they could, blinking slowly as the memory of his touch faded against their hands.

It was hard to believe that once- sometime far away, in another lifetime, they had looked at Quinn and seen a future.

“I can hear the gears whirrin from here Darlin’” Sam’s husky voice arose from behind them, startling them from their thoughts. Still damp with sleep, he rolled slowly to face them. Tucking his nose up into their shoulder blades. Pressing a long, slow kiss against the knobs of their spine as his hand brushed against their hip. A question for consent.

They exhaled slowly, pressing back into his hold to encourage the arm looping around them securely.

“Dreamin?” Their mate questioned, lightly rubbing his thumb against their hip bone. His voice was twinged with concern in that way that betrayed his worry. Like he was trying not to press the issue, but he couldn’t help but care.

They nodded, throat feeling too sticky to answer.

Sam made a low sound of acknowledgment, tightening his arm slightly around them as he shifted up to press a kiss or two across their shoulder. His lips a bit chapped and rough against the delicate skin. The bare skin of his chest pressed warm and flush against their bare back.

“Do ya needta talk about it?” He asked, this time voice a little softer.

After everything that had happened yesterday, they felt guilty needing more. Needing him to hold them tighter. Needing to confess everything Quinn hadn’t already spilled.

They thought it over for a few moments. Through all of this- confiding was still hard. Vulnerability was still hard. The fight against their first instinct to hide everything they felt. The fight to just be themselves in that present moment. Their exhaustion helped to soften them.

“It was a memory,” they murmured after a long moment of silence, glad they weren’t facing him to say this. “Of Quinn…of before…before everything went to shit.”

Sam squeezed their hip comfortingly. They took the quiet time to try to sort through the swell of emotions that came with the admission.

“I…it’s hard to believe we ever…worked.” They murmured, curling in tighter on themselves. “That I..that I ever..did what we did.”

They sighed, rolling over to press their nose into his chest. Scrubbing a hand over their face.

“It’s alright Darlin,” he soothed, likely for the hundredth time in the span that he’d known them. Eternally patient. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainin’ after all…seein’ him again, and him…” he drew in a slow, steadying breath. Darlin could smell the spark of anger he tried to quell. The sent like gunpowder. “And him doing what he did…there’s bound to be stress that’s reopenin’ old wounds.”

“Yeah..” they affirmed quietly, worrying their lip between their teeth for a moment. Guilt rising in their chest. It hadn’t been a bad dream though. The shame and embarrassment of it left a bitter taste- but the memory itself was something like fond. One of the few handfuls they had of Quinn just being normal. It felt wrong to have any fondness when it came to that man.

“Just feels wrong.”

They heard Sam restrain a sound. Not sure fully what it would have been, but sure it was frustration. Sam’s fingers reached to slide gently through their hair, petting them slowly. Massaging their scalp.

“It ain’t wrong to love, Darlin..” he whispered, “it ain’t your fault he did what he did…people like that only love you when they’re playin sick, twisted games.”

He gently kissed their forehead, and they slowly let their eyes droop closed.

“You just feel whatever you needta feel, and dream whatever ya need to dream.” He squeezed them tighter, “we’re gettin through this. Together. Come hell or high water.”

They released a shuddery exhale, overcome with their love for this man. For the gentleness he shared with them. The delicate touch to all their broken scars.

“I…I’m so thankful for you.” They murmured against his skin.

“And I’m thankful for you Darlin’” he squeezed their shoulders tenderly, “ain’t a hair on your head that I don’t count amongst my blessin’s.”

Their lip quivered, and they pressed their face as hard as they could against his collarbones to stifle the rise of tears. They wouldn’t cry again. They wouldn’t.

Sam’s hand slowly rubbed the middle of their back, pretending like he didn’t notice the way their breathing changed or the salt against his skin.

“Let’s just stay in bed.” He soothed, “go back to sleep…we’re not in a hurry. I’ve got you Darlin.”

They nodded weakly.

“I love you, Sammy.” They whispered through choking breaths.

“I love you too Darlin.”

#redacted asmr #redacted #redacted darlin #redacted sam #shaw pack #redacted fanfic #redacted quinn #post interrogation #y’all I really like the idea that Quinn’s most of the reason that darlin is so untrusting and jaded #the idea that they used to be more open #and that Quinn acted like the perfect man only to turn all of it upside down on them the moment they were vulnerable #totally not me just projecting my own trauma 😳#Red Writes #Heavy

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mj1343 · 2 years

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i feel like the mob vote mobs have been. So left field in the last two years. i think theres some benefit to like sure a squid that glows, a different mooshroom, and a different illager. those are all ideas that exist already. and the allay is fine ig its similar to the vexs and the golem was another golem sure

but the glare and now the sniffer and rascal are just like. theyre just things. they are not based in reality At All and thats not a Huge Issue i just feel like theyre just. sorta wierd things that dont necessarily have to be mobs but are their conduit for bringing in new features like plants etc etc

they feel wierd to me in a way idk how to explain

i dont hate them or anything dont get me wrong i just feel like theyre blobs that could look like litereally anything and their only point is to add a new feature vs adding like pandas and dolphins that are based in reality and bring new life to the world of minecraft

even the original mob vote. all 4 mobs had a feature with them but they also were based in somewhat familiar concepts. a flying creature based on sleep cycles. a squid that pulls you underwater (turned to magma blocks/soulsand bubble elevators) a creature that eats enchantments (granted, the least based in existing stuff of the bunch, but turned into the grindstone) and an armored blaze, obviously based off the preexisting blazes

idk. not complaining. just thinking on how the mobs have evolved. if the sniffer had a wildly different design but still had the same function would that change anything? i dont think so. vs the glowsquid and the moobloom build off existing things and fit into the world.

#rambling #minecraft #my post #minecraft mob vote 2022 #minecraft sniffer #minecraft rambler

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Sometimes some people let their ships rule over them and affect their opinions on one character or group of people just based on that. If you like the inner circle then you dislike Lucien/Elucien or if you DO like Elucien then you dislike the inner circle (Feyre included!). Another one: if you like Gwynriel and Nesta and the Valkyries then you dislike the Inner Circle or if you like the Inner Circle especially Feyre then you dislike the Valkyries. You guys, Nesta and Feyre have made peace, calm down. If you like Rhys then you dislike Nesta and vice versa. Don’t even get me started on the whole Tamlin and Tamlain situation.

Meanwhile here I am: I love Feyre and Rhysand, they are the heart of this series, cry all you want but Sarah has made it that way. Let’s be honest ACOMAF, which is Feysand’s story, is what really propelled this series to become wildly popular. I also love Elucien (team doing it in a field of flowers or in the woods with fire in his blood all the way!) and I want Feyre and Lucien to get a proper revival of their friendship again. They give off total siblings vibe—the kind who will yell at the person who hurt you and then yell at you right after whilst saving your ass and then proceed to roll their eyes at you. Why does this sound like it’s happened already? They’ve been friends ever since she was a little itty bitty human! Probably her first friend ever, anywhere! I hope in the Elucien book (it will happen istg, we get some of Feyre and Lucien again) And I want the Archeron sisters to rebuild their sisterhood! I am not a Nesta Stan but I can appreciate her story and I like the Valkyries especially Gwyn! And I like the inner circle too! When Nesta and Rhys had that beautiful moment at the end of ACOSF I was so happy. Even with all their faults and flaws. I am neutral on Tamlin but I’ve moved on from hating him, just like Feyre has, she told him that she wishes he finds happiness too.

Sometimes I feel as if I am the only one who has this stance. Maybe I just like them all too much. I should be angrier. Grrrrrrr…….yep, that’s the extent of my anger and salt.

I actually resonate with a lot of what you just said! Yes, the characters do things we don't like and they make us mad at certain points but at the end of the day, they are all friends and family (I don't want Tamlin to be in that particular family but I hope he finds his own path where he's happy). And yes, maybe right now there's a lot of crazy emotions and frustrations being experienced between the characters but that's what happens when they're all trying to find their way in this new world. But at the end of the day, everyone that gets a POV is meant to be the hero of the story (especially Rhys and Feyre though they have this extra weight constantly on their shoulders because they are the ones in charge. As much as you love your friend, sometimes you don't love your boss, right?). You might not love this character or that character "the most" but I think the author wrote this series hoping that you'll still feel fond of everyone by the main ones by the end of it. I definitely didn't love Nesta for a lot of the series but I'm really happy to see the place she has now found herself in. Thinks of the ups and downs Aelin and Co. went through. There was a lot of dysfunction but when we finally said goodbye to the characters, there was a lot of harmony that existed between them all and I really do think that's what we're working toward in ACOTAR. Maybe once the dust settles people will finally be able to stop pitting this sister against that sister or Nesta against Rhys (and so on) and the discord comes from the unknown of how it will all play out. But I think you're on the right track with how you feel about it because if I were an author, I'd hope for the same feedback from a reader.

#pro feyre #pro rhysand #pro nesta #pro cassian #pro azriel #pro gwyneth berdara #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #pro amren #pro mor

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kaijutegu · 2 years

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I just saw a post on Facebook of a local taxidermist restoring a mount from the Field Museum. In the description of this mount, she said “Although I do not know its origin, based on how it was mounted originally id say its safe to say this animal died of natural causes.” And that got me thinking, because it’s a leopard. It absolutely did not die of natural causes. The Field Museum, like literally every other big natural history museum, commissioned all kinds of hunts in the 1900s-1930s where animals from across the globe were hunted en-masse. That’s how we got scientific specimens. It’s barbaric by today’s standards, but it was a different era back then and we didn’t have the same standards. This isn’t an excuse, but it is an explanation.

And there’s no way in hell she doesn’t know this, because she used to be a scientific illustrator at the museum. The Field makes it very clear where these animals came from. They have public signage about it, and it’s even more clear down in collections.

It kinda got me thinking again about my feelings re: ethics in the natural history and vulture culture community. We seem to really like it when we can justify the death of an animal as “ethical.” “It was roadkill.” “It died of natural causes.” “Ethically collected.” “Ethically sourced.” Ethics has become SUCH a buzzword, and it’s... I dunno. It kinda feels like there’s a part of the community that doesn’t want taxidermy to be as conflicting as it is, like they want it to be a feel-good hobby that doesn’t center around the fact that something did have to die to make the art you’re collecting.

To me, that’s kind of the beauty of it, looking at death and repurposing what’s left over.

What does ethical taxidermy mean? Does it mean the animal didn’t experience pain? If that’s the case, then you can’t call roadkill ethical. Does it mean the animal’s death was inevitable, and that it would have died anyways and you’re just scavenging the parts? Does it mean that the animal suffered minimally throughout its life? Does it mean simply that taxidermy wasn’t the end goal of the animal’s death and that its death, whether that was at human hands or natural causes, had a different purpose in mind?

There’s a sister train of thought to this as well. Natural history museums- I’m talking the old ones established in the 1800s-1900s- were colonialist endeavours. In many ways they existed to show off the natural resources of a nation’s colonies and territories. There was a lot of resource extraction for these museums- white scientists would go places, shoot as much wildlife as they could, harvest as many native plants as they could, and then come home to exhibit the stuff. It wasn’t so outwardly egregious as museums that were essentially designed as colonial treasure houses (like the British Museum), but it presented a very... strange way of looking at environments, because a lot of these natural history museums ignored the people who were there. And that meant creating this idealized (primarily African) landscape that was just big game as far as the eye could see, a playground for rich white hunters. When people were involved, they were... basically treated like a different sort of animal, something to be gawked at rather than understood. It was wildly dehumanizing, and it’s a legacy that natural history museums are still grappling with today.

To say that a leopard- one of the African “Big 5” game animals- in a vintage museum collection died a natural death is disingenuous at best and intentionally misleading at worst. I really wonder what she was thinking when she made multiple posts (that nobody has commented on) about how she assumes this animal died naturally.

#vulture culture #natural history #museum studies #taxidermy

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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"you know, i think my parents would be proud if i brought you home" with childe?

pairing: childe x gn!reader

the snow that lines the streets of mondstadt is a peculiar sight, but not too rare to set the town into a frenzy. beside you walks childe, the newest resident at the fatui-occupied goth hotel and your long-term lover. after the hectic nature of his assignment in liyue, both the two of you were surprised when childe was assigned to mondstadt as his newest area to patrol. with the stormterror threat eliminated and a gnosis-less archon, mondstadt poses little significance to the fatui’s plans. however, the two of you know better than the question the tsaritsa’s assignment, nor the blessing of her pairing the two of you together.

childe navigates the snow with ease but you, despite being fatui as well, are not a snezhnayan native. your lover is smart enough to recognize this and holds your hand tightly, ready to catch you if you slip alongside him. he laughs as he clutches your hand tightly and tells you stories of snezhnaya. you’re fairly sure he’s bluffing about the way the snow piles up so high that they can’t leave their houses, but you don’t know enough about his home of morepesok to call him out for his lies. he sways your hands back and forth as the two of you walk through the snow-powdered fields of mondstadt, now outside of the boundaries of the city.

“in snezhnaya, we have these fearsome snowbeasts that are taller than any building in mondstadt. they’re harmless, but they like to take humans and eat their shoes-“ childe begins until you playfully bump your shoulder into his own, sending him an accusatory look.

“now i know you’re lying to me,” you say and childe holds up his free hand up in surrender, chuckling at your faux outraged expression at your lover’s teasing. “be honest, what’s really in snezhnaya?”

“my family.” childe says almost immediately. his expression softens at the thought of them and you look at him expectantly.

“you talk about your siblings a lot.” you nod and childe smiles wistfully as he glances at the snowy atmosphere before him. you give him a reassuring squeeze to his hand. it doesn’t take a genius to know that he longs for home.

“my parents are there too. they miss me, i can tell from the letters we exchange,” childe says with a soft laugh. “i talk about you in them, y’know.”

“really?” you ask, although there’s not much surprise in your voice. after how long the two of you have been together, you’re not surprised that childe talks about you to his family. you wonder if he talks about you to his family as much as he talks about his family to you. “hopefully only good things.”

childe laughs, before looking at you with a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“i don’t think i could think of a single bad thing to say at you if i tried,” he says honestly, before clearing his throat, as if he wants to change the subject from his sincerity. you feel your own face increase in temperature in response, despite the cold that surrounds the two of you.

“you know,” he begins, glancing away from you and holding onto your hand just a bit tighter as the two of you walk. “i think my parents would be proud if i brought you home.”

“oh?” you ask, unable to contain your smile at his kind words. “are you inviting me to meet them?”

“well, if you’re ever summoned to snezhnaya, i think they’ll demand that i bring you home. they’re practically begging for me to bring you to visit already.” childe chuckles, glancing over at you with adoration in his eyes.

“but-“ he says before cutting himself off, causing you to tilt your head and narrow your eyes at him.

“‘but’?” you echo his words, urging him to continue. childe swallows deeply before letting out a nervous laugh.

“i’m fairly sure my mom would propose to you on my behalf if i haven’t done it by then,” childe confesses, causing you to burst out in laughter. “i’ve never seen my mother beg for anything, but i think she’s frothing at the mouth to adopt you as her newest in-law based solely off the way i talk about you.”

“so, why haven’t you proposed then?” you tease, but your lover stops in his tracks as his face blooms into full hues of scarlet. his mouth parts slightly as he stares at you with wide eyes and you’re half-tempted to kiss him out of his stupor, but your interest in his response prevents you from doing so.

“um- i- um-“ he stammers, clearly flustered. “i-.”

his hand fumbles to the hidden breast pocket of his uniform, slipping underneath the fabric to fish for something. his gloved hand pulls out a small object and his other hand falls from your own. with wide eyes, you watch as your lover kneels down on one knee in the snow, holding up the mystery object in his hand to you. your breath catches in your throat as the object gleams in the sunlight. a ring. tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you struggle to maintain your breathing as childe begins to speak.

“this uh... this wasn’t as romantic as i wanted it to be, but will y-“ he begins, but before he can finish, you instinctively interrupt him, throwing your arms around his neck and barreling into him, toppling the two of you into the snow.

“yes!” you nearly shriek as you pepper his face in kisses. “a thousand times yes!”

childe bursts out into laughter as you smother him in affection despite the thin layer of snow that now coats the two of you. his lips melt into yours and you forget about the world as you kiss him, only to be interrupted by him pulling away and grinning at you mischievously.

“you didn’t even let me finish,” he pouts slightly, yet his eyes gleam with excitement and his words are far, far too happy to hold any serious grievances within them.

“my answer would still be the same,” you say as childe’s hands rest on your waist as you look down at him in the snow. his eyes widen in panic as he quickly gestures for the two of you to sit up and he looks around wildly.

“uh, time for our first date as an engaged couple,” he says nervously as his eyes scan the snow. you tilt your head in confusion, baffled by his sudden change in demeanor. “we have to find the ring i dropped in the snow.”

#i got... carried away #childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #//mail #mail.childe #writing.childe #axia.writing

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lexosaurus · 3 years

Text

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked.

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear.

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close.

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move.

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet.

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good.

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now.

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!”

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid?

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk.

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?”

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS.

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?”

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?”

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly.

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho.

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask.

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy.

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt.

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily.

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.”

Shouta gave the kid one last glance.

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked.

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed.

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon.

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes.

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton?

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started.

Danny just looked tired.

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I…” Danny looked lost.

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified.

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks.

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

[check out some of my other fics]

#danny phantom #dannymay2021 #bnha #my hero academia #my writing #aka danny has A Bad Time #but it's ok because dadzawa

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Note

I don't know what to really ask but just give me some assassin's creed content El. Headcanons, Fic, whatever you want just give me some content, pls.

Modern Day Assassin's Creed Headcanons

These are some very general AC headcanons, talking about the modern day characters because gd, I actually like them fight me.

Modern day assassin's go about things in a simultaneously traditional way and more modern way. So, training is a lot of the core tenants mixed with more modern elements.

Modern assassins don't actually weak the garb from the past unless it's like, a super special ceremony. They dress just like we do because come on. Come on. There's a reason Torres said "the costume made infamous by your secret organization."

I feel like all assassins are huge intersectional feminists. I'm not taking questions on that.

Assassins also have localized mentors. So, y'know, Midwestern assassins have a league of mentors that specialize by sector. There's so many assassins now that it just makes sense?

The way ranks work now is relatively the same? They kept a lot of old tradition.

There are assassins that aren't in the field. Researchers, data retrieval, not all of them are physical soldiers, BUT, all of them know how to fight should they absolutely need to.

Parkour is still essential to the assassin training core. Modern day assassins actually tend to forget about parkour because everyone wants to fight instead.

Freerunning styles actually differ by region! Western European styles drip with style and show where as North American freerunning is filled with showmanship and a little messy!

The traditions of different brotherhoods drip into their assassins. Where as the West Indies Assassins may enjoy one method of assassination, the SEAsian Assassins will enjoy something else and will often default to that as well.

Assassins have different nicknames and are often bonded by the brotherhood they come from.

There's a weird rivalry between the Midwestern Assassins and the New England Assassins. No one knows why, but it's existed for decades. All friendly, of course.

Hell even by country the assassin brotherhoods will differ. The culture is blanketed the same, but varies WILDLY by the society they exist in. The Bolivian brotherhood is leagues different than the Nepal brotherhood. That's just how it is.

Each brotherhood has the universal traditions mixed in with their own that get passed down from generation to generation of assassin. Some of these traditions are centuries old (looking at Altair's home).

Assassins are literally everywhere. They are a global unit, and they are well known within the "secret organization" world.

The Templars are no different.

This is essentially a war that will never end due to human stubbornness and a general lack of not being able to communicate.

It confuses the assassins wildly why Abstergo, a Templar company, would make games and media based off of Assassin history.

Assassins are nomadic by nature.

While it was never Aya and Bayek's intent for the Hidden Ones to become figureheads in their own community, there's a lot of lessons to be learned from those who came before. Aya, who became Amunet, is one of the most celebrated and beloved assassins in all history. It's why there was a tomb hidden away for her in Italy.

All of the greats get remembered in ways they never really expected, and of course, there are jokes surrounding their lives that exist to this day.

It's funny to call each other novices, but no one knows why. Mailk

Some inside jokes are only understood by a singular brotherhood.

Modern day assassins are also extremely well rounded individuals. They know a plethora of skills to blend in with whatever their situation calls for given their missions and the calls of their mentors.

The brotherhood will also pay off college debts/put you through college. They value their assassins to be educated in a plethora of things, college/university being one of them.

Literally there's a place for everyone in the brotherhood. Whether it be in the field, or archiving data, there is always somewhere for you in the brotherhood.

It's not uncommon for older, but not mentor assassins to take in younger/less experienced assassins and train them as well.

Look, camaraderie is a big thing and always will be.

Assassins that are more nomadic than others tend to live in groups, like what Rebecca, Shaun and Desmond were doing.

Groups are deeply personal.

Idk why they made the animus like, a VR headset at one point but I like to think it's not entirely like that???

Yes, you can check out your ancestors in the animus.

Most assassins can speak multiple languages and are versed in some type of sign language.

Assassins are more often than not a heritage thing, but they accept people whenever.

The bleeding effect is still very much a thing. Sometimes, that's how novices will work in a bind.

Sometimes, saying "requiescat in pace" is a bit of a joke in their circles.

You do not badmouth the legends of the past.

Sometimes, assassins will go a little rogue and work with Templars for the greater good. This happens more often than not, and when it does, it has to be extremely hush hush.

Modern assassins and Templars are more willing to talk about things than their predecessors.

Birds are still a big thing with the creed. More often than not, assassins are taught falconry.

You can't have a fear of birds lmfao.

Some assassins have parrots. African Greys, Cockatoos, macaws, stuff like that! Some have crows, ravens, hawks, it goes on. Birds are integral to the creed.

Assassins have like, safe houses and stuff, some more showy than others and grand. There are hidden statues around of different mentors in accordance with what they did in life. In the rafters, windowsills, it's kinda fun. Like an easter egg.

Layla Hassan was super interesting for the time she was part of the assassins and many are still torn on how to feel about her. Shaun and Rebecca especially.

Modern assassins are often more stuck in history than they would like to admit.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed headcanon #assassins's creed x reader #layla hassan #bayek of siwa #aya of alexandria #ezio auditore #demond miles #shaun hastings #rebecca crane

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omg-imatotalmess · 3 years

Text

Pet Names

Hey guys! I have had the headcanon that George would turn into a puddle when you call him something sweet, and my hypothetical question got lots of positive responses. So, here I am, yet again, offering a subby boy because that’s my specialty. Hope y’all enjoy!

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Requested: No

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!), sub!George, dom!reader, pet name kink, praise kink, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, riding, swearing

---

There was one thing about dating George Weasley that was an absolute fact: George loved pet names. Of course, you knew that to a degree. Since you started dating, it had become a rarity that he called you by your given name. You would have hated it from anyone else. Pet names typically weren't your thing, but you couldn't bring yourself to hate them when his voice dripped with sweetness. However, it never really occurred to you that he might want you to use them too. It wasn't until the two of you were lying on a couch in the Room of Requirement that you even thought about it.

Snuggled up to his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he dozed, you began to reflect on the whole pet name situation. He always had something sweet on the tip of his tongue while you only ever called him George. Georgie, if you were feeling particularly affectionate. You wondered if it bothered him that you didn't have a cute name for him. It wasn't like he'd ever asked, but sometimes he had trouble asking for things that he thought were embarrassing without joking about it. He always gave you delightfully cheesy nicknames when people were around that could easily be brushed off as joking. So maybe the embarrassment thing was the case. He just didn't exactly know how to ask.

"I can hear the wheels turning in your head, sweetheart," George said, breaking you from your musings.

"Sorry, go back to sleep," you said, nuzzling his neck affectionately.

"Wasn't sleeping before anyway. Even if I was, what goes on in that brain of yours has to be more interesting," he said. Smiling, you rolled completely on top of him so you could see him better. "Well, hello there."

"You caught me. I was thinking again," you said.

"Were you thinking about me?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I was."

"How embarrassing. Do you have a crush on me or something, love?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"You're an idiot," you said fondly. "Really, though, I wanted to ask you something." The playfulness drained from his face immediately as he adopted a more serious expression. He almost looked a little worried. Smiling, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss between his furrowed brows in an attempt to make the wrinkle go away.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, I was just thinking about the nickname thing," you said. Your answer did nothing to relieve the expression.

"Don't you like them? I'll call you something else if you want." You shook your head.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted me to call you something else. Do you want cute names too?" you asked. George shifted under you, his expression morphing into one you'd become incredibly familiar with. A bright red flush bloomed over his cheeks as an almost concerningly wide grin pulled at his lips.

"Thought you'd never ask snookums!" he laughed nervously, "Here I thought you were about to let Ron and Hermione out cute us. Personally, I think you should go for something like 'the sweetest love of my life and future husband.' The whole phrase. Just to prove them that we're the cuter pair." As he rambled, you found yourself becoming more and more amused by his expert avoidance of your eyes.

"George?" Your voice was gentle but prodding, cutting his nervous speech short. Blinking, he offered another nervous laugh.

"Yes, darling, sweetness, light of my life?" he asked.

"Breathe," you said.

"Right. I'll live a lot longer if I do that," he said, pulling in a steadying breath. Smiling, you ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him further.

"Now, as much as I truly do like 'the sweetest love of my life and future husband,' it's kinda a mouthful," you said.

"That's what she said," George rattled off automatically.

"Jesus, I didn't mean to fluster you so bad. I'm sorry, sunshine," you said, testing the name.

And he whimpered. It was just a soft, breathy little sound. One you would have missed if you hadn't quite literally been laying on his chest. You weren't even sure if he was aware he'd done it, but, Christ, were you happy he did. That one little sound told you so much. Not to mention the way his fingers squeezed needily at your hips and that his eyes seemed to lose focus. Suddenly, you felt like you were taking up his entire field of vision. Nothing beyond you existed. Not to him. All that for just one simple word.

"You like, sunshine?" you asked.

"I dunno if it has the same ring as, uh, as whatever it was that I said, but it's alright," he said, squirming under your penetrating gaze.

"Just alright? You want something else?" you teased.

"If you-if you think you can c-come up with something better," he stuttered.

"Okay, baby boy," you purred.

If you thought sunshine had done it for him, baby boy blew that out of the water. A shiver tore through his body right down to his fingertips as his mouth dropped open into a quiet moan. Despite the low volume, the sound echoed in your ears. It dripped with pure need. As though he couldn't go another second without you touching him. The cherry flush that bloomed high in the apples of his cheeks swooped over the tips of his ears. He was beautiful. Enticing. And you were only human. Leaning forward, you traced your tongue up the shell of his ear, biting it lightly.

"That better?" you muttered against his ear. Pulling back, you watched as George opened and closed his mouth, fishing for anything to say in response. He wasn't having much luck, just spitting out collections of sounds that didn't quite resemble words.

"Come on, baby boy, use your words," you said, cupping his cheek and rolling your thumb over his bottom lip.

"Yes." His voice cracked on the word.

"Good boy," you said, smirking like a well-fed cat, "Now, how 'bout we get you out of those clothes. I wanna see all of my pretty baby."

"Please," he breathed. Carefully, you repositioned yourself, so you had full access to his clothing. You only managed a couple of buttons before his much larger hand curled around one of yours. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he brushed a tender kiss over your knuckles.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he said. Smiling, you pulled his hand to your mouth and returned the gesture.

"I love you too," you replied.

With your hand back, you made quick work of his shirt. You pushed it open and took in the lightly freckled expanse of his chest. His skin was a swirl of cinnamon-colored constellations. You trailed your fingers across them, admiring the trail of goosebumps the left behind. George was lovely. Devastatingly so. Bringing your head down, you followed the same path your fingers had taken, stopping briefly to lap at his nipples. He whined softly at the attention, tangling his hands in your hair.

"You're so beautiful," you said.

You kissed up his chest to his lips, and he tilted his head to meet you. His lips pressed hungrily to your own. The faint taste of honey teased your senses as you dipped your tongue into his mouth. You loved that he always managed to taste sweet. Lightly, you ran your tongue over his own, savoring that elusive sweetness for as long as you could. Slipping your hand down to rub him through his pants, you were surprised to find him fully hard. Even though you'd barely touched him, he was straining against his zipper.

"(Y/N)," he whimpered against your mouth.

"I bet that's uncomfortable. You want me to take care of that, baby boy?" you asked, popping the button.

"Please. Please take care of it," he begged, bucking his hips into your hand. Without responding, you pushed his pants down to his thighs while trailing burning kisses down his torso. You pressed a kiss to each of his hip bones before wrapping your hand around his cock. Giving it a few long, slow strokes that had him bucking into your hand, you looked up at him.

"Tell me what you want," you said.

"Your mouth. Please, (Y/N)," he said quickly.

"Anything for my sweet baby boy," you said.

Slowly, you dragged your tongue from the base to the tip, paying special attention to the ridge of the head. A low moan sounded above you. You took a moment to appreciate the sound before sinking his cock into your mouth. His hips bucked, and you gagged slightly. Breathing softly through your nose, you gripped his hips tightly to keep him from doing it again. You bobbed your head slowly, running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock.

"C'mon, don't tease," George begged, straining against your restrictive grip.

You didn't say anything but picked up the pace slightly. Removing on hand from its place on his hip, you fondled his balls and teased lightly at his perineum. His hips flexed wildly against your hand. It only took swallowing around him once before he was calling out warnings and groaning loudly into the open air. You pulled off before he could cum, ignoring the disappointed whine.

"Wanna come. Please, (Y/N), I wanna come so bad," he cried, bucking into the air looking for friction.

"I know, baby boy," you said, shimmying out of your pants. "I wanna be ridding you when you do, but you gotta prep me first. Can you do that for me? Can you finger me until I'm nice and open for you, baby boy?"

"Uh-huh," he said, fumbling for the lube that appeared on the table. Turning, you presented yourself to him, so he had better access. Gentle as always, he sunk a long finger into you.

"That's my good boy," you sighed. As he fingered you open, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the backs of your thighs. You wrapped your hand around his cock again, stroking it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. Then he curled them a bit.

"There! That's it," you mewled, rocking back against him.

"More!" He obediently added another finger.

"Am I making you feel good?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Whether it was from moaning or just from the idea that he was bringing you pleasure, you couldn't tell.

"So good," you said. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, and he shivered.

"Close," he whimpered.

"Let me sit on your pretty cock, baby boy," you purred. Almost reluctantly, he slipped his fingers from you, and you positioned yourself over him. Neither of you was interested in waiting long. Once he was fully seated inside you, you could already feel him shivering with the effort not to cum.

"Move?" It came out as a question. Both asking your permission and begging you to ride him until he was shaking with overstimulation.

Picking up your hips, you dropped them back slowly. You savored the slight burn of the stretch. Hands quickly found your hips. And then you were moving. You weren't sure if he'd thrust up into you or if you'd started this pace on your own. You didn't care. It didn't matter when he was hitting that spot inside you just right.

"So good, baby boy! Right there!" you cried.

"So tight. So good. Wanna cum! Please can I cum?" he begged, digging his fingers into your hips in a way that would definitely bruise.

Pulling his chin up with two fingers, you kissed him like your life depended on it. Tongues tangled sloppily, your teeth clicked together, and the angle was a little off considering the constant motion. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care with him, whining obscenities into your mouth. Begging to cum so prettily. If you were a little meaner or not so desperate yourself, you'd draw it out a little longer. Maybe next time. Separating with a wet pop, you smoothed your thumb across his spit-slick, swollen lips.

"Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me?" you asked. He nodded, hooded eyes staring at you pleadingly.

"Close, close, please," he whined, dropping his head forward to your chest.

"Cum, baby boy." With a long, low moan, he was gone. He pounded sloppily into you with uncontrolled thrusts, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you impossibly closer. Between that and the sight of his utterly wrecked expression, you went tumbling over the edge after him. Your own shout of pleasure shook the room. Your thighs trembled with the force of it. For a second, you swore, you stopped breathing.

"Holy fuck," you panted as you came down from your high.

"Felt pretty holy to me," George said, leaning heavily against the arm of the couch.

"When I find my brain, I'll say something witty," you said. You let him slip out of you, opting to ignore the mess running down your thighs in favor of laying against his chest again.

"Anytime you wanna do that again, I'd happily oblige, love," he said.

"You just fucked my brain across the room while I called you baby boy, and you're already thinking about round two?" you snorted.

"Should I not be?" Well, round two did sound pretty good.

"Give me a hot minute, and I'll get right on that, sunshine." You didn't miss the love in his dark eyes as he gazed down at you with a crooked grin. Or the way his cock twitched in interest.

#its 3:30 am #but here it is #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut #george x reader #george x reader smut #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #dom!reader #sub!george #smut #harry potter #hp

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spidernana · 3 years

Text

Day 3: Secret

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34214341/chapters/85234534

Once upon a time, there was a mountain.

This mountain was a lonely one, standing apart from the distant range of similar peaks in the distance, casting its shadow over the city of men that lay at its foot. It was surrounded by dense forest, deep lake waters, and a slowly melting glacier, its rounded, ancient top dusted with snow and its base lined with an aged but well maintained barbed wire fence. The fence had signs posted along its perimeter that declared it private property, but in truth, the mountain, the forest, and all its secrets belonged to no one.

The signs were there because of what lay beneath the rocks and the roots. The fence and its barbs tried to hold back adventurous souls from climbing the lonely mountain, in the hope that no one else would go missing, because among its dark and aged trees, within the many caves and deep shafts that dotted the cliffs and wending paths, many people had disappeared and never been found. The mountain was considered dangerous, perhaps even cursed, and likely riddled with hungry mine shafts determined to swallow up the unwitting.

The mountain had never been mined. There was no curse on those ancient grounds. No... there was instead a history, long forgotten, buried deep within the dormant volcano itself. There was a people, ash and dust, imprisoned there and left to rot. There was an old and consuming shadow, still wandering the halls and paths below, that hungered for release.

All else had perished. Scattered to the winds, so much power given to the hands of one who dared not ever return to, or even look upon, the mountain ever again. He had abandoned his world entirely, for a time, caught up in the games and caprices of warring gods and petty, fickle creators, and hadn't thought of the magickless world even once as he had explored the multiverse and seen sights beyond compare.

He returned now, though, half a world away from that forsaken and hollow mountain, stepping into being as the air about him snapped and crackled with his dark master's power, lent him for the sake of spreading Nightmare's shadow across all worlds. He shrugged twice, settling a stained and aged blue jacket back evenly onto his broad shoulders, and crooked his head side to side as he shook the remaining dregs of the Void from himself, cracking the visible vertebrae his neck was composed of.

His empty sockets swept the horizon with practiced caution, long years of running and being attacked, both with provocation and without, teaching him well; the grasses of the flat and nearly featureless plain he had appeared in bent beneath the touch of a gentle breeze, barren and uninterrupted for miles but for a single, small log cabin. The sun was starting to set, throwing shadows from the scattered and widely spread trees across the fields and coloring the sky with a bursting of reds and pinks and golds, reflecting off the heavily curtained windows of the cabin he now approached, the gravel of the front path quiet beneath his careful heel.

A thin finger of smoke rose from the chimney stack atop the roof, carrying to him the scents of cooking meat and baking bread, and from beyond the curtained windows, there came the sound of music, accompanied by unpracticed but pleasant singing. A smirk split the bone of his face, the corrupted magic streaking from his sockets and his mouth glinting in the setting sun, the target floating before his hollow chest gleaming as wickedly as his twisted smile.

She'd never hear him coming.

The door, well oiled and unlocked (tsk tsk...), opened and shut behind him without a sound, sparse but comfortable furniture lined the rooms he snuck through on the way to the kitchen, its light illuminating the doorframe. The music and singing grew louder, the clanking of dishes and the rush of water giving away the occupant's position, and as he bent around the doorframe, sockets locked on her turned back, a long, gleamingly sharp knife slid from within his sleeve, falling with practiced ease into his skeletal palm.

His steps were silent across the tile floor as he slipped into the room with the grace of a shadow, his posture that of a stalking predator as he drew near enough to smell the soap in her freshly washed hair (lavender... his favorite), the knife shone steady and deadly in his hand... before he pounced, his free arm winding around her waist from behind and his hand, knife glinting in the overhead light, slamming down against the kitchen counter hard enough to embed the blade a few inches into the wood.

The woman in his grasp let out a shriek, thrashing wildly against his hold, but he pressed her against the edge of the counter with his hips against her rear, pinning her with his greater weight and size, and turned his skull to press his bony lips to her ear through her shoulder length, chestnut brown hair-

“didn't i tell you to keep that door locked~”

Her squirming and shouting ceased immediately, her form losing all the rigidity that surprise and fear had lent it. She turned in his grasp, bright brown eyes framed by long, dark lashes finding his sockets, before a smile lit up her pretty face, framed by poofy locks of hair and flecked with a few suds from her washing. Her expression shifted into affected anger a moment later, though, and one of her hands roe to slap his shoulder gently (as though even her hardest attempt could harm him now... he'd gained far too much LV at this point to flinch from even knife wounds), her brows lowering over those beautiful, luminous eyes and her full lips pulling into a frown.

“Sans!! Jesus, you scared me!” Frisk chastised even as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against the front of his without fear and her lips to his bony pair without flinching, and just that gesture, just the sound of his long abandoned name and the trust he could feel emanating from her, stole every last dreg of his breath from him, as it did every time he returned to her.

He'd almost forgotten his name, truth be told, by the time he'd come back to his world in search of fate. The years had been hard and long, and his corruption ran deep in his twisted shade of a soul, stealing more and more memories of before from him as time trickled on. He hadn't needed that name, anyway, so he hadn't cared for its fleeting memory... no one else had called him Sans since the last life he'd taken in the Underground.

He'd been Killer for so long that when he had finally found her, had stolen her from her miserable life in the city and brought her here, to keep her safe and hidden from the grasp of his master, that he hadn't known how to introduce himself. She, unlike many of the other worlds he'd been to, had never fallen into his Underground. He had never met her, befriended her... been betrayed by her, or betrayed her in turn, as many of his companions had.

It had felt like the fresh start that it truly was, a second chance at a life he'd long disparaged. He'd given up the love that he'd seen many others by his name give chase to, focused only on ascending to the highest level of power any monster had ever achieved... but then, Nightmare had told him, and his companions, of his past. What had caused his fall from grace, the reason for the never ending war with his brother, the real motivation behind his trail of conquests, and what he intended to rebuild from the ashes of those he had ruined.

He was gathering Frisks, all who were bonded, or could be bonded, with Sans coded monsters, and using the power of their souls to reclaim his own lost love, a celestial being that had, long ago, divided her stardust infused heart among all the universes, to bless other’s lives and experience true love untainted by her lovers’ warring.

Nightmare's mission was to find and retrieve as many of their souls as he could, to take back the pieces of his beloved's heart and rebuild it. He knew his brother intended the same, both struck with a jealous and possessive love of the same perfect being, and so was utterly ruthless in his quest to find her first, taking the bits of stardust back the only way he knew how.

None had yet survived the process.

His long dead soul had flinched back, at the knowledge of what Nightmare was doing, that he so callously destroyed both universes and others' soul bonds to benefit himself. He had been sickened, even, by the understanding that his own fated mate, left behind without thought before that moment in his ruined world, would suffer that same fate, unless he did something. Could he live with that, with the knowledge that his own inaction had robbed him of a love he wasn't even sure he wanted?

He found the answer to be one he had not anticipated: no. No, he could not.

And so he had acted. He had taken his Frisk, and brought her to a place far from where anyone would think to look for her. He had blatantly lied to his master, telling him that he had killed his Frisk himself, in his Underground. He had even enlisted the help of his compatriots, who he had been more than a little surprised to hear had had much the same reaction that he had, and had all taken measures to secure their own Frisks, to keep them away from Nightmare's cruel and gluttonous consumption.

They kept each other's secrets, now... secrets that would undoubtedly end in their deaths, should the god of night and negativity discover what they had done and meant to keep from him.

It was a difficult and complicated thing, of course, for beings such as they to attempt romance in their condition. They were to a one corrupted, polluted by their lust for power and death and blood, driven half insane by tainted magic and changed forever by the deeds of their hands and the sins on their backs. Learning to feel, to change their ways and accept love, not LV, into their souls had a steep learning curve, and he knew perfectly well that he had failed more times than he'd succeeded.

And yet there she stood, an impossible and fragile mortal being, looking up the few inches that separated their heights with a gently chastising pout on her face, her soul emanating utter adoration and trust and the love he'd never known he'd craved before he’d received it without qualm. Before his chest, the floating target shaped itself into a heart of its own volition, warmth both alien and welcome touched his cold and weary bones, and his arms wound more gently around her waist, bending to bump his forehead against hers meaningfully.

“heh heh... i couldn't tell,” he murmured, smirking in the way that he knew would get her heart racing- and there it was, thumping against his ribcage like a drum. He let out a quiet, rumbling growl in response, backing her up against the edge of the counter and bending his head to nuzzle at the crook of her neck and shoulder, against the scarred indentation of his teeth that he could smell even through the material of her dress.

His... all his.

Something he had never thought he would say.

He felt, more than saw, her blush in response to his heavy-handedness, to the rumble of his growl, and within his chest, he felt his soul, before her influence long dead and silent, give the slightest twitch. It wasn’t completely pleasant… some days, he thought it would have been better for it to remain cold and hollow, keeping up the charade of his manic glee and glorying in the kill, in the misery of others to minimize his own.

Those thoughts were always short-lived. He would be lost in the morose, macabre vacillations of his mind, on the edge of madness and the Void, and then she would touch his hand, send him a smile, and say the name that he had nearly forgotten, he would feel her love suffusing the air around him, and everything but her would fade. Having her was the closest to normal (or the monster he’d been before the demon’s possession, at least) that he’d been in his memory, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Frisk, giggling quietly at the feeling of his breath on her neck, pulled away only when he’d had his apparent fill of her scent, the feel of her pressed against him (to feel, after so long living in the cold and the dark… there was nothing like it. A sweet overabundance, such that sometimes, he could do nothing but marvel at simple emotions like joy and amusement, untainted by murder and dust-), to look closely at his face, one hand tracing along his jawline carefully, lovingly, her brows low with concern.

He couldn’t keep himself from leaning his cheekbone into her palm, all but purring from the fullness of her pure love, the care and worry she felt for him, most undeserving of all. If the others could see him now… he’d never live it down.

He suspected, though, that they were all indulging much the same as he was.

“You were gone for a long time this time. I was worried about you,” she murmured, in their closeness, and a pang of guilt shot through him, dire and turbulent and cutting deep, so much deeper than he was sure most would feel. It attested to his long departure from feeling anything at all, he could only suppose… stars, it hurt to let her down, though.

“i’m sorry. work’s been keeping me busy… boss has really been riding my tailbone, heh,” he excused as best he could with a grimace; it was absolutely true, though she had no idea just how much so… he had been forced to come up with an abundance of excuses for why he was failing so many missions, to attempt to hide the fact that his companions were taking the Frisks for themselves, rather than delivering them to their master, and Nightmare was starting to lose his patience.

He was going to have to start bringing them to him again soon. He already knew it was going to hurt, knowing he was causing the deaths of fair creatures with his mate’s face, simply to save his own hide.

Thankfully, he was still selfish enough to excuse it as necessary. He’d do anything to keep his own Frisk safe and well... anything.

That fierce protectiveness was what had pressed him to bring her here, so far from civilization, her life before, anyone else at all. It had been, in part, what he had told her… his lie to Nightmare could only be preserved if no one had her face in their mind for the godlike being to find in their dreams. But the lengths that he’d gone to… they had all been selfish ones, just as selfish as his decision to sacrifice others to keep her safe. He’d brought her to the very edge of the world, killed everyone she’d known before without hesitation, and had kept her here, the center of his dark world.

Jealous possessiveness was an odd emotion, and he didn’t really like the influence it had over him. He’d done everything he could to remove it, so quickly that his work had almost been messy. But it was a necessity, in his mind, as spontaneous as it had been.

He was no longer surprised by that, though. He had always been impulsive, ever since the building of his corruption... it was the way that his soul had been twisted, separating him even further from the monster he'd used to be. He had been described as flighty, careless, reckless, and unthinking many times, and had taken a lot of damage through the years because of it... his impulsiveness seemed to apply to her as well.

It was just so impossible to resist her, to see her and feel her and do his best to love her. She was truly perfect, made for him in every way, and he could only be thankful that she was so patient with him, disappearing for days at a time and coming home to her with only the barest of explanations. He knew she was suspicious… anyone would be, considering just how long he would be gone, the new cracks in his bones, his manic energy, almost always ending with her beneath him in their bed, only moments after he’d stumbled through the door, jabbing knives into all the furniture and inflicting his poor sense of humor on her-

She never complained, though. She was such a bright and giving soul, selfless and wholesome in a way he never could be. And yet… being with her… she made him want to try.

She looked up at him with such calm and patient understanding, even though he let her down… though he wasn’t nearly the partner to her that she deserved. He was a wretch, a selfish and grasping shade of who she had been destined to be with, before his fall… and yet she had accepted him, somehow and impossibly. And yet, her smile grew across her face to wipe away her concern, her cheek dropping to press against his chest, to sway with him in time with the beat of their fated souls.

“I’m just glad you’re here. It’s never the same, with you gone,” she whispered, her eyes drifting shut and her love sinking again into his bones to fill his with a warmth and a light so pervasive it edged on pain. His soul twitched again, brought to life by the wonderful, impossible, heavenly creature in his arms, and in his sockets, creased with a truly heartfelt smile, a crimson light flickered for a moment, unbeknownst to him.

All he could do was hold her back, and sway along with her, and attempt to understand his incredible luck, aching and not caring in the least.

He’d never understood the other Sans’ obsession with their Frisks. It had seemed baseless, a waste to spend so much time and energy and thought on a mortal being that would cut their lifespans short by many hundreds of years… he’d never understood how they could love a human so completely.

He understood now.

It was worth it, without question. All the pressure from Nightmare, the guilt starting to eat at him the more and more that his soul came back to life, the failures to be a good mate to her, the anxiety of keeping this huge and life-altering secret… his shorter lifespan, the reawakening of his soul, the slow, trickling loss of his LV as her love replaced it. It was worth it all, every second. And as he lifted her chin and turned his head to meet her lips with his, he knew he'd do it all over again in the blink of an eye, despite it all.

He knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

#franstober #frans #killer #my own metaverse #day 3 #secret #fluff

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sugarstickery · 3 years

Text

An Allegory Within the Dark

This is an unofficial fan translation of chapter 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel, Departing Summer and Returning Autumn by Gege Akutami and Ballad Kitaguni.

Summary: Mahito stumbles across an unusual human in his search for a place to call ‘home’.

Featured characters: Primarily Mahito, with brief appearances from Hanami and Jogo, along with an unnamed novel-only character

Timeline: An undefined time prior to the events of the Vs. Mahito arc

An Allegory Within the Dark

If you want to hide a tree, you go to the middle of a forest.

So if you’re looking to hide a person, you should go to the middle of a city.

Following that logic, it makes sense for curses worthy of being the true humans to set up their hideout in the city center.

Cursed spirits would actually have it much easier if they spent their time in places crammed with fear where humans and the like can’t live: deep in the mountains or in densely wooded areas, for example.

But for a group of curses plotting to overturn the current era, a base in the heart of the city is crucial for invasion and seeking refuge. That being the case, it’s also better to try aiming for a location with a high concentration of negativity.

Anyway, that’s how some employees from a scam business ended up massacred.

“This really is the simplest way to handle it. All of them nest together up here away from the public eye, so clean-up is a cinch.”

Jogo laughed while trampling the burning remains of a corpse underfoot.

Roughly two minutes ago, there were about six humans in the office.

The curses considered a few ways to handle dispatching them but ultimately decided that burning was the fastest, so Jogo quickly turned them to ash.

“But humans used this building, didn’t they? Won’t it be a problem if there’s property management or something?” Mahito asked, poking at an ostentatious vase displayed on a shelf.

Apparently the concern was unnecessary. Jogo tried to answer with a grin, but a nonsensical language cut into their conversation.

“⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⎎⍜⋏⏁ ⟟⌇ ☊⎍⌇⏁⍜⋔”

“Oi, bastard—! Stop talking, Hanami! It makes my head itch!”

Though Hanami spoke in nothing but meaningless sounds, the intention behind it was somehow transmitted directly into the minds of others. This was usually unpleasant and it irritated Jogo.

When he noticed Mahito still looking his way, Jogo continued to explain despite his frustration.

“Hmph... What? There’s no need to worry. I asked Geto what his aim was, and it looks like these were the kind of underhanded humans who got involved in plenty of unethical things.”

“Hm. So basically, other humans won’t actually come close if they get that curse stuff happens here.”

“Exactly. Any respectable, straight-laced human would never come near this place under normal circumstances. It’s the perfect city-center hideout.”

“Is it really?”

“...What is it, Mahito? You don’t seem satisfied. What’s there to worry about? It would put us in a great position to start preparing our plans for the city, and it’s great for a quick escape if we need one.”

“Mm... No, you’re right, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“It’s just... This room is really tacky.”

“Huh?”

With a pop, a small eruption burst forth from Jogo’s head. His narrowed eye looked like a painting of a gently sloping mountain.

“It’s tasteless, isn’t it? Stuff like that gaudy gold lion in the sparkly jar or this cheap-looking sideboard.”

“What are you even saying?! I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately, but you’ve been so annoying!”

“Movies.”

“Movies? Are those overly-embellished portrayals of humans really that interesting?”

“They’re references for my studies on the structure of a soul,” Mahito replied with an ambiguous smile.

If humans could see him, they might be reminded of a proud elementary schooler discussing the knowledge they gained from a book report.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t find the stories that interesting either, but I don’t hate the sense of visual aesthetics that humans have. That said, this room has too many useless colors and really hurts the eyes.”

“Such bratty, selfish complaints... We can just burn or toss anything that’s an eyesore.”

“No need, I’m going to look for a place to settle down on my own.”

“What? Ah, hey— Where are you going?”

Not waiting for Jogo’s response, Mahito waved over his shoulder and vanished like smoke or a gentle breeze, off to who-knows-where.

“Geez… Maybe it’s because he was born from human fear, but even knowing he’s a curse, he tends to be way too frivolous. Watching movies and all…”

While grumbling out his complaints, Jogo took a pipe from his shirt pocket to put in his mouth.

Unlike human cigarettes, this wooden pipe somehow imitated a screaming face when smoked.

“But that Mahito...”

Jogo spun around to survey the room with his one eye.

“...He says that, but it doesn’t seem tacky to me.”

“⊑⏃⋏⏃⋔⟟”

“I already said shut up!!”

You can only find a hideaway that suits you by looking for it on your own.

Mahito wandered through the city with this in mind. He alternated left and right turns on a whim any time he happened across a traffic light, walked alongside stray cats, or sometimes simply went in the direction of clouds that he liked the shape of.

While traveling along his chosen path like this, he keenly felt just how laughable humans were.

Though the city belongs to them, no one walking in and out of it was more free than Mahito.

Everyone seemed constrained. They were captured by ties of obligation and vanity, living in a wide, deep, big city with such narrow outlooks.

Unaffected by the enormous sky sprawling out endlessly overhead, they box themselves into their concrete city with their own hands and limited perception of souls, passing the time by whittling their lives down further and further.

Mahito even learned the words for some of these human concepts to study later.

For example, they call it “morals”. They call it “common sense”. They call it “emotion”.

But a human soul isn’t anything more than the resulting mechanical movement that comes from external stimuli.

And so they let go of freedom and live tightly controlled lives, fearing the judgmental stares of others, stooping to flattery for society’s approval.

“...What a waste.”

Everyone is bound by ostentatious shackles of their own making.

That’s why these curses know there has to be a change, as far as humans go. Those who cannot do anything but crawl in such an unsightly way under the magnificent sky must hand over the world.

Mahito thinks. He ponders over any topic his soul turns toward. He walks wherever the wind blows him.

Before long, the time had come for the sun to descend in the western sky. He could hear the burbling of a river.

“Not bad.”

The hideaway Mahito found was under a bridge, across the river.

It was a tunnel, vacant and huge like a temple.

Pipes ran along the inside, clear water flowing from them and into the river. It looked like wastewater was drained here after being purified, so there wasn’t much discomfort.

Apart from the humid air and the moss that emitted a peculiar grassy smell, it seemed wide enough to splash and jump around in, and the concrete’s cool texture provided a refreshing welcome.

There’s a season that curses are partial to.

Negative human emotions accumulate from the end of winter to spring, and it could be said that the rainy season served as the so-called peak of their ripening.

The inside of the damp tunnel held the same atmosphere. There was a gloominess there in the dim lighting that could easily nurture fear. It gently moistened Mahito’s skin; he felt cozy.

“Yeah, let’s stay here.”

When choosing a place to live, it’s best to trust your instincts.

Perhaps humans should do the same, but what they can’t readily do, Mahito can decide without hesitation. If he’s free when he wanders, then he’s free when he settles down, too.

Mahito stepped into the tunnel in good spirits, knocking solidly on the concrete floor.

The soul’s metabolism smooths out in comforting spaces. But…

“Huh?”

After walking a short distance, Mahito discovered “that”.

He initially thought it was some garbage or something that a human illegally dumped. But before long, it became clear that it was a sack-like silhouette leaning against a wall.

At first glance, it perhaps looked like a mere collection of rags.

But the shape of a soul was there.

—Ah, it’s alive.

Yes, just as Mahito had realized, it was a human.

The tattered clothing and wildly overgrown hair and beard hid his shape, but it was undoubtedly a human.

His exact age wasn’t clear from his outward appearance, but whether he was 60 or over 80, he looked elderly.

Mahito thought it was a bit of a pain.

There was already a visitor living in his precious hideaway.

Of course, taking care of this issue would be an easy matter for him. But he felt the same discomfort as a homeowner finding a stain on the wall of their new house.

‘Anyway, if I’m gonna deal with this, let’s get it done,’ Mahito thought, reaching out toward the old man with a little sigh.

Whereupon, unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

“...I’m sorry if you’re displeased.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what you came here to do, but... I’m sure your mood has soured after stumbling across the home of an old fool. But I have nowhere to go, either.”

Mahito was a little taken aback.

The old man was clearly aware of Mahito and turned toward him to speak. This wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was talking to a fellow human.

But Mahito is a curse.

The eyes of a mere human can’t clearly perceive cursed spirits.

It isn’t impossible, though. If humans are born with cursed energy, it isn’t unusual for them to be aware of the existence of curses.

What caught Mahito’s attention was this old man’s lack of ‘eyes’.

As in, he had no eyes in the physical sense. Instead, in the empty sockets that once held them, there was a burn scar that was painful just to look at.

Even sorcerers rely on their eyes to view the world.

They depend on their field of vision to spot cursed spirits. That’s why so many of them use sunglasses and the like to conceal their line of sight, as it helps them remain unaffected. It also helps them maintain a balanced mind when their daily life overflows with curses.

However, that was not the case for this old man.

“Can you see me?”

When Mahito asked, the old man answered with a gentle nod.

“At the very least, I can feel you.”

“But you can’t see the world?”

“Naturally. That includes the scenery, what you look like, what color your skin is, and even your gender. Even so... I know you’re there.”

“...Are you a sorcerer?”

“Most likely not.”

“You’re being pretty vague, even though you’re talking about yourself.”

“For a long time, that’s what I’ve been the most vague about.”

Mahito began to notice something strange.

He can feel the shape of a human’s soul.

He knows the movement of a soul’s metabolism, whether it takes on a harsh form, withers weakly, or flickers with liveliness.

However, this old man’s soul was hardly metabolizing.

It was like a meadow with no wind, or a still sea, or the blue sky on a cloudless day.

No, it would be most appropriate to compare it to a stone.

His soul was like a stone on the side of the road.

No fancy ornamentation, no polishing. Unmoving, unwavering.

Calmly passing the time while growing moss.

That was the shape this old man’s soul had.

No matter how calm or how old a person is, the human soul always flickers.

As the years stack up, common sense doesn’t disappear, selfishness isn’t eliminated, and fear isn’t conquered.

But this old man was different.

The old man’s soul was at peace. He had sincerely accepted that everything would decay with time, but that didn’t mean he would throw his life away. It was truly similar to the way in which nature existed.

It was Mahito’s first time meeting anyone like this.

For a while, the tunnel became something of a den for Mahito.

He had gotten a hammock from somewhere, which he hung up between the pipes. He lounged in it and read, passing the time in comfort.

In a movie about life on a deserted island, a human who was desperate to survive made a hammock. Through it, he was able to regain a little peace of mind.

Since it looked surprisingly comfortable, Mahito gave it a try and it worked out nicely.

The arguments and fights of the outside world didn’t reach the inside of the tunnel, where only the burble of the small stream could be heard.

It provided a good environment for soothing the soul.

While leisurely absorbing new knowledge from his books, Mahito would sometimes absentmindedly gaze up toward the ceiling, or glance down at the corner where the old man squatted, looking as he always did.

“How do you live like this? It’s pretty mysterious...”

In the end, Mahito didn’t kill the old man.

It’s important to note that the old man wasn’t much of a hindrance for him. If it would make no difference whether he was there or gone, then Mahito figured getting rid of him would be more of a hassle.

The old man was just there, even quieter and more carefree than a stray cat.

Mahito knew the phrase: ‘man is only a reed, but he is a thinking reed’.

He found it hilarious and also genuinely liked it. It simultaneously boasted about being trapped in thoughts of the soul, while also showing that humans were frail as weeds.

It could be said that the old man was an unthinking reed, then.

No – he was even quieter than that; more like grass or some type of moss. In any case, the old man said nothing and simply carried on living.

Every now and then, the old man would suddenly shuffle off elsewhere, but he would be back to sleep before Mahito knew it. He was surely getting food from somewhere, but he never seemed to gain weight. If he lost any while in the tunnel, he would eat just enough to gain it back when he left, and no more.

It was a style of living so close to nature that it seemed more like a phenomenon than a life.

“That’s why I seriously wonder if you can see me.”

The suspicion was uttered suddenly.

Mahito wasn’t exactly speaking to the old man. Rather, his tone was that of someone talking to themselves.

But when he noticed that the old man’s soul didn’t waver even after hearing him speak, Mahito finally addressed him directly.

“How long have you been here?”

“Let’s see… I think a few winters have passed, but I’m not sure,” the old man muttered, his reply quiet.

Since they were two beings with souls who were aware of each other’s existence, Mahito felt it would be more natural to chat every now and then.

“Don’t you get bored?”

When spoken to in a soft tone, the old man also responded softly.

“I’ve forgotten how to be bored.”

“How do you usually pass the time here?”

“I don’t do anything, really. I just listen to the sounds.”

“The sounds?”

“The sounds of the water flowing.”

“...Is it fun?”

“It’s not. But I forgot how to have fun a long time ago, too, so it’s not an issue.”

So it was like that. Mahito nodded.

If this old man could no longer even feel the pain of boredom, perhaps his soul was worn down.

Humans of the city gasp and struggle through the hurt of not having enough, yet always wish for more even when they get what they wanted. Their souls grew fat and tattered through the rich accumulation of these negative feelings.

So in that regard, from Mahito’s point of view, the old man had a thin soul – but it could be said that was clever of him.

A fat and full human soul leads to a fear of losing the gratifying present moment, which in turn gives birth to curses.

“It’s hard to get your attention. What’s your name?”

When Mahito asked, the old man looked into the air for just a second.

“I left that behind. You can call me whatever you like.”

“There are humans without names? Even curses have them.”

“If you don’t meet other people, you don’t need a name.”

“Isn’t it a problem if you don’t have one?”

“When is it a problem?”

“When it’s time to be buried.”

“I don’t need a gravestone with a name. I can just be stuffed into a common grave, or maybe I’ll rot undiscovered and return to the earth that way.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“…Was that a joke?”

The old man didn’t laugh. Neither did Mahito.

But Mahito had the feeling that this old man was childish, contrary to his appearance. His lack of attachments created an unsullied disposition that might make him younger than he looked.

His interest in the old man simmered and surged.

It was his first time seeing this type of human, his first time feeling a soul with this form. For Mahito, this was a rare specimen.

What kind of path must life take to make this kind of human? What would be the most intriguing shape to make with a soul like that? What uses could one plan for such a person?

And what kind of curse would be born from them?

With these questions fueling his curiosity, Mahito started to chat with the old man.

“Why are you here?”

“…Why?”

The old man looked up toward the ceiling through his unruly bangs.

His eye sockets were empty, but it seems like even without sight, humans tended to stare into nothing when they were thinking. One curiosity of Mahito’s was satisfied.

“You weren’t born and raised in this tunnel, right? As a human, you must have been in that noisy city.”

“Ah, that. I lived a fairly busy life a long time ago. I inherited the house, worked, made money and supported my family.”

“So you were a human in a pretty good position.”

“In human society, yes. Looking back on it now, it was all meaningless.”

“So... what, you basically started living in a hole like a mouse, then?”

“I did that because I lost everything that I needed up to then. I lost my social status, my money, and a place where I belonged.”

“You lost it all?”

“I was tricked. That’s when my eyes were burned, so I lost my sight then, too.”

Mahito incidentally recalled the company Jogo attacked.

“You got tricked, huh? You seem pretty good-natured about it.”

“That’s because I didn’t care much about being tricked.”

“You’re a weird old man. Is this some kind of hobby where you get your kicks when people deceive you or something?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person I was back then. The ones who tricked me were my old friend and my wife. My eyes were burned in that so-called “accident”¹; they claimed I wasn’t of sound mind and body after that, and under the guise of caring for me, they stole everything I worked for before I knew it.”

“That’s a pretty flashy way to trick someone, isn’t it? You’re talking like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“Those two loved each other, and I was loved by no one. Knowing that was more monumental to me than being tricked.”

It was hard for Mahito to interpret what the old man said.

Love. Is it really such an important word?

It’s said that curses born from love exist in the world. It seems there are tremendously powerful ones among them, too. But Mahito doesn’t understand how the mechanism by which people love each other is any different from a cat’s attachment to a blanket.

Still, Mahito knows for a fact that people are obsessed with it.

“Didn’t you curse them? The ones who tricked you.”

“Not really.”

“’Not really’, huh. You know, normally a human in that situation would get angry and hold grudges, and it would make the shape of their soul deteriorate.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t think I had the energy to even consider seeking revenge or hurting them.”

“...I get it.”

Mahito nodded, filling in the blanks.

Regardless of whether or not he can guess the trends in human emotion, Mahito has studied many movies, novels and poetry so far.

Then there were the humans he tinkered with. Mahito could put together the pieces he gleaned from those things and use them to break down the old man’s story.

“So basically, you were in despair. So much despair that it was like your soul was about to die. That’s how you broke through the creation of grudges and curses and ended up like this.”

The old man slowly shook his head.

“I may have been disappointed, but I don’t believe I felt the intense despair you’re thinking of.”

“Are ‘disappointment’ and ‘despair’ different?”

“They are; this is just my personal experience.”

The old man raised his face, following the memories.

“There was no burning resentment or turbulent sorrow. It’s just... I was tired, I guess. Between work, assets, reputation, my life situation and duties, dealing with others, caring about the family name... I think I was probably just tired and worn out because of it all.”

“And that’s why you didn’t get mad even after being tricked?”

“I was at peace. They say the soul gets lighter after going through disappointments.”

The old man’s voice was calm.

It had a cool quality to it, like muddy water that had been filtered clean.

“I couldn’t see, I had no money, I had no love... But as I was walking through the city with nothing to my name, it all suddenly became inconsequential. And then, as I looked around, I saw the city in a new light.”

“Even though you can’t see?”

“Yes. When you can’t see anything, it’s just sound and wind that goes on forever anywhere you are. I couldn’t even see the walls blocking the city in. It was just endless darkness spreading out forever, like a starless night. For the first time, I understood how wide the world was. And I thought to myself... ah, I’m free, aren’t I?”

Mahito blinked rapidly.

This old man’s thinking didn’t fit any other case he had gathered so far.

Even hearing about his past, he couldn’t understand the old man’s thoughts.

But even from Mahito’s point of view, the old man was certainly free.

Without so much as leaving the middle of this tunnel, he knew that the sky was vast.

Perhaps he knew it better than any member of high society walking around freely in the city. He knew the wide spread of the sky, the soft caress of the wind, the gentle sounds of the water.

This old man, who looked like a simple rakugoka², had no property or social standing. He even lost his connection to other humans... And maybe that’s precisely why he could uncover the elusive meaning of the word ‘freedom’.

He was just existing, just being alive, without attachments, grudges or curses.

“So basically ‘not all those who wander are lost’?”

“Yes, though quoting Tolkien’s works might be a little tedious.”

Mahito smiled when the man immediately caught the reference to a book he just happened to read.

“Were you a bookworm?”

“All I did was cram a lot of information in.”

“It’s good to be well-read.”

If curses are born from the fear that humans feel, could this old man even be considered human?

As Mahito is, he struggles with the expression of human emotions.

But he was calm.

For the first time since coming into contact with humans, he had a feeling of peace.

“I think if everyone in the world was like you, I wouldn’t have been born.”

Mahito looked back at his book.

The old man, staring into nothing as always, fell silent again.

Curses are born from humans, but they also kill humans. There is no way for the two to coexist.

But in this tunnel, a curse and a human were doing exactly that.

Though distorted, this peaceful period of time flowed by gently.

It’s only natural for humans to hate and fear other humans.

Since they can’t see souls, they can only make guesses about the feelings of others, and they’re swayed by their own emotions.

They don’t understand that these things are just a reflection of the soul’s metabolism. They don’t even know where their soul is.

Mahito investigated the matter.

This blind man lost his sight and his connection to others, so his soul received less stimulation.

And so, no longer influenced by unnecessary things in the physical world, he spent a lot of time facing his inner world and reflecting.

“It’s kind of like a monk’s training. Through strong introversion, a person looks at their soul more often.”

Mahito walked around the city, skimming through a beaten-up copy of the Heart Sutra.

It was a sutra handbook that focused on controlling the soul. It looked like humans of the past did their own research into freeing the soul from the material world.

The old man’s life ended up in a similar state without him setting out to do it on purpose.

That was likely how he learned to feel other souls through the darkness he lived in. Mahito concluded this was the reason he was aware of curses.

“I think he was already predisposed, but... seems like it’s easier for introverted humans to show promise.”

If he gave the old man’s situation even deeper consideration, he could probably make a lot of guesses about a sorcerer’s training. There’s even a way to encourage the first manifestation of cursed energy.

In that case, it should also be possible to take a talented person and ‘make’ them into a sorcerer or curse-user.

Unleashing a curse-user made by a curse onto a sorcerer...

That might be a fun experiment. It’s easier to shake up a human’s soul by having them fight other humans, rather than just exorcising curses. Sukuna’s vessel should be no exception.

Although...

—Maybe it’s fine to do that a little later?

Yes, Mahito thought it over at his leisure.

He is free. When it’s time to move, he moves. When it’s time to rest, he rests.

And he was not in the mood to launch that plan into action.

Rather, for the time being, he just wanted to gather knowledge and indulge in thought. He also got some new books and wanted to read fantasy novels while basking in the quiet comfort of the tunnel.

Mahito’s gait became lighter. While walking alongside the throng of people, he even began to hum.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from between two buildings.

“—so damn annoying, yeah?”

Looking over that way, he saw two young humans: a man with long, thin hair, and a muscular skinhead. They were undoubtedly people who looked like trouble.

The long-haired man listened as the skinhead rambled on with his complaints, seemingly in some kind of sullen mood.

“Damn, it’s seriously freezing. Anyway, every last one of ‘em just puts on shitty airs, but it’s all just talk. Nothin’ but excuses. Ah, I wanna kill ‘em all...”

“You say that, but come on. You talk big about wanting to beat these guys to death when you’re pissed, but could you actually kill someone?”

“Sure. Ain’t like killing’s hard.”

“Seriously?”

Mahito squinted and listened, the conversation going in one ear and out the other.

It’s not that he disliked the way they acted or how they spoke bluntly about their heart’s desires. But Mahito knew people like this were all talk.

“Yeah– seriously, anyone’s fine, I just wanna kill someone.”

Then maybe you should do it without saying anything.

Better yet, he thought about practicing some killing methods on them. But Mahito felt the light weight of the book in his hand as he reached out, and he stopped.

Rather than sparing any consideration for this, he just wanted to go back to the comfort of the tunnel and read.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

The skinhead’s grumbling voice sounded like a spell.

But the words would find no power or heart to shelter in. Shut away between these buildings, the most a person can do is talk to themselves. It’s best for humans like this to stick to the narrow back alleys, foolishly thinking they’re enjoying a wide world.

Mahito averted his gaze and made his way back home.

“Why did Gregor become a bug?”

Mahito suddenly asked the old man, not taking his eyes off the novel.

It was a famous book by Franz Kafka.

A story in which a human unexpectedly turns into a poisonous insect.

“The most popular theory is that the bug is a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“It means he was a person who was hated and oppressed within society, treated the same way a human would treat a bug. Kind of like an old man who was suddenly blinded and tricked one day.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not exactly.”

It was detached and dispassionate, but an answer would come back any time Mahito said something. When conversing with the old man, it felt like talking to a dictionary. He had a lot of information.

He knew about things like the inner workings of the mind and human culture, and he was smart enough to explain it simply in discussions.

For Mahito, who analyzed human souls through books and movies, this old man’s knowledge and conversation helped in its own way.

When do humans get angry? Why do they grieve?

How do they trust and in what ways are they betrayed?

Mahito lived with a different sense of ethics when compared to humans, so there were many things he struggled to interpret. The old man explained them and helped him understand.

He had a strong interest in the experiences of the old man, who had once lived among humans but didn’t act like them.

“After becoming a bug, Gregor eventually hid away like he was told to, but he still ended up being spotted and it led to his death. Jii-san³, why do you think that is?”

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“That’s a quote from Virginia Woolf, right?”

When Mahito immediately and correctly guessed the source, the old man raised a brow slightly.

“You’re a pretty avid reader, too. Conversations with you are really stress-free.”

“Do you have to go back to living with other humans, then?”

“If you don’t have any attachment to the human world, there’s no need to run from it or stand against it⁴.”

“I see,” Mahito murmured to let the other know he was listening, eyes still on the book.

Even if he wasn’t looking at it, the old man’s perpetually calm soul was aglow in the dark like always.

Mahito read his book in the dim room lit by the brilliance of that soul instead of a candle.

Time quietly flowed through the darkness.

Outside of the tunnel, signs indicating the end of summer crept up.

The end came abruptly.

One day, when Mahito was heading back to the tunnel with an abandoned poetry anthology that he picked up on an aimless walk through the city, he felt a noisiness that shouldn’t have been there.

There were one, two, three swaying souls.

One had a very familiar shape, but it was terribly frail. It was like the dying flame of a candle weakened by the wind.

With the same unchanging gait as always, Mahito stepped into the tunnel.

As expected, the old man was there.

But the unusual thing was the crumpled, strange position that he was in.

He was also sandwiched between two younger men who were looking down at him.

“Oooi, isn’t this bad? Did this guy seriously die?”

A man with long, thin hair spoke in a tone that was not particularly anxious.

“Didn’t I say it? I said I could kill,” a muscular skinhead replied, his voice casual.

“But ain’t this just impulsive?”

“Yeah, well, the old man had some real cheek, looking down on us when he’s this weak. So why not just kick him?”

The skinhead likely played sports, given that his legs were as thick around as logs. Kicking an old man to death would be easier than crushing a can.

The two didn’t seem to have a single scrap of interest in the old man, his life or his soul.

There was no reason, no grudge, no clear murderous intent.

It seemed like they simply arrived at the tunnel somehow. They took the opportunity to do as much violence as they wanted. They beat him on a whim.

It could be said that this way of being is freedom for humans.

Mahito crouched down, peeking at the old man’s face.

The beaten visage of the man with burned eyes came into view. But even at a time like this, his expression was as calm as always.

“Are you going to die?”

Mahito searched for even a mumbled word or two in response.

“...Seems so...”

The old man answered in a hoarse voice. He likely barely had the power left to speak now. It appeared as though the two men didn’t hear him over their loud conversation.

He intently inspected the old man’s soul.

The peaceful soul was not flickering, nor did it hold anger or grief; it was simply coming to an unhurried end.

Mahito was impressed.

This old man had found the true meaning of freedom. He really was released from every tie of obligation in this world. Even on the verge of death, that didn’t change.

Being able to make sure of that with his own two eyes, Mahito felt considerably relieved. In the same way he would watch a flower wither and fall, he observed the old man’s death.

Nevertheless...

“Jii-san?”

He had a feeling.

It’s like seeing a plot twist you don’t want to see if you keep turning the pages of a book.

Or like knowing the contents of a present before you open it.

That kind of buzz spread through Mahito’s chest.

While he puzzled over the instinctive alarm bells screaming at him to stop watching, everything was heading toward its end.

“...I thought I would die alone.”

The old man’s soul dimly flickered.

A smile was on his swollen face.

“...To have someone... here to witness this old fool’s last moments...”

The flicker might have been insignificant, like a single drop breaking the water’s surface. Even so, for an instant near death, at the end of it all...

The old man’s soul ‘metabolized’.

“...Tha...nk... y...”

The old man died smiling.

“. . .”

Mahito’s eyes opened wide, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He thought the old man was different when compared to other humans. To Mahito, he seemed unfettered.

Mahito thought the unique philosophical views stemming from such an extraordinary state of mind had freed him from all the shackles of this world.

But despite all of that, the old man was still captured right in his last moments.

On the brink of death, he clung to someone else so he could avoid a lonely end.

The old man was only human.

For a human, it was likely satisfying enough. Perhaps it was even the proper way for one to die.

“. . .”

Mahito said nothing.

But what felt like a dry wind blew through his chest, leaving him cold.

He didn’t know the name humans gave that emotion. But his consciousness was like yarn tangling in on itself, wriggling around like a worm—

And suddenly, it all cut off at once.

The only thing left behind was the sensation of standing in a dry and barren wasteland.

“—So basically,” the skinhead’s voice echoed. “Police probably won’t do a proper investigation. Not for this old nobody.”

“Hey, hey, hey; that’s still a person,” the long haired man answered lightly.

“Yeah, well, that guy started it.”

“He shoulda looked at who he was talking to before he picked a fight.”

“Anyway, my pants are dirty from all that kicking... That’s a problem.”

“So fussy. That’s what you’re worried about when you just killed a guy? How funny.”

“That ain’t a person. Anyway, don’t you know I like being clean? Ahh, the blood won’t come off... Water doesn’t do any good, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t – but more importantly, if you’ve settled down, I’m hungry. Let’s stop by a convenience store.”

“I dunno. If you’re gonna look, buy a bento and let’s get outta here.”

Mahito quickly stood up in the same way one would when they finished looking for something in a store.

A sense of fatigue was deeply ingrained in his body.

Their incoherent voices persisted, reverberating through the tunnel, smeared with excuses and attempts to escape reality. He couldn’t hear the soft burble of the stream.

With deep-seated listlessness, Mahito approached the skinhead as one would move to pick up fallen trash.

Idle Transfiguration. The technique spreads quickly.

And thus, the moment he tapped the man’s back, its shape was no longer human.

“Ee—!!”

If he just killed them, it would create a nuisance in the form of a corpse, so he simply folded it up into something palm-sized and kept it alive.

Then, with a careless sweep⁵ of his hand, he folded up the other man as well.

“Begh—”

It fell silent.

Mahito gathered up the two, now no bigger than chess pieces, and turned his attention down toward the remaining corpse of the old man.

It was now just a bag of meat full of bones. Not even the soul remained, so he couldn’t use Idle Transfiguration to fiddle with it.

He was briefly troubled by its disposal, which served as the biggest inconvenience.

In the tunnel, there nothing but the sound of running water.

It was a day where the sky seemed farther away than usual.

Clouds peeked out from around the buildings and a good feeling was carried in on the wind.

Mahito aimlessly walked about the city.

“Maybe I’ll catch a movie. It’s been ages.”

He picked a tiny, somewhat old-looking theater and snuck in.

He’s had high motivation lately, and it seemed like some unnecessary things had peeled away from his soul, leaving him more carefree than ever.

Thanks to that, he had also begun to toy with humans more often.

If he can fold a person up and make them small, he wanted to test out inflating one instead, but he slept on the idea overnight. It was pretty fun, but he knew that he was getting too absorbed. He also felt that carrying on with too much persistence wasn’t a good thing.

A change of pace every now and then was fine, too.

He hadn’t closely checked to see what was being screened. It was mostly just plain and obscure movies, but if one went in with no expectations, they might come across a surprisingly interesting tale.

Curiously, he had that kind of a feeling.

While walking through the hall of the theater, he casually felt through his pocket, which had grown bulky with the ‘small humans’ that he had touched.

—Speaking of which, he thought that was a nuisance.

He carelessly tossed some of them away.

Opening the door, he stepped into the theater.

Perhaps because it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. The silhouettes of what appeared to be students filled out a few seats here and there.

From where Mahito stood in the corner, he had a good view of the screen.

Soon, instead of a curtain raising, the theater was engulfed in darkness.

T/N: [1] In this sentence, the implication is that the “accident” was very much orchestrated by the old man’s friend and wife, who burned his eyes somehow and then merely made it look like an accident [2] The rakugoka is the storyteller in rakugo, a form of (often) comedic theater that relies solely on spoken word from the rakugoka, who only uses a fan and hand towel as props [3] A way of referring to old men in general, basically like “gramps/grandpa”; Mahito never calls him by an actual name [4] Essentially, the old man’s saying that he (or anyone) can exist parallel to human society without interacting if they have no attachments to it and can still find peace, contrary to the Woolf quote [5] Kanji reads sweep, furigana reads cleanse (the same word for exorcism that sorcerers use)

Thanks as well to Pixi for help with editing and tl checks! If an officially translated version of the novel becomes available in your country, please consider purchasing it, or consider buying a copy of the original novel in Japanese if possible!

#jujutsu kaisen #mahito #mahito jujutsu kaisen #mahito jjk #jogo jjk #hanami jjk #jujutsu kaisen light novel #translation #departing summer and returning autumn

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dumbass-extraordinaire · 3 years

Text

Duck, Duck, Grief

The newly reopened wound on Aubrey’s thigh throbs dully as she limps away from the base of the ruined Mt. Kepler and back towards the gate. She hears a voice in the back of her mind, the sensible one that sounds a lot like Duck, telling her that walking on an injured leg is a bad idea and that she’s only gonna make it worse. A louder, more vicious voice tells her she deserves it. This one doesn’t sound like Duck. She ignores them both and keeps walking. The night air is cold, numbing her exposed arms and face. Aubrey is grateful for it. Having a body feels like an impossible task right now. Thinking is out of the question, because thinking means acknowledging everything that just happened-

(gone all gone all gone he’s gone he’s gone it’s all your fault why couldn’t you heal him useless you didn’t even try you told him to leave he was supposed to leave now he’s gone it’s your fault)

-and she wasn’t ready. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her ears were buzzing and it was too cold and she couldn’t breathe-

(he’s on the ground his eyes are open he doesn’t see you he isn’t breathing why isn’t he breathing his hands are cold he is never cold he is always warm warm warm warm smile warm laugh cold)

“Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

There is a voice above her-

(it is not his voice you will never hear his voice again your fault all your fault dead dead dead)

-the voice continues, but it is not talking to her anymore.

“I think she’s in shock-- Oh god, she’s bleeding, oh that’s real bad, aw jeez,” warm hands grip her arms and lift her to her feet. She doesn’t remember falling to her knees. That explains why her leg feels like it’s on fire-

(burning burning the house is on fire there is a man in a mask her dad is on the ground burning)

She is vaguely aware of being half-carried over to an ambulance. They sit her down, telling her to put pressure on the wound, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She does this without comment, cannot open her mouth for fear that the words will come tumbling out and never ever stop. She does not move.

…

Duck and Minerva had just finished taking down the abomination and were making their way over to Leo Tarkesian and Dr. Sarah Drake when they saw the top of Mt. Kepler lift into the air, then came crashing back down, shaking the earth and causing the telescope to creak and sway a little, which in all honesty was really terrifying.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Duck yelped as the ground shook with the aftershocks of the mountain’s collapse. He lost his balance but Minerva grabbed his arm to steady him before he could fall over.

“Duck Newton You Should Be Careful! Core Strength Is An Integral Part Of Any Hero’s Skill Set!” She exclaimed cheerfully, clapping a hand onto his shoulder with almost as much force as the mountain’s collapse.

“Thanks Minnie,” he wheezed, rubbing his sore shoulder. Sarah ran up to them, her eyes wide with shock.

“What the hell just happened to the mountain?” she asked, her face pale with fear.

Duck scratched his head. “Honestly, Sarah? I got no earthly idea, but we should probably go find out,” he sighed. “C’mon, we got a ways to go.”

The group of four made their way across the field towards the parking lot, Minerva still giving Leo a piggyback ride on account of his injuries. When they reached the front gate, Sarah paused and turned to Duck. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed, “As fun as this has been, I think I’ve just about maxed out my daily limit for weird. If it’s all the same to y’all, I think I’m gonna head on home.” She points to him, “Don’t think this means I’m gonna let you off the hook about this, mister. I expect an explanation.”

He salutes her playfully, “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll have that report on your desk by Monday.”

She smiles and says, “See ya around, Newton,” before turning and walking into the night.

Duck, Minerva, and Leo do the same, making their way to Duck’s government-issued truck. He chucks the extra broadsword into the truck bed, slings Beacon back around his waist, and slides behind the wheel exhaustedly. A part of him waits for Aubrey to call shotgun before remembering with a start that she isn’t with them. He’s so used to having her and Ned as back up in life threatening situations that their absence right now is disconcerting. He’s more than a little anxious to see them again; they’d all been so busy with their own situations the past few days that they hadn’t had much of a chance to hang out.

“What A Fine Chariot This Is, Duck Newton,” Minerva booms jovially, slapping the roof of his truck. There is the distinct sound of crumpling metal.

Duck squints blearily at her as she squeezes into the passenger seat, mentally cycling through the five stages of grief as Minerva buckles her seatbelt. He turns the key in the ignition and drives out of the parking lot.

…

The closer they get to Amnesty Lodge, the more nervous Duck gets. Not for the first time since the whole Sylvain mess started, he resents Kepler’s location in the Radio Quiet Zone. Usually he didn’t mind not having a cellphone, but right now he would give just about anything to call Aubrey and Ned and make sure they’re okay. The herd of ambulances and police cars heading towards the Lodge do nothing to quell Duck’s mounting anxiety levels.

His anxiety turns to dread as he turns onto the dirt road leading to the lodge and sees the crowd of townsfolk gathered in front of the gate, an ambulance parked off to the side. He jerks the truck to a stop and jumps out, not even bothering to take the keys out of the ignition as he scans wildly for his friends. Minerva moves to follow him, but he stops her, telling her to watch out for Leo. Things are complicated enough without throwing an honest-to-fucking-god alien warrior into the mix.

When he finally does see Aubrey’s colorful shock of dyed hair, it is both a relief and an extra source of stress. A relief because she’s alive, and a source of stress because she’s sitting in the ambulance.

Duck rushes over to her, his heart dropping into his stomach as a list of every worst case scenario runs through his head. Someone found out about the lodge, someone went through the gate who wasn’t supposed to and went on a rampage, Agent Stern arrested someone, someone got hurt, someone got killed. At least Aubrey is okay. And while he doesn’t see Ned anywhere, Duck isn’t too worried about the old guy. He’d survived ramming into a Pizza Hut sign with a jetpack, as well as the explosion of said jetpack immediately afterwards. The man was damn near unkillable. He skids to a stop in front of Aubrey, his momentum almost causing him to crash into the side of the ambulance. He takes her in, noting the bandage on her leg and the shock blanket around her shoulders.

“Y’okay, kid?” He asks, “Aubrey?” She doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at him or even seem to register his presence.

That’s his first clue that something’s wrong, because he’s seen her like this before, after the whole ordeal with the Pizza Hut sign. The hollow, haunted expression on her face is nearly identical to the one she’d worn that day. It scared him then and it scares him now.

“Aubrey,” he repeats her name. “C’mon kid, ya gotta talk to me. I just got here, I’m way outta the loop.” Nothing. She just keeps staring blankly ahead. He crouches down in front of her, waving a hand in front of her face to get her attention. Again, nothing. Shit.

He stands back up and starts pacing, raking his hands through his hair, “Aubrey!” He snaps. The longer she stays unresponsive, the more nervous he gets, “I need you to say something, kid, you’re fuckin’ scaring me!” Try as he might, he can’t quite keep the panic from bleeding into his voice.

Finally, finally, she looks up at him, and his heart breaks.

Aubrey looks absolutely wrecked. Her eyes are bloodshot and ringed black with smeared mascara and eyeliner, her face blotchy and tearstained. Disconcertingly, both her irises are a bright, piercing orange. Duck figures this is something important, something he should ask her about right away. He doesn’t, though, because he couldn’t care less about whatever earth-shattering event made Aubrey’s eyes change color. He doesn’t care about all that world-saving, chosen one stuff, and he never has. He cares about people, his people, and right now that’s Aubrey and Ned. They’re the Pineguard, his family, and he would rather die than see them hurt.

“D-Duck,” Aubrey whimpers, her voice fragile like his ma’s best china. “Duck, I couldn’t…h-he…” She shatters, then, curling in on herself as she sobs.

“Hey now, uh,” Duck has never been good at comforting people, especially when they’re crying. But this is Aubrey and she needs him, social anxiety be damned.

He sits down next to her on the tailgate of the ambulance, shifting so that he’s almost facing her, and puts his arms out, “Do you-- Ooph!” Before he can finish his question, Aubrey collapses against him, sobbing into his shoulder. Duck freezes for a moment, unsure, before wrapping his arms around her.

“I-It’s all,” she hiccups, “it’s all m-my fault, Duck, I-I couldn’t…” She dissolves into sobs again, too distressed to continue. Her shoulders shake with the force of it.

Duck pats her back awkwardly. “Aw, Aubrey, I don’t know ‘bout that,” he says, “I don’t think-- don’t blame yourself, kid. I’m sure you did everything you could.” Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because she starts crying even harder.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just hugs her tighter instead. He hates himself a little for that, wishes to god that the words didn't stick in the back of his throat like old gum on the underside of a picnic bench. Aubrey hiccups, and Duck rubs her shoulders soothingly. He’s never seen her like this before, never seen her this broken. Sure he’s seen her cry, seen her upset, but never like this. Something is very, very wrong, and Aubrey’s clearly in no shape to tell him what, so he scans the crowd for someone who can.

Finally, he makes eye contact with Jake Coolice. Which, okay, not exactly ideal, except for the fact that he’s standing next to Mama, who’s engaged in conversation with Detective Maygen. Duck jerks his head towards the matriarch of Amnesty Lodge, hoping Jake picks up what he’s putting down. The neon-cloaked Sylph looks confused, and he points at Mama and mouths her name in a silent question. Duck nods emphatically. Jake smiles and gives him two thumbs up before tugging on the sleeve of Mama’s duster to get her attention. The older woman turns to Jake, who points in Duck’s direction. She squares her shoulders, like she’s preparing for battle, and makes her over to the ambulance.

The first thing Duck notices is how tired she looks. The second is the blood on her shirt and hands.

His blood turns to ice in his veins, “What the fuck happened?” he demands, “Are y’okay?”

Mama sighs, her whole body moving with it, “It’s not mine,” is all she says, and her shoulders slump in something a bit too much like defeat for Duck’s taste.

“Whaddya mean, whose is it then?” he asks, panic setting in.

She exhales softly through her nose. “Duck, honey, I’m real sorry,” she begins, “now I don’t want you blaming yourself for this, ‘cause it ain’t no one’s fault.” Mama pauses, looking up at the night sky before running a hand down her face. There is dried blood under her fingernails.

“Whaddya mean, Mama, what happened? What don’t ya want me blaming myself for?”

She looks pained, “Duck, sweetheart--.”

“No! Don’t baby me, I aint a fuckin’ kid,” he snaps. “What. The. Hell. Happened.”

“I-it was Ned.” The response comes not from Mama, but Aubrey. She pulls aways from Duck, exhaling shakily and wiping her eyes.

Duck stares at her. “Whaddya mean, did he get hurt or somethin’?” he asks, pretty sure he already knows the answer to that question and hoping to god that he’s wrong, “Aubrey?”

She shakes her head. “No, uh,” she takes a shaky breath, “Shit, I can’t do this. Mama, uh, can you explain, please?” Her voice trembles as she gives the older woman a pleading look.

Mama gives her a sad smile, “Sure, baby.”

“Thanks,” Aubrey sniffles. Duck puts an arm around her and she buries her face in his shoulder.

Mama takes a deep breath, “Duck, ya said ya didn’t wanna be babied, so I guess I better just say it outright. Ned ain't hurt, honey. I’m so, so sorry, Duck, but he’s dead. Ned’s dead.”

The words hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving him breathless and gasping.

That can’t be right, Ned can’t be dead. Ned ‘Cowardly’ Chicane, the only one of them with any sort of self-preservation instinct, the guy who just the other day had assured Duck that he didn’t need to worry about him getting hurt because he quote-unquote, “knew when to get the hell outta Dodge” was dead? No way. This had to be to work of the shapeshifter, or some sick practical joke. It couldn’t be true, because if it was, it would mean Duck had failed. It would mean that something happened and he hadn’t been there to take the big hit. It would mean that Ned had taken the hit instead. And he can’t handle that. What’s the point of being the “Chosen One”, the so-called savior of the planet if he can’t keep the people he cares about safe?

“Duck?” Mama’s voice cuts through the haze of grief and shock clouding his brain. He doesn’t respond, “You with us?”

He wants to argue, wants to break down and scream at the injustice of it all. But he doesn’t, because he’s not the only one grieving Ned’s-- he’s not the only one affected. Aubrey’s here too, huddled against his side like a barnacle on the hull of a ship. God, she’s so young, still just a kid, really. She shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. She shouldn’t have to deal with this at all, truth be told, but that’s not in the cards. The least Duck can do is be strong for her. He’s good at being strong. So he pushes aside all his grief and anger and self-recrimination, packing them away in a cardboard box in some dusty corner of his mind to deal with later. Aubrey comes first.

He takes a deep breath, “Yeah, Mama, I’m with ya.” He runs a tired hand down his face, “What, uh, what happened?” His voice trembles right at the end. He clenches his jaw.

Mama glances ever so slightly at Aubrey. “I’m fine,” is all the young woman says. Mama looks to the night sky, as if hoping the stars can tell her how to make this easier. Whatever she was looking for, it isn’t there and she faces Duck once more.

She does that thing again, squaring her shoulders like she’s getting ready for a fight, “The Abomination, it took Ned’s shape an’ then spilled the beans about everything on television. The lodge, the gate, Sylvain, all of it. That’s why all these folks are here,” she gestures to the crowd of townspeople.

“Ned, he killed it and came down here to try and divert ‘em, send ‘em on a wild goose chase. It sorta worked, actually, he got rid of about half of ‘em. He starts talkin’ folks down, tryin’ to get the rest of them to see sense,” she laughs bitterly, “And it mighta even worked, too, ‘cept then the glowing coffin shows up and out pops Dani. And she’s all feral, completely outta her mind after being separated from the hot springs for so long.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line. “And then she, well… She charged these here folks, and Ned, he tackles her. Thing is, you get a buncha scared folks with guns in one place, well, someone’s bound to get hurt. And tonight, that was Ned. He got shot, and by the time the ambulance got here it was too late. There wasn’t nothing any of us could do,” she looks over at Aubrey when she says that. “And that’s… that’s the whole story. I’m sorry,” she gives him a sympathetic look, “Y’alright, Duck?”

Duck says nothing, just nods sharply. Because how do you respond to something like that? What do you say when someone’s been ripped from your life and you can’t remember the last thing you said to them? What do you say? What can you say that would be enough to encompass the raw, gaping wound that takes the place of your heart, the way your stomach drops, when you think of all the things left unsaid? What do you say?

As it turns out, “Let’s go home,” is a pretty good start.

#i wrote this right after listening to ep 28 of amnesty and it's been sitting in my docs ever since so i figured i'd post it here #enjoy the angst y'all #ned chicane #duck newton #aubrey little #mama #taz amnesty #taz fic #taz amnesty spoilers #my writing tag #angst #grief #found family #fanfiction #fanfic #baby's first fanfic #writers on tumblr

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