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gentrychild · 3 years

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BNHA chapter 290 reactions

Oh boy, just when I was saying that such a long arc was eroding my ability to hype myself...

Oh boy... I guess we finally got the answer to “Was that message for Rei or for the whole country?” and the answer is both. Dabi sent a direct message to his mom and we don’t know what he told her.

And since we have a big close-up on the flower “Enji” gave Rei without leaving a message, I am now wondering if it wasn’t a gift from Dabi.

Ah, the Todoroki pose of “I have no idea of what to feel.”

Also, I think we now have the confirmation that Dabi is a theater kid.

Okay, so first, it’s nice to have the confirmation that Izuku did make some damages.

What’s less nice is knowing that AFO can control Tomura to this extent. By accepting to become a guinea pig, he became AFO’s puppet and I am not sure of how long it will take before AFO erodes his will and takes full control of him.

Horikoshi, think of the fanfic writers. When you show cool attacks, explain stuff about them, please. Because of you, I will have to spend an hour trying to analyze three panels.

Oh, that’s a meme waiting to happen.

Endeavor when Nejire and Shouto fight Shigaraki: “RUN! HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU! RUN!”

Endeavor when Midoriya was fighting Shigaraki: “Welp, this might as well happen.”

I don’t know what’s the more terrifying, Gigantomachia channeling the Rogue Titan or AFO having fun with Forced Quirk Activation. Okay, probably the later.

There should really be a limit to how long those tentacles can get, thank you very much.

Bakugou is awake and if I was him, I would go straight back to sleep but no, not him.

Does... Does he still have a quirk, though? I would like to see some sparks flying. Just to be sure.

However, he is right in the sense that they need to kill Shigaraki now. If he manages to escape, they will have lost everything. That would mean that another cataclysm can happen at any time and society will collapse. I am not talking about the hero society. I am talking full Dawn of Quirks mess.

I do not want to witness what so many people with uncontrollable powers can do when they are scared.

I am going to believe that Machia assumes that the second “Master’s scent” also comes from Shigaraki because with all the smoke in the air, he didn’t notice Izuku and his multiple quirks who are right there.

Also, Izuku wasn’t using cough... all for one... cough several quirks when Gigantomachia arrived, don’t think I didn’t notice it.

I was robbed from my Little Lord moment!

Shigaraki, every bones of his broken and the only reason why he remained standing so long is probably because AFO was manipulating his strings: “Oh, do tell me about your problems. It’s not like I can go anywhere after I was INCINERATED THEN BEATEN HALF TO DEATH BY THE INCARNATION OF FERALNESS. But please, tell me how hard it was for you.”

The small green child with broken bones isn’t named Shouto, Endeavor.

More seriously, you see Endeavor’s hand on Midoriya’s back? He isn’t checking that he is alright, he is actually holding him back because he is scared he is going to yeet himself again at the villains and try to finish the job.

That’s why you never make promises on live television. Too many witnesses that will call you out later.

Shouto is so fucking done at this point. He just survived a decaying wave, he showed up only to see all the heroes and his friends half dead, he almost got slapped by Gigantomachia, this is NOT the day to keep messing with him, and here is this asshole, all happy during the worst time of Shouto’s life.

As for Dabi... This man is hilarious. Look at how happy he is. His audience is here, too weakened to kick his ass, and now is the time.

Also, you see the bottle he is shaking? That was in the pouch he has been wearing since his first appearance. He was ready from Day 1.

Now, the riddle for the ages, the thing that interests me far more than what happens one panel later: what the hell is this and how did it bleach his hair so fast?

What am I hearing? Oh yes, the sound of ALL THE DABI IS A TODOROKI BEING VALIDATED RIGHT NOW. CONGRATULATIONS, FUNKY LITTLE CONSPIRACY THEORISTS. MAY KNOWING THAT YOU WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG MAKE YOU LIVE LONGER.

Whatever you’re thinking about Dabi, you have to admit that he knows how to use a narrative. He has been sitting on this for years, waiting for the right time to do the most damage, and here he is.

Let’s all appreciate this rare moment where Shouto and Enji have the same face of “What the hell is going on?”

But more importantly, let’s all appreciate Midoriya who was once again dragged into the Todoroki drama.

This has nothing to do with him, and yet, once again, a Todoroki appeared and felt the need to announce his entire tragic backstory in his vicinity. All those jokes about Todoroki never meeting Izuku because he would have coughed up his secret in the second were true.

Dabi looks so soft here and some part of me wants to believe that’s because he knew Rei would be watching.

And by that, I mean Dabi is a Momma boy.

I am bravely trying to keep a straight face as this guy is about to explain us why he killed 30 innocent people instead of his dad or some members of the Hero Commission.

I mean, Fuyumi managed not to snap despite many reasons, so really, there is no excuse.

More seriously, I hope that he won’t only reveal what Endeavor did. I want to know why he was considered dead. And I want to know if my theory about Touya being in the same HSPC program as Hawks is true, because there has to be a reason why he knows his real name.

Of course, for the last one, I can accept that Young Touya found a drawing of Endeavor and a young kid with red wings sent by a little fan through the Endeavor agency.

But I would much prefer to see more about the HPSC and how horrible it is.

The real victim of this chapter: Can’t-You-See-kun.

Look at how happy he is. I am pretty sure this is the best day of his life.

@pocketramblr is the one who realized that Horikoshi had to knock Dabi unconscious in Kamino because that man would have jumped on the occasion of screaming to the world who he really is, only to see society freak out.

There is 50% chance that AFO would have killed him for being more dramatic than him but, man, what a way to go.

*squints* Is that his hair becoming white due to the strain?

I am... actually not surprised by it. Dabi doesn’t know Shouto. And he isn’t Touya anymore.

The only thing Shouto is to him is Endeavor’s weapon to become number 1 and the child that stole his place and who made all his pain meaningless.

Endeavor: “Redemption arc?”

Dabi: “Hahaha NO. Step 1 of my plan where you get everything you want right before I make you choke on it.”

This is nothing short of breathtaking and once again, Horikoshi steals my breath away.

Make no mistake: Touya is dead. He died a long time ago. Only remains a rageful ghost hold together by hatred and staples. He will not hesitate to sacrifice anything to destroy Endeavor, be it himself, others, and even members of his family.

I have about zero regret for Endeavor but the rest of the Todoroki family? Dabi just took a sledgehammer to that and now, they will all have to live with the consequences.

Kudos to Dabi, though. He did what All for One didn’t manage to do. He wanted to ruin the number 1, to show that he was a liar and how pitiful he was. All for One failed to do so when he revealed All Might’s true form but Dabi executed that plan perfectly.

The other really good point about this is that no one will care about Izuku using multiple quirks. With how Dabi stole the show, Shigaraki will be lucky if people still talk about him.

#bnha 290 #bnha spoilers #bnha #bnha reactions

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honorable-wanderings · 3 years

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Word of Honor - Episode 2 Part 2 - Mirror Lake has more Fire than expected

In an interesting twist of fate Zhou Zishu decides to take the nice munchkin up on his offer to crash at his place for a while.

Thumbs up my dood

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Now the fuck are these guys?

Oh cool. Thanks.

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See? Children chants are creepy! Always!

But especially when driven by plort! (plort was a typo but I’m Keeping it.)

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Finally people treating our man with common decency and respect! Who knew he just needed a fancy bookmark?

Oop. Nevermind

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I have discovered the joys of fucking with people and I’m never going back again

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A fuck this guy again. I’m assuming we’re not supposed to like him? But I don’t like him either way. He has no... je ne sais quoi

He boring. Basic. Bland.

It ain’t good.

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Oh and also you know how you wanted us to keep tabs on Zhou ZiShu? Oh well um.. it’s going great! Great! Yeah... except for... we can’t find him.

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Well if this ain’t a whole ass mood?

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Midnight already? Time for the pain pins to poke me painfully!

This sure is a weird version of Cinderella

gross

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Okay okay so normally the 7 torture nails block your chi? I’m understanding? So you can no longer do martial arts. And he would rather die than lose all his martial arts so he put the nails in slowly so that he could still have SOME of his martial arts. But the point of the nails is still that he wants to die and feels he deserves to be punished as well? Right? So having his martial arts helps mediate the pain which lessons the punishment

and if it weren’t for the punishment aspect couldn’t he have just like... faked the nails? Or would they have been able to tell? I mean this is all dramatic and all but where are your motivations Zhou ZiShu?

work with me here

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Hey?! That’s not sunlight?!?

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Love me a good silhouette shot

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And suddenly everything is on fire???

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Rude

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After watching like 4 people get killed in front of him and a lot of fire and ransacking our protragonists finally thinks perhaps he should get himself involved.

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How is everything a fucking boomerang???

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Pffffff I love it

Tunk thunk

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In another interesting development, the boat man from before is important?????

Also our boy is doing his best with that hat

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Okay I know he’s like a master of disguise and all but like he doesn’t seem to be doing much to actually... hide? Still love his wiggly sword style

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Um take the kid and fucking run maybe????

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*stalks you from a not very inconspicuous distance*

Didja miss me?

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Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go

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Fuck I hate being disarmed.

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This place looks strangely similar to the woodshed...

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The fuck are you?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Yes I would. That’s why I asked

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There’s just nothing quite like a near death experience to bring people together.

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Take this kid and run!

But sir, you don’t seem to understand! I am the Best Boy! I simply cannot just leave you to die.

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Don’t worry kid! You can’t get in trouble anymore! Your dad is fuckin dead! Surely that’ll bring you some comfort!

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Random Local Boatman is surprisingly honorable and happens to be in debt to the father of the kid who was nice to you that morning.

Life sure is weird.

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He doing him best

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Though it is absolutely understandable, he reacts to being touched by that paper the way I react to walking into a spider web.

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Gramps is a badass

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I do have to say these guys do seem to be much better trained than the usual evil henchmen. And you have to appreciate their aesthetic.

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Seriously!! The best boy!!!!!

This man has helped in a little bit exactly once to repay him for his own kindness an this little teenager is willing to just die for him without hesitation.

Like no, son, the two old men are doing this so that YOU live. You have it backwards.

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Surpriiiiise I’m stalking you too!

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Oh no the henchmen are falling into the drawing things out to emotionally torture their prey thing. Don’t y’all know that giving the protagonist time to recover and/or study your moves is how you die? Did you even GO to henchman school?

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ahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Just.. omg. The noise he made. “Dwaaah!!!”

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Okay kid I know you’re young and under a lot of stress and never really got into the whole martial arts training thing but grandpa is doing better than you literally laying down and covered in cuts. Just sayin

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Aw nuts

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*ding*

Please take your protagonist out of the oven as cooktime has been completed.

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The fighting editing style seems to be a weird splice of nice crisp slowmotion view of the action and spliced together jump cuts and zooms that make for an odd kinda hard to follow combination. But at least I guess they tend to end on ‘cool pose x”

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“Hey, Beggar! You’re good at martial arts. Somehow this surprises me even though I already knew that???”

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Unexpected trust fall ends better than anticipated

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Das gaee

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He’s bendin’ over backwards for you!!

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Unexpected but definitely varied emotional investments on the fact that Gramps is dying.

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Look at him being all humble.

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Ooh he could be in a medical drama. That is the perfect like sad close your eyes and head shake no I’m sorry he’s not gonna make it. Bravo.

Very delicate.

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“Don’t fuckin’ touch me”

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I’m guilt tripping you into a found family and you’re gonna like it punk

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Sick dude, whats your name? Shit no one’s asked me that before somehow I’m not ready..

Uh.uh... Zhou Xu.

Nailed it.

“Zhou Xu? Naw that doesn’t sound right.”

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May you learn from this never to underestimate, rob, and otherwise harass your local old boat man for you never know when he may force you through guilt and honor into taking on a ward and a quest under penalty of being haunted by his old ass ghost forever

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Uncle Li has died and most of the group is much more upset about it than they would have anticipated that morning.

Poor ChenLing is having a rough day.

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RIP Uncle Li. So much for living a carefree couple of years lying drunk in the sun.

It looks like even now you can’t escape your responsibilities Zhou Xu.

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Group of hereto-unknown men arrive in poor time to stop the bonfire

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“What’s wrong?” Um... maybe... fire??

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I say again, thank you for labeling the people I’m supposed to remember.

Also, why did y’all have to wait for orders before checking out the fuckin boats?

Y’all dumb.

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Hey, Wen KeXing, Not trying to throw off your groove or anything but maybe a funeral isn’t the best time for flirting? Perhaps? Maybe?

I know you don’t have an ‘off’ switch but maybe a pause button?

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“are you done?”

“Never.”

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It deadass took y’all this long to introduce yourself? You’ve been stalking him all this time and you never thought to go “btw my name Wen KeXing? Comment t’appelles tu?” Come on man

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Our best boy is having his not best day. D:

Don’t worry. Your new family will stalk/care for you.

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“A-Xiang! Make some food!” “No shit Sherlock I already did.” “My ideas are the best. :D”

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Eat your food!

Eat your food!!

Eat your FOOD!!!

EAT YOUR FOOD!!!!

WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EAT YOUR GODDAMN FOOD?

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“Oh my GOD we get it you can fucking read! Oh my god.”

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If I prove I can read too will you pass me a damn pancake?

Fuck yeah.

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GOD DAMN IT SOMEONE EAT FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK

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Um excuse you this group only has room for one little bitch and it ain’t fuckin you, you hear me little girl?

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I am very sorry. Thank you for saving my life. I would like to re-assert my status as “best boy”.

HEY WHAT THE FUCK????

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Wen KeXing: 👀

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Please increase your friendship level before asking personal questions.

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Nya Nya you were useless when your home was burned to the ground and your family was killed waaaaah how pathetic are you!!

Can you fucking not?

My B.

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BEST BOY INJURED THIS IS NOT A DRILL

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Our Man Zhou ZiShu respects bodily autonomy!

Do not touch my fuckin’ boy or I will fight you!

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And we end the episode with Wen KeXing being horny on main!

Sir, keep it together. There are children present.

#Word of honor #Shanhe Ling #zhou zishu #Wen Kexing #zhang chengling #Gu Xiang #Writing WoH #spoilers #Episode 2

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hailhydra920 · 3 years

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Royally Matched Pt. 8

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Matchmaker!Reader Royal AU

Summary: Bucky speaks with his father. We get closer to the coronation, and we meet Sam!

Warnings: None

Part 8

Bucky stood with his sword outstretched, his pose firm. Dot had suggested they go to the drawing room, so she could paint Bucky, and he agreed. He saw Dot focusing on the canvas in front of her, her eyes darting between him and her painting. From the way she was working, Bucky thought it might turn out decent.

“Almost done, Jamie.” Dot said with a smile.

Bucky subtly winced. He hated being called Jamie by her, but he would let it pass. His arm was starting to ache and his stomach was starting to growl. He kinda wished you were there, to be honest. His blue eyes landed on Dot as she grinned.

“Done! Come take a look, Jamie!”

Bucky was relieved to finally bring his arm to his side, and he walked over to where Dot was. As soon as his eyes landed on the painting, he held back a grimace. It was awful. Like, a five-year-old could have done better that her. Pasting on a fake smile, Bucky applauded her.

“It looks wonderful. And I can see how much detail you put into my face.” He said pointing to the area he assumed was the face.

“That’s your arm, silly.” Dot giggled.

Bucky nodded, trying to keep his eyebrows from raising any higher. “Of course it is! I was just messing around!”

“I was hoping we could put it the gallery room.”

“Uh…yup, heh, excellent choice.”

~~~~~~~

“Nat, tomorrow is the coronation, and I’ve decided I’m not going.” You said with a sigh. “And don’t even try to convince me to stay because it won’t work.”

“Well, when tomorrow rolls around, you might find yourself wanting to go. Just saying.” Nat shrugged.

“I forgot to ask. How was your date with Bruce?”

“It was amazing, he’s a really sweet guy, but…”

“But what?”

“He lives here, and I don’t. I feel like it would be too difficult for us.”

You grabbed Nat’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Follow your heart, don’t care about what others think, and if you want to stay here, I wouldn’t hold anything against you.”

“Really? What about the company?” Nat questioned.

“You could start one up here. You’re smart enough, and you’ve got gut talent.”

“Thank you, Y/n, it means a lot. And my first job will be to get you someone.”

You laughed. “I wouldn’t waste your time. I think a life of solitude will treat me well. It has so far, and why would I change things up?”

Nat shook her head as she looked at you. “He loves you; you know.”

You looked to the floor and sighed. “Not enough.”

~~~~~~~

“Ah, James! There you are! I need to speak with you.” The King said stopping Bucky.

“Yes, Father?”

“Let’s go to my chamber, and then we can talk.”

Bucky closed the door behind them, and they both took a seat. Bucky looked around, avoiding eye contact with his father, he was suddenly very interested in the curtains peach color.

“James, I want you to be happy.” The King sighed.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” Bucky mused, his eyes still not meeting his father’s.

“Not saying that you aren’t, I just don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.”

“I have everything under control, father. I feel no need to discuss anything any further. I must be going now.” Bucky said standing up.

“James, wait.” The King said as Bucky froze. “The reason I stopped calling you Bucky is because I wanted to keep a piece of your mother close. She loved the name James so much, I…I didn’t know it irritated you so much. That woman loved you with all her heart and soul. And I realize that you were hurt very badly by her death.”

Bucky slowly closed the door and walked over to his father. “It’s not like it irritates me as much as hurts me. She called me James all the time, and when you started calling me that after she died, it just hurt to know she wasn’t going to be able to call me that again. Why did everything have to change after she died? How come you became so distant?”

“I know I haven’t exactly been the best father, but if you’d let me, I want to fix it. I don’t want our relationship to be so distant and cold. The death of your mother hurt me too. And she would be so proud of you. So let’s start fresh, for your mother.” The King pleaded.

Bucky embraced his father, tears threatening to spill. “Yeah…let’s do it for mom.”

~~~~~~~

Friends of the royal family were starting to pile into the castle. There was supposed to be a big dinner tonight, and then the grand celebration tomorrow. The day Bucky would longer be the prince, he would be the king. As you were walking down the hall, trying to get away from the growing crowd, you bumped into someone.

“Excuse me.” A deep voice said. “I didn’t mean to crash into you.”

You saw a man with warm brown eyes and smooth cocoa butter skin. He steadied you and smiled.

“Prince Sammuel Wilson of Sageridge, but most people just call me Sam.” He chuckled.

“Should I bow or something? I don’t want to be rude.” You said, now very self-conscious about your looks and actions.

“No need. I don’t quite like the stuffiness of royal life. Now, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Uh, it’s Y/n. Y/n L/n. No title though.”

He smiled again. “I don’t believe that, Y/n the Beautiful.”

You blushed. “Th-thank you.”

You both started to walk down the halls of the castle, conversing with each other softly.

“Matchmaker, you say? I bet Bucky has been a handful.” Sam chuckled.

“Oh yeah.” You huffed. “But he really is a sweet guy once you get past his tough exterior. I think he just needs a little love.”

“I suppose you’re right. Well, I best be off. My father is probably getting into the chocolate stash, and someone needs to stop him. See you at dinner tonight?” Sam asked.

“Um, yeah.”

“Until tonight, Y/n the Beautiful.” He said with a wink.

Permanent Taglist: @sleep-i-ness

Royally Matched Taglist: @supraveng @all-art-is-quite-useless @bestofbucky @tonystankschild @emmabarnes @tiziswiat

A/n: names with strikethrough won’t let me tag.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #prince bucky #royal au #Royally Matched Masterlist

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

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Red Alert

Thanks to @youneedsomeprompts for this prompt! Color Symbols: Angst: Red: Danger On a side note, Tumblr PLEASE stop ruining my formatting from google docs to tumblr.

Sam and Natasha both make a suggestion for Steve to talk to a new therapist that might be more on his level of understanding his situation.

LINK

There was a prickle in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake. An itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. Nothing he did would stop it, even for a second. It practically lived in the back of his head, active every second of the day. It didn’t care if he was on a mission, running drills, helping citizens, out with friends, or trying to relax at home.

Steve Rogers always felt like he was on guard. That there was constant danger around him. That he couldn’t quite relax fully. That prickle in the back of his head never allowed him to relax either. At the slightest noise, rather it was the ice settling in the freezer, a cough down the hall, or an odd-sounding car passing by his apartment, Steve felt like he had to investigate the noise. He had to check it out and make sure the ice wasn’t a bug listening in on him or the cough wasn’t an intruder trying to attack him.

It interrupted him at all hours of the day, never allowing him to truly sleep. He slept, a few handfuls of hours here and there when his body allowed it. When he was truly exhausted, when the serum was on its last legs and scraping the bottom of the barrel, Steve found he would pass out for hours. Days even, if he was exhausted enough.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a true, peaceful night's sleep. Actually, he could. He’d just rather not remember it and feel the hallow guilt and pain erupt in his chest. He’d rather focus on the here and now because that’s all he’s had left.

It’s Sam who approaches him about it when Steve shows up after a group therapy session to join him for lunch. He looks exhausted, he knows he does. There are bags under his eyes, he’s pale, and his focus is waning. He has to force himself to listen to what Sam is talking about, watching his mouth move and taking in the words without truly listening.

“Steve!”

Steve jumps as fingers snap in his face, blinking. “I-I was...I was listening.”

“Uh-huh.” There’s no frustration or anger on Sam’s face, just concern as he settles back against the metal seat. He watches a few people walk by, fingers drumming on the table. “You haven’t been sleeping again, have you? Feelin’ on edge?”

Steve shrugged, which was his way of saying yes without truly saying it. It was hard to ask for help, but he didn’t need help. He just needed to rest.

“Figures. You’ve been watching that office window for the past ten minutes.”

“I...wasn’t,” Steve tried to weakly defend, but it fell on deaf ears. “I was just… There was a blinking light up there. Thought it was…” He shrugged, letting the sentence hang off.

“Morse code or something? I get it. You’re stuck in danger mode. You’re on edge. You’re strugglin’ with so much, Steve. It’s okay.”

There was no arguing with him, he was right and Sam knew he was right too. Steve just couldn’t think of anything to counter it, to help his friend not worry so much about him. “No, you’re right. I just...I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I find myself waiting for the danger, constantly on edge. Nat says I had a panic attack the other night when Bruce accidentally flashed a light in my eyes. I don’t remember it.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like being you, Steve. You got this...superhuman abilities. Your strength is one thing, but your senses? They’re so advanced and even for back then, all the new sounds and smells and sight. But compared to today where it’s all flashy and you didn’t grow up with it. It’s overwhelming. You’re overwhelmed, you’re…” He paused and looked up at his friend, trying to find the right words before settling on being blunt. “You have PTSD, Steve. We’ve talked about this, remember? Can’t keep workin’ yourself stupor. You deserve a break.”

PTSD - yeah, Steve knew all about it. Once Sam had told him it, in the kindest manner possible, Steve looked up everything he could. Everything matched - the symptoms, the exhaustion. How he was constantly on edge. He’d talked to a few people about it, even a therapist that Pepper had recommended but how could he get to someone’s level who wasn’t him?

Who didn’t understand him? Someone who had lived through one of the worst wars in history, who’d lived and lost hundreds of people he considered friends, crashed a plane into the ocean, and woke up in a new century? He’d lost everything. His sense of a home, his friends, his family.

Nothing could compare to that. No one could get on his level to understand beyond the war. Yet his understanding of war differed from others and while they’d matched on a level about it, it wasn’t fully. It wasn’t to a full degree that Steve could latch onto.

“You know,” Sam was saying, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “There’s someone in Shield that Nat was talking about that might be able to help you. You might want to ask her about it.”

“Sam, no offense, but I’m not sure there are many who can help a hundred and one-year-old soldier from World War Two.” Sam rolled his eyes at him and Steve shrugged again. “I just need a break. I need to try to relax. Get out of my head. Get this stupid prickling to stop.”

He’d scratched the back of his neck raw a few times because of it, just to have it heal over an hour later.

“The options are there, man, alright? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just...just call if you need anything, alright? You gonna be good?”

There was the concern, the near pity in Sam’s expression as he got up to leave, coat was thrown over his arm. Steve squeezed his hand and forced himself to nod. “Yeah, man, I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”

Three missions later, two training accidents resulting in him breaking a finger, three sleepless days, and five skipped meals later, Steve found himself staring at an office door with the placard reading Dr. P. Carter.

She came highly recommended by Natasha who refused to say more on the matter of who this P. Carter was. He’d tried to google this Peggy but got nowhere with results beyond obituaries.

This was ridiculous. There was no way she could help him. Or anyone could. He’d just needed to go, making take that horse tranquilizer Tony was teasing about and go to bed.

The second he went to turn away, the door opened. Steve almost kept walking until he heard her clear her throat.

“I was wondering if you were going to come in, Mr. Rogers. If that’s...okay I call you Rogers?”

The accent is what caught his attention. Enough to make him curious to turn around. Peggy Carter was...gorgeous. Sharp high cheekbones, honey-coated eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, brunette curls running down her shoulders. She looked amazing in her jeans and a white t-shirt - the last thing he expected a therapist to wear.

“You knew I was out there?” he mumbled.

That was a stupid question, of course, she did. She possibly had cameras and it’s not like he was a quiet person in this big body. Sometimes he felt so huge in this body, wishing he’d been smaller. Just without the ailments.

“I heard some muttering and you were my only appointment today. I figured it was you.” She replied gently enough, leaving him a little more curious about her. She didn’t treat him like others had like he was a sleeping bear about to be poked.

Something about her eyes told him she understood him. Or he was imagining it so much because he was desperate to have someone who could understand.

He had to give his friends credit. They tried. They fully tried to help and he was grateful but if something didn’t work out for him, Steve almost instantly lost hope.

It was always Cap or Captain. Rarely was he called Steve outside of his friends. Everyone saw him as this guy on the mantle and not himself. Not Steve Rogers, a man who's hurting and doing his best to pack it all in for another day.

“Didn’t realize I muttered. I…” He swallowed, tongue darting out as he looked her up and down. She was a few inches shorter than him and posed herself in a manner that was inviting. She wasn’t dangerous, but she could be, he figures. “How do you know Natasha? She...recommended you.”

“Natalia? Oh, she’s a personal friend of mine. We’ve worked on a few cases together.” Peggy’s hand held out to him, an invitation. “I’m Margaret, by the way. But my friends call me Peggy. Would you like to sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

He could run, he could bolt out to his bike and run for the hills, but he didn’t want to. Strange enough Steve found himself taking Peggy’s hand and giving her a firm shake, just as she did him. “My friends call me Steve.”

“Well, Steve, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you to sit down at the very least. We don’t even have to talk. I just don’t want you riding that death trap like this.”

Steve snorted as he followed her and eased into a comfortable couch in her office. “It’s not a death trap. It’s my pride.”

“Oh, I can certainly see that. Personal custom work to resemble a bike you must’ve used before? Very rarely do you see that, but it’s still a death trap. Excuse me for liking the cushion of walls when I’m speeding down the highway.”

Peggy’s red lips twitched into a smile at his snorting laugh, handing over an unsealed bottle of water. Steve took it without question, taking a few sips.

“No wonder you like Natasha...she says the same despite loving a bike herself.” Steve sighed as he took a few sips, grateful to have something to do with his hands. “Look, Miss Carter...I’m unsure of what Natasha told you or what you want to do with these sessions but they never...end well for me. Sure, the other people are great, but they don’t understand. ”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Steven, but you do make a great point. They don’t understand because they’re not on your level. Your closest group of friends outside of those you serve with are the vets down at the center, right? Men you served with but perhaps were not close to?”

At Steve’s nod, Peggy smiled. “I’ve been there - I mean I see you there. I…”

She looked almost frustrated, eyes darting to the window and closed-door before pulling out an old file from her drawer. It was stained with coffee and yellow with age, a familiar symbol stamped on top. SSR.

Steve’s heart leaped to his throat as he looked down at it, but didn’t dare touch it when she held it out to him. “What is...this?”

“I figured to get you to trust me, we need to be on the same level, correct? I need to be open and honest and while I haven’t lied yet, Natasha and I haven’t been fully honest.” She sighed when he didn’t take the file and opened it up, handing him a page stamped with a date, shortly before he joined the military.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, looking over the information. “You were an SSR Agent, but... you’re…” He waved his hand over her. “You have to be ninety-eight!”

“Excuse me, ninety-seven, thank you,” Peggy snorted. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to comment on a woman’s age?” Oh, she shouldn’t find that blush attractive, but she did.

“But to answer your question, Steve, yes, I am...old. I was an SSR Agent. You see, shortly before you joined Project Rebirth, I was the prime candidate. After rescuing Doctor Erskine from Schmidt’s clutches, I received the serum in private. Colonel Phillips, Erskine, and Howard Stark, and I all agreed this shouldn’t be public because we were unaware of the consequences, and well - you know how they saw women in those days.

The serum, we thought, did nothing. I was shipped off to war shortly after, so we had never met. It seems fate kept it that way, even as I joined Phillips and helped the 107th. I’ve met other Howling Commandos - Dugan, Jones, even Barnes. Yet, somehow never you.

Still, the serum, before I ramble off. We thought it did nothing until after the war. I wasn’t aging. I could...heal faster than normal, but it wasn’t to your level. I had been shot with one of Schmidt’s weapons, it should’ve vaporized me on the spot, but instead, it activated the serum.

Then...then you died. Or so we thought. Howard used me as a near experiment to see if you could survive and I agreed because you deserved to be found, dead or alive. You deserved some sort of burial at the very least, but we...as you can tell, it went nowhere.

So time went on, we went on to form Shield. I left shortly before you were found - as fate would have it seem so we did not meet. I left because...I wanted to do things outside of Shield. I wanted to help people. Of course, if they need me, they call me, but I would rather not play Director at this moment. I enjoy doing my own things - I rather ask for forgiveness than permission. When the Battle of New York happened, I was out of town. Once again, fate decided we shouldn’t meet. When Natasha found me, she wanted to introduce us right away. She thought...I could be of assistance. I could be friends with you but I didn’t want this forced. I wanted to meet you, Steve but I wasn’t sure how without fate deciding we aren’t worth it.”

Steve sat there, stunned, pillow in hand. He found himself kneading it, staring down at the files. Every single thing matched up with what she said. The serum, a more watered-down version. Going to war. He could remember Dugan pouting because some lass named Carter ‘stole’ his whiskey - aka won it in a bet. He could remember Barnes insisting he meets this Carter. He could remember a red dress in a bar, a kiss of fire whiskey on his lips. Her soft body…

“We had sex,” Steve spat out, blinking down at the paper. He heard choking and his head snapped up, watching Peggy cough into her arm.

“Excuse me? I think I’d remember if we had sex, Rogers!” Peggy half-shouted, her face turning a shade of red.

“Apparently not. It-it was...it was before I died. The only time I’d truly slept in years. The night before I died. We met at the bar, but both of us were so tipsy. I’d have...something Howard invented that...that got me feeling a bit tipsy. We shouldn’t have done it, I should’ve said no but your kisses were so addicting. It’s not that I didn’t want you. I just...didn’t want you under the influence of alcohol for us both. I wanted to remember it clearly.”

Peggy stared down at the cold coffee, red nails drumming on the table in thought. “I remember now. It was your first time. You were so...so awkward. In the most charming manner. I had to teach you everything, including how to undress me. It was...It was charming, Steve. One of the best nights I’ve ever had. If I had known it was you…”

She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. “You were so loving and careful, especially for your size. I wanted to protect you, strangely enough.”

Steve found himself standing, the papers falling to the floor. He found himself standing in front of her, mind racing. She understood him on a level he’d thought he’d never find. They were the same, they had the same serum. They’d lost and loved. They just weren’t destined to meet until now.

“I know this is supposed to be a therapy session,” he mumbled, still standing awkwardly in front of her. “But can we drop that and...and just go talk? Outside of here?”

“Because you want to nail me on my desk?” Peggy teased, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. That wasn’t a no. She stood and held his hand, being gentle with her touch. “Of course, darling. I think we have lots to catch up on. I’m glad for once fate has decided we deserve to meet and it wasn’t with one of us dying on the battlefield.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Hurt/Comfort heavy on the hurt #It makes no sense #PTSD

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Tacenda - Chapter Eight (f.o)

Summary: you’ll never truly be free from the Capitol.

Word Count; 2.7k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Unfortunately, it wasn’t good enough. Snow had made the decision, and Elysia was required to let you guys know that the games would continue on tomorrow. It might be because Snow thought that Katniss being pregnant was bullshit. Or it could be because it’s the Quarter Quell. The Quell can’t be cancelled, and the games are never postponed.

Peeta gave it his bet shot though, and you can admire him for that.

“What would you do if I were pregnant?” you wonder out loud, looking over to Finnick from where you’re laying on the hammock.

He’s got a pad of paper and a pencil. He’s been sketching you in different poses from where he sits in a fancy, cushioned chair. He pauses for a moment, looking up at you.

“You mean like right now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you rock the hammock a little bit, “I’m not pregnant or anything, I’m just curious is all.”

Finnick breathes out playfully, wiping some fake sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, “You had me worried for a second.”

It’s quiet for a moment, “Well?”

“Well, I guess I would have to do everything in my power to make sure that you win the games,” he says, “You would have to make it home, no exceptions.”

“You would break an alliance with them just to get me home?” you ask, laughing because the idea is a little ridiculous.

Finnick makes a face at you, “You really think I would let you die in that arena?”

“Hopefully not,” you say, “I wouldn’t think it would be that important.”

“You’re kidding.” he goes back to drawing on the paper for a little bit.

You lean your head back against the rope, “Would you want a boy or a girl first?”

“Now is not the time for dumb ideas.” Finnick laughs, and you join in.

You shrug, “I would want a boy first so he could look over his little sister.”

And it’s almost a curse on your family anyway. There’s always boys that are born first, and they tend to look after everyone else. It happened with your dad, until your uncle was lost in a fishing accident. You can’t remember any of it now, you were so small at the time.

Plus, the thought of having a little Finnick running around. With his hair, and his green eyes and his perfect personality. You’d melt instantly, because you know that Finnick would be such a great dad. An immediate replica of him.

You can see it all now. If the games hadn’t happened, you would have started to think about kids. You two have been waiting a while just because you guys are just hitting your mid-twenties and you have your entire life to look forward to. You guys thought that you had all the time in the world, so there was no rush.

You know how excited your family would have been to see you and Finnick ease up. A healthy distraction from your past. A new thing to focus on, and raise to be better than you and Finnick have ever been. You guys would pass on all this information so if they did get pulled for the games–since they’re not immune–they would be prepared.

“A boy would be nice,” Finnick agrees, “But I would like a girl.”

You look at him, “There’s no way. With our luck we’d end up with a boy because it’s tradition.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not tradition, it’s chance. Luck, as you said. And since it would be my genes–!”

You laugh, watching as he makes a fool of himself. He flexes his arm slightly, “She’ll have muscles as big as mine.”

“That’s one buff baby.” you laugh, and Finnick flips the paper to start a new drawing.

“At least we’d be able to cross another goal off the list.” he says quietly, “Have a baby.”

You nod slowly, because now you’re realizing that the list will be incomplete.

Of course, there’s a chance that neither of you die in that arena, for however long it lasts for. Since you guys will be protecting Katniss and Peeta to make sure that they get out of the arena at the first chance that comes. And now you’ll start banking on that hope.

The list doesn’t have to be incomplete. You just have to be extremely careful when it comes to every fight you come across. Whether that be with people, or mutts, or some element that they throw in.

“Let’s hope that we make it out together.” you tell him.

Even from where you guys sit in Finnick’s room, you guys can hear the knocking at the apartment door. Finnick sits up a little bit, debating if it’s worth it, and then he leans back down. Elysia and Mags are out there with the prep teams and stylists, they’ll be able to answer the door.

They’re letting you and Finnick relax, instead of forcing you guys to spend time with them out there. You’ve already eaten dinner with them, had conversation, and complimented the outfits that they made you guys. You thanked them for everything that they’ve done for you.

Laurel told you to save it for tomorrow because that’s when she’ll be seeing you off before you’re in the arena. So, you saved your goodbyes for your prep team, whom cried like babies as if they didn’t realize that this was it. This was going to be the last time that you would see them.

“Finnick!” Laurel yells.

Finnick sighs, tossing the pad of paper on the bed, and then he comes over to you to help you off the hammock. Once you’re on your feet, the both of you head out to see why they were yelling.

Haymitch stands at the door, almost like he’s impatient.

“What’s the matter?” you ask.

You go down the steps, joining Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy at the door.

“Here,” Haymitch holds out the bracelet to Finnick, “For tomorrow.”

You open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape. It’s the new token that Haymitch had promised to get one of you. It’s to show Katniss–mostly–that you guys are supposed to be allies. It’s Haymitch’s way of telling them to stick close to you guys. That he had set up an alliance, and he doesn’t want them to screw it up.

It was decided on the third day of training on what your roles would be in the arena. Haymitch had stopped you guys and taken you into the stairwell instead. Sure, it could have been extremely suspicious of you guys, but it’s not like they would be able to make anything out of it. Just three people taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

You guys have everything sorted out.

Katniss had apparently taken a liking to you for whatever reason, which was good enough for Haymitch. There’s a great possibility that Katniss will trust you a little more when it comes to things. So you’re going to have to make sure that she’s calm, and she’s looking to you guys a little more for decision making.

It was decided then that you and Finnick would be the ones to follow her and Peeta around. Get your weapons, and then get the hell out of there. Since there’s a great chance that Katniss will run towards the cornucopia rather than run away. This is why there’s two of you.

Finnick will be doing his best to get to the cornucopia first so that he’s there for Katniss. And you can relax a little bit when it comes to that, because your job is to be eyes-on making sure that they don’t run away. They run away, you follow. They run towards the cornucopia, Finnick is there to catch them.

As for Johanna, she’s supposed to round up Wiress and Beetee for Katniss’ sake, since those are the two people that she had wanted to team up with originally. If everything had gone her way, it would be you, Peeta, Katniss, Wiress and Beetee. Honestly, you’re glad that Haymitch didn’t allow her to make any choices in this.

And everyone else will be doing what they have to. Get their weapons, meet up with you guys later in the arena. You aren’t supposed to seek them out, they’ll be searching for you. Which will be absolute hell for them, especially if it’s a difficult arena to navigate.

It’s not your problem. Your main focus will be on making sure that Katniss and Peeta don’t get hurt by the careers. And since you’ve had more than your fair share of experience with careers, you know how their minds work. They’re going to want the cornucopia all to themselves, and they’re going to take it any way they can.

“Thanks,” Finnick says.

“And (Y/n), I got you one too.” Haymitch says, he pulls out a gold ring that’s engraved to look like a beach. With seashells, little dots for the sand and a wave too.

You look down at your wedding ring, tilting your head a little bit as if you’re not sure it’s worth it. Then, you pull it off.

“Thank you. These have already passed the inspection?”

He nods.

You take the new ring into your hand, and you hold it in your hand with the wedding ring. Something that it’s so simple, that it could be mistaken for a pinky ring. It doesn’t have diamonds, it isn’t made out of gold and it doesn’t have any gemstones attached to it. It’s literally polished silver, weaved into the pattern of a single wave.

“Hold onto our rings for us?” you ask, holding out your hand a little bit for him.

Finnick takes off his too, and Haymitch pockets them, he nods, “I’ll take good care of them.”

“We will too.” You say, and you know that he’ll take it in the way, that you guys will be careful with Katniss and Peeta.

You slip on the new ring, a little unsure by how it feels since it’s not a smooth texture. But soon enough, you get used to it.

You guys say your goodbyes, and once the door is shut, they all stare at you and Finnick expectedly. Only, Mags already knows the plan on what’s going to happen in there. It’s the prep team and Elysia that have no idea.

You and Finnick end up excusing yourselves to go to bed, not really wanting to stay up much longer. If you guys are dragging your feet tomorrow, then that’ll come back and bite you in the ass. Before you guys went into the rooms though, you had to hand off the jewelry to Pleurisy and Laurel to hold onto.

It was a hard night to sleep through, you’ll give it that. It took a while for Finnick to fall asleep, and you thought that might have been the problem for you. You were worried about him not getting sleep, but in reality, things weren’t just sticking correctly for you.

The idea of having Alyssum watch you in there was off-putting. She obviously knows what you had to go through in order to win the games the first time. But you guys never really talk about it. You don’t really say ‘back when I was in the games’ in a conversation. It was overlooked for so long, because it was so meaningless until the games came around and you and Finnick had to go and mentor.

She knows that you had to kill people, but she doesn’t actively think about it. Tomorrow, she’ll get to see just how ruthless you are when it comes to killing. You can’t be nice about it. You can’t lessen the blow with what you do, because that’ll just end up getting you screwed over.

You can’t just mercy kill. If you’re going to kill someone, then that means you have to go through with it. Mercy kills are saved for mutt attacks. If someone is giving you hell in the arena, and you finally get your hands on them, then you’re not going to kill them quickly. If they’re all over your tracks, and they’re teasing, and stealing and coming back for more, there’s no way you’re letting them get away with it. You’ll show them the treatment that they deserve. Even if it’s not pretty.

The hunger games aren’t pretty.

You got up this morning relatively quickly. You and Finnick were up the moment the clock hit seven, despite having at least four or five hours to get ready. You took a shower, being careful of your fake nails, because they’re going to be helpful in the arena, you just know it.

You washed your hair and made sure to tie it back and out of your face in a tight ponytail. You pulled on what they require you to wear. Which is the leggings, the tank top, and the jacket this time around is optional. You slip on your shoes and break them in so you don’t get anymore blisters by accident.

You and Finnick eat as much as you can muster without feeling sick. You drink everything in its usual order, and after the first cup of coffee, you opt for a second. You stop there though, afraid that your stomach will start becoming upset after that.

You guys had got escorted to where the hovercraft would be coming from a few minutes ago. Finnick sits right next to you, holding onto your hand tightly. Unfortunately with these seats, you can’t lean into him like you want to. The lady comes around with a tracker, and you hold out your right arm, since the left is what you went with the first year.

Finnick follows you with the same arm, not really bothered with how thick the needle is. He leans his back against the seat with his eyes closed.

Only a few minutes later, you guys had reached the underground area. You kiss Finnick goodbye and tell him to be careful. He tells you to do the same, and you split up with your stylists. Laurel leads you down a series of halls until you guys get to this year’s place.

They offer no food this year. It’s like a sewer with how the place is framed. They’ve got pipes coming in and out of places, and you guys are standing on metal ground. Here, Laurel makes you get changed into your outfit for this year. It’s like a wetsuit, long sleeved, down to your ankles.. It has the neck of a regular shirt though, without the brim. And finally, black boots that seem to be waterproof. And you’re using the word ‘boots’ lightly.

“Here’s your ring.” Laurel slips it on to where your wedding ring is supposed to be.

The voice lets you know that there’s only thirty seconds left before you’re supposed to step into the tube that’ll bring you to the surface.

“Thank you, Laurel.” you hug her tightly, and she squeezes as much as she can afford to, “You were the best stylist I could have asked for.”

“I know.” She laughs, “I promise to send you something.”

“Don’t go bankrupt,” you smile, “Send me something useful, huh? Not some dress that you designed.”

Laurel nods, “I will.”

“Fifteen seconds until launch.”

You grab onto Laurel’s arms, “Tell Mags I say goodbye, alright? I’ll be doing my best in there, but it’s going to be a miracle case.”

She nods and hugs you a final time.

You go ahead and step into where you’re supposed to stand. Watching as the glass comes down from the top. It makes you feel a little claustrophobic at first, but you manage to remember that it’s only for a couple of seconds.

You wave goodbye to Laurel, and she does the same. After that, you turn your back towards her.

And take a deep breath in.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair tacenda #tacenda

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megashadowdragon · 5 years

Text

Theory: Dabi is literally Frankenstein’s Monster, both in his appearance and origin story

/www . reddit . com/r/BokuNoHeroAcademia/comments/coy27z/theory_dabi_is_literally_frankensteins_monster/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x

I previously discussed my thoughts on Dabi’s character, IF he indeed is Touya Todoroki (this has NOT been confirmed!), being based on Frankenstein’s Monster a few months back on a post by _Hireath_. I’d thought that I’d post it again here and further expand the discussion and see what other people think of the comparisons.

I believe that not only does Horikoshi draw inspiration for Dabi’s appearance from pop cultural depictions of The Monster but his origin story also parallels the themes of the novel.

Endeavor/Enji Todoroki = Victor Frankenstein

Dabi/Touya Todoroki = The creature (Frankenstein's monster)

APPEARANCE

The Monster's appearance varies in popular culture, but he is often portrayed as having a body that appears to be stitched together and seen wearing dark, tattered clothes with heavy boots. When we’re first introduced to Dabi, his clothes are tattered. His clothes later change with the addition of boots and metal-like arm bracers, which could be homage to the bolts in the Monster’s neck

And as u/_Hireath_ pointed out, in Chapter 191 we see Dabi do a pose that is pretty much the exact same as Boris Karloff’s portrayal of the Monster, who played him in the 1930s Universal Picture films.

Dabi’s pose versus Boris Karloff’s pose

NOVEL THEMES

First let’s look at the name of the novel in question, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.

For those who don’t know, Prometheus is the Titan/Culture Hero who created humans from clay and gave them fire. Right off the bat, we see the parallels between the Flame Hero Endeavor and Victor Frankenstein/Prometheus.

The BritLit blog has good analyses on some of the themes in Frankenstein, some examples are:

Sins of the father

Loss of innocence

Dichotomy of fire

Responsibility and culpability

Society and isolation

Revenge

1. SINS OF THE FATHER

Vitanza, D. (2018 September 5). Sins of the Father [blog post]. BritLit: Frankenstein. . Retrieved from blogs . baylor . edu/britlit/2018/09/05/sins-of-the-father/

Victor’s lifelong pursuit to create his creature filled him with purpose and drove a series of feverish attempts to fulfill his dream. There is never mention of why he has chosen to do this other than for self-serving reasons.

We see Endeavor's ambition and fallibility in "creating" his children.

Endeavor (speaking to All Might): "I'll mold him (Shoto) into a Hero who surpasses you. That's the only reason I created that kid." (Ch 31)

Shoto (speaking to Midoriya): "My dad... he's a powerful bastard who only thinks of becoming stronger. Yeah, he's gone all out to make a name for himself as a Hero but he's always seen that living legend, All Might, as a roadblock and an eyesore. My father could never beat All Might on his own. So he came up with another plan... Raising me as a Hero who could exceed All Might, just to fulfill his own ambitions." (Ch 31)

Once the fruits of his labor are realized, he immediately becomes the prototypical absent father. The ultimate sin of the father is irresponsibility and selfishness.

Endeavor was an absent father to Touya, Fuyumi, and Natsuo because they were seen as “failures”. The three older children were raised separately from Shoto.

Endeavor (talking about Touya & Natsuo): "Don't look at them, Shoto. Your brothers... they belong to a different world than you." (Ch 39)

Natsuo (talking about Endeavor): "I don't remember him well. At this point, he basically feels like a complete stranger." (Ch 187)

Natsuo (talking to Endeavor):"'Say it'...? That's rich, coming from the guy who wouldn't even look me in the eye for all these years. You've got some nerve, you know that? It's funny, I had no idea soba was Shoto's favourite food until today. You took special care to never let us, your "failures" into his life after all. You completely neglected us, and left us to listen to mom screaming and Shoto crying.” (Ch 192)

Possible Predictions?

The creature’s construction is not the genesis of his evil, it is Victor’s failure to fulfill his duty as a father.

Victor only dabbles in acknowledgement of his fatal flaw. It isn’t until he is near-death that he finally acknowledges that he is ultimately responsible for all the death that resulted in his creation.

Will Endeavor end up the same way as Victor Frankenstein? Acknowledging when he’s on his deathbed that Dabi/Touya is the way that he is because he failed as a father and that he is ultimately responsible for his actions?

2. LOSS OF INNOCENCE

Castillo, B. (2018 September 5). “I Ought to be Thy Adam”: The Theme of Lost Innocence in Frankenstein’s “Monster” [blog post]. BritLit: Frankenstein. Retrieved from blogs . baylor . edu/britlit/2018/09/05/i-ought-to-be-thy-adam-the-theme-of-lost-innocence-in-frankensteins-monster/

When I think of innocence, the first group of people that come to mind are children. Children come into this world knowing nothing, and the way they view the world is heavily influenced by their early experiences, their education, and the culture they live in.

We see this loss of innocence in the Todoroki children due to Endeavor's intense training and abuse of their mother.

In a flashback in Chapter 39, we see Endeavor training a young Shoto to the point that he's in tears and vomiting on the floor with Rei trying to intervene:

Endeavor (to Shoto): "Get up. You won't even be able to defeat third-rate villains, let alone All Might, if you get knocked down by a hit like that...

Rei (to Endeavor): "Stop it, please! He's only five years old..."

Endeavor (to Rei): "Yes, he's already five! So get out of my way!" (slaps Rei)

The creature’s moral decline parallels that of Adam and Eve’s eating from the fruit of the tree. As he gained knowledge about humanity, there was no turning back. While I find the creature’s decisions to be questionable, I feel they bring a few questions to mind: If the creature had been given the same opportunity to develop the way a healthy child would, how might the story be different? Although we would deem the creature’s actions as monstrous in nature, can we hold this “monster” completely accountable for his actions?

When Giran introduces Dabi to the League of Villains, he “has no outstanding criminal record to speak of”. He wanted to join the League because he wanted to make the Hero Killer Stain’s will a reality. After he joins he begins committing murder - there’s no turning back. But if he was given the same opportunity, say as Shoto, would his story be different?

3. DICHOTOMY OF FIRE

Strong, T. (2016 September 26). Lightning and Fire [blog post]. BritLit: Frankenstein. blogs . baylor . edu/britlit/2016/09/26/lightning-and-fire/

The monster and Victor both have first memories in the natural world that shape them quite profoundly – Victor has his lightning storm, with the complete destruction of a tree, and the monster has his fire, which warms him while it destroys and burns.

The monster’s fire is a different matter, though it affects him similarly. He came upon his first fire during his wandering days, when he was discovering his senses and vulnerabilities. He came upon a fire “which had been left” by humans (Vol. II, Ch. III), so a human tool left in nature. He was “overcome with delight” and joy, but touching it brought him pain. “How strange, [he thinks], that the same cause could produce such opposite effects!” He has learned the dichotomy of flame – to save and to hurt.

Endeavor's flames save (he is a Pro Hero, after all) whereas Dabi's flames hurt, both himself and others.

Dabi (talking to a group of unnamed villains): "Don't need... types like you... begone. I guess trash like you is... good fuel for my fire." (Ch 115)

Higawara (to Dabi): "All those burnt corpses that've turning up here and there lately..." (Ch 160)

Dabi (referring to Higawara): "Looks like only his top half can turn to sand. He's probably dead." (Ch 160)

Geten (to Dabi): "You're the one who'll be dying here, wielder of blue flames. Your body has been reeking of burnt flesh for a while now." (Ch 230)

Geten (to Dabi): "Judging by that peeling, burnt skin or yours... you can't fight for very long, can you? Your body can't stand your own flames." (Ch 230)

4. RESPONSIBILITY AND CULPABILITY

Rima, L. (2018 September 5). On the topic of responsibility and culpability [blog post]. BritLit: Frankenstein. blogs . baylor . edu/britlit/2018/09/05/on-the-topic-of-responsibility-and-culpability/

The topic of responsibility can be a difficult one to explore, because “responsibility” may heavily affect the view of one’s culpability for his or her actions – despite responsibility, one may be condemned or condoned. How deeply, therefore, must we take into account context and history when determining a sense of “blame” for these characters? Does an abusive childhood at all excuse, or at least contextualize, a serial killer’s actions? Does it lessen the blow of the gavel, and by extension, the punishment? If so – just how harshly should a reader judge the monster and his violent actions, and Victor Frankenstein for creating him?

Looking at their relationship in a family perspective, Victor holds as much responsibility for his creation as a parent does his child. This creature is a blank slate, confused and ignorant just as a newborn, and Victor plays the stereotypical role of absent father immediately by running away, “unable to endure the aspect of the being [he] created, [rushing] out of the room” (84). This instantaneous rejection is certainly not lost on the creature, who will be experiencing this rejection for the rest of his life. It is, after all, what spurns the creature into exacting revenge upon Victor. In this way, Victor is directly responsible for the creation of the monster – of course – as well as the monster’s desire for violence towards the Frankenstein family and friends. Responsibility for this creature, however, is not culpability for this creature’s actions. Frankenstein’s monster has the gift of free will, which means that ultimately, his actions are his own and therefore he himself is responsible for them. This son’s sins cannot be solely blamed on the father! Those in connection to Victor, after all, are not the only ones who receive the monster’s wrath.

Endeavor is responsible for creating Dabi/Touya but is he culpable for his crimes? How harshly should the audience judge Dabi for his actions? How harshly should we judge Endeavor?

5. HOW MIGHT DABI’S STORY END?

So, if Dabi/Touya is based on Frankenstein's Monster, how might his story end?

Well, in the novel, after Frankenstein dies, the Creature jumps off the boat in the arctic to go kill himself and is never seen again. Hopefully that doesn’t happen. A more interesting take is a potential, what could have been, redemption.

(Captain Robert) Walton’s Responsibility to Frankenstein’s Monster

Adams, D. (2016 September 26). Walton’s Responsibility to Frankenstein’s Monster [blog post]. BritLit: Frankenstein. blogs . baylor . edu/britlit/2016/09/26/waltons-responsibility-to-the-monster/

In Frankenstein, Mary Shelley’s critique of the criminal justice system’s consistency, her critique of retributive justice, and the death of Victor leave Walton with the responsibility to deliver justice to the monster. He is responsible for counseling the monster and restoring him to human society.

However, Walton is not responsible for killing or exiling the monster. The retributive system of punishment (matching punishment to crime) only results in more death and pointless suffering. Shelley emphasizes this through the monster’s murder of William, Elizabeth and Henry as he tries to retributively serve justice to Victor. Yet the monster reveals at Victor’s death that retribution is not satisfactory. The monster ends up wanting forgiveness*; “what does it avail that I know ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst” (217).* Retributive justice only destroys everyone involved; there is neither healing nor consolation. It only leads to more destruction and is therefore not just.

Walton instead has the responsibility to help the monster process his existence so he can best live for himself and for human society. The monster believes that his creator Victor is responsible for preparing him for a virtuous and happy life: “‘Remember, I am thy creature: I ought to be thy Adam…I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy and I shall again be virtuous” (118-119, 119). Victor did not befriend him nor guide him so the monster never learned how to live virtuously. It is fair to the monster that he be helped in this way and Walton is the last one who can help him.

So, if Dabi/Touya does eventually get a redemption, who will take up the role of Captain Walton? Shouto? All Might? Hawks? Another Pro Hero? Another family member perhaps, such as Fuyumi or Natsuo?

It’s interesting to note that Natsuo's major in college is medical welfare,

which deals with sociology and mental health, among other things. Those who major in it can become counselors, social workers, and psychiatric social workers.

From Suzuka University of Medical Science, Department of Medical Welfare, Clinical Welfare Course page: "In this course students... acquire the skills of counselling for clients and their families and combine them with other medical services and health and welfare specialists."

However, this redemption would require detention. First, it would provide the opportunity for Walton to peacefully restore his feelings, for the monster lost some ability to empathize after killing Elizabeth: “then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish to riot in the excess of my despair” (218). Regardless if he lost all feeling or not, he would need guidance to learn how to feel sympathy, respect, and love. Second, it would help appease his fellow humans as they could see him “pay his debt to society,” helping them process his existence as well, though preferably in a monastery or small town where people could interact with him but stay away from large groups of people.

It would be a bittersweet ending if Dabi/Touya ended up being institutionalized, just like his mother.

or dabi could commit suicide after endeavors death like the frankensteins monster for I think shigaraki who touya is paralleled with is going to die of course I think a big difference between Dabi (if he is Touya) and Shigaraki is that he still has a family to help him heal.

(a comment from reddit post )

this theory adds to the dabi is a zombie theory given that frankensteins monster was created from corpses fuzzypastaangelfreak . tumblr . com/post/186925080336/bnha-theory-for-all-intensive-purposes-dabi-is-a/embed

part 2: megashadowdragon . tumblr . com/post/188008382847/embed

@hamliet

#bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia theory #my hero academia meta #boku no hero theory #boku no hero academia meta #boku no hero academia theory #bnha theory #mha theory #bnha meta #mha meta

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darksunrising · 4 years

Text

Sola Gratia (11/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic descriptions of violence, Viewer discretion is advised (short paragraph)

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 11/? (2247 words)

Author’s notes : The end of the second act draws nigh ! (also, I see some new followers, if you wanna be added to the taglist, feel free to ask !)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Eris, anyone home ?”

Leah's soft voice dragged me out of the void I'd been staring into for the past... Well, Gods know how long. I raised my head to meet her slightly worried gaze.

“Yeah, sorry. You wouldn't believe how many of those can't make the difference between a century and a millennium, it's appalling.”

She didn't seem that amused at my sorry excuse for a justification.

“Have you seen the bags under your eyes ?”, she reprimanded me in a hushed voice. “How long since you had a decent night of sleep ? You're so pale, you look like a damn vampire.”

I had a dry laugh. She wasn't wrong, to be fair. For the past four days, I barely got any sleep, any noise waking me up in a cold sweat, when I just didn't lay frozen in bed, unable to close my eyes, for hours on end, until the sun got up. Mostly, I only stayed up because of a carefully thought-out blend of coffee and anxiety.

“I'm fine, Leah. I just didn't put on any makeup this morning. That is my face”, I told her, trying to sound offended.

“Don't bullshit me. Go. Home.”

Her tone didn't invite arguing about it. She reached across the table, and took my hand in hers, smiling. She proposed calling me an Uber, but I figured walking would clear my head. I put away my stuff, leaving her to her books.

The library was almost entirely empty at this hour, and the normally automatic lights didn't even turn on as I passed through the halls. I slapped my badge on the door to get it open, and was welcomed by a gush of freezing air from the outside. The sun had only just set, and the orange lamp posts had everything seem grey, except the deep red of the sky, near the horizon. Everything was quiet, save from the intermittent cawing of a crow, or the rustling of leaves, in the light, but biting breeze that had set in with the night.

I started walking. The sound of my boots echoed in the empty campus' streets. At this time, there was about a tram every twenty minutes. If I walked fast, I'd catch the next one. As I started walking faster, I couldn't help but feel followed. That feeling, once it crossed your mind, could only set, seeping into every pore of your being, until you... I turned back. Nothing. Not even a shadow at the corner of a building, a suspiciously flickering light. Nothing. Even so, my chest felt too tight to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I kept on going toward the tram stop. Focus on that, the tram stop. Breathe in. I stopped, pushing my back against a post. Breathe out. I turned my head, trying to relax my tense muscles. In the corner of my eye, a shadow. I screamed, jumped back.

“I dream of a day where your first reaction to seeing me won't be that of a deer in headlights.”

He stepped in the light, as elegant as always, in his long, dark coat. He looked exceptionally well, about as much as I had to look dreadful. He took a step forward, and I instinctively took one back. He stopped, a look of disbelief painted on his features. He looked almost hurt by me pulling back.

“Is something wrong, Eris ?”, he asked, concerned, but equally demanding.

I tried to find an answer. Yes. Yes, something's wrong. Everything is goddamn fucking wrong.

“I'm gonna miss my tram”, I muttered.

I turned back to the way I was going, and in a second, I felt his hand on my arm stop me. My heart sank to my stomach, and I broke free of his grasp. My heart beat so fast I was almost gasping for air.

“Did something happen while I was gone ?”

“It's just- I don't- Nothing hap-”

My words came stuck in my throat. I didn't even know what to say. Where to start. He placed both his hands on my shoulders, calmly asking me to look up at him.

“You... You are shaking, what on earth... Am I causing this ? Do I scare you ?”

I raised my head to meet his gaze, jaws clenched not to have my teeth chatter. He looked so genuinely confused, I was finally able to take a deep breath.

“Can I trust you ?”, I managed to whisper.

He didn't answer a moment, seeming less ton consider his answer, than what prompted the question.

“Without question.” He was looking straight into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze leaving no place for a lie. Fuck, I wanted to believe him. The weight of his hands on my shoulders made me feel safe. How could it make me feel safe ? Wasn't that just another trick ? Another way to make me trust him, just to make the job easier ?

Tears I didn't notice building up burned my cheeks as they rolled down. He moved a hand to my face, and erased them with his thumb, softly.

“What happened ?”, he asked again.

If we are to stop this creature, we need your full support. For some reason, he trusts you more than most. You cannot tell him about your knowledge of this place.

I gently pulled myself from his grasp, and stepped back, forcing a smile.

“Nothing happened. I'm just tired”, I told him. “I really have to catch my tram, Vlad.”

“Nonsense, I'm bringing you home”, he insisted. “You are very obviously distressed, and lying to me. Get in the car.”

The authoritative tone had me shiver. I knew I didn't have any choice, in the end, and nodded. He opened the door for me, as always. I sat down, buckled up. Focused on the line of led lights, moving in a slow, red wave.

“If you refuse to talk to me”, Vlad began as he started the car, “I can only assume this has something to do with me. Now, understand that I could take a minute and find out, but I meant what I said, when I told you you could trust me.”

He kept focused on the road. I could tell him everything. That would be a risk. If he really was who MINA said he was, if he did... If he did what they said he did... That would most likely be my death warrant. If he started being too suspicious, he could just read my mind, and given how deeply those images were engraved into my brain, it wouldn't be too hard. I had no idea how to go about this.

“I found out the reason why Stephan was putting me off.”

“And that is ?”

“We looked into his family tree, and his mother is a Mary Van Helsing, from the Murray Institute for the Neutralization of Abnormalities.”

I said that on a single breath, and awaited his reaction. His face didn't betray any emotion, but his silence was speaking volumes.

“They found us out pretty fast”, I continued, figuring I was on too deep already. “We were taken to their headquarters, or whatever that bunker was. They were suspicious that I was acquainted with a vampire, posing as the respectable professor Vlad Balaur.”

“And what did you tell them ?”

His tone was frighteningly neutral. “For some reason I still can't explain, nothing”, I replied. “I had them believe I had no idea such things existed, less so that you were one.”

He had a short hum, but remained silent.

“They told me you were posing as a vampire they killed in 1896, Count Dracula, who apparently is quite the messiah in the Vampire World”, I jabbed at him. “That you probably manipulated my memories, my emotions, just so I'd end up like the others !”

Tears were streaming down my face, and despite my best efforts, my voice was shaking in anger. I couldn't help but think he could pull over and snap my neck at any moment. Might as well make the best of my last moments.

“Would you please clarify what you mean by 'the others' ?”

He sounded so calm, so composed. I tried not to think on the implications.

“They showed me the pictures, Vlad.” My chest hurt so bad. I barely was able to keep taking. “In retrospect, you were pretty clean with the horse. I guess he deserved better than human beings do, right ?”

“Eris, I don't understand-”

“Don't fucking lie to me !” My voice broke. I had no way to remain calm, the taste of bile going up my throat. “I saw it, I fucking saw the- the-” I slapped my hand over my mouth, desperately trying to catch my breath.

Vlad had the turning signal on, and pulled over. I couldn't stop crying, my face buried into my hands, unable to form any coherent sentence. The car stopped. He didn't say anything. At any moment, I thought I'd feel his hands around my neck, or his teeth. Instead, he only called out my name, softly, barely audible through my sobbing.

“Eris, please.”

I dried up my face as best I could with my scarf.

“You promised. You promised you wouldn't hurt anybody”, I managed to stammer between hiccups.

“I have not-”

“I saw the pictures !”, I repeated. “They showed me- So much blood-”

I turned my head to his. He slowly raised a hand to my face, hesitantly, waiting for a rebuffal. I did nothing, and he pushed strands of hair off my forehead, and cupped my cheek. His touch was so soothing. Not a bad feeling to die on.

“And you believed them ?”

“I- I- Of course, they just- Who else ?”

“I have no idea”, he admitted, his voice soft, and calm. “Eris, I have not, not a single time, done anything contrary to our agreement. I have not taken a life since our second meeting.”

I wanted to believe him, so bad. I wanted to believe he wasn't the monster responsible for the contents of Mary Van Helsing's case-file.

“How can I believe you ? How can I be certain you're not lying to me ?”, I breathed out, still resting my head onto his hand.

“You can't. You can only trust me.” He leaned in, placing a light kiss on my forehead, as was his habit. He pulled away, keeping close. “Do you trust me ?”

“Yes”, I replied, without thinking about it.

I did. As stupid, dangerously stupid as it was, I did. What else could I do ? What was the better option ? Were the MINA guys that much more trustworthy ? Well, if you took into account the fact that they didn't try to kill me yet, probably.

“As for the fact that I would be my own usurper, I don't know how to argue for it, to be honest. I have rarely been faced with the task of proving my identity.”

He sat back behind the wheel, and started the car.

“You would do well to remember that MINA was founded by people who were so terrified of me, they left without assuring themselves of the success of their mission, which led to accounts of my death being greatly exaggerated.”

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“There, I like that better.”

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, which was still arguably better than crying. Vlad finally pulled over in front of my building. I got out of the car, took a few steps, but didn't go further than that. Behind me, I head his door open.

“Should I wait for you on your balcony ?”

I took a deep breath. “No.” I turned on my heels to face him. “You're taking the stairs, for once.”

“I... Beg your pardon ?”

“Just follow me, will you ?”

He shut his door, and I went to open my building's door. I buzzed us in, holding the door for him. Guess he didn't need an invitation for the whole building, huh. What the hell was I doing ? There's a difference between not thinking someone does gruesome murders in his spare time, and inviting them over for a cup of tea ! Especially if their drink of choice isn't your damn Russian Earl Grey !

Well, too late to turn back now. I tried to keep a sense of dignity as we climbed the stairs. It didn't seem to put any strain on him, all the while I'd been living here for years, and was still dying inside. Catching my breath as gracefully as I could, I unlocked my door. Zardoz came running at me, agressively rubbing himself agaisnt my boots, screaming bloody murder, or, in that case, famine.

“You have a... cat”, Vlad stated.

I had a short laugh as I picked up the protesting beast. “What, are you allergic ?”

“They... Don't like me.”

He looked at the animal with some sort of defiance.

“Well, this one hates everyone, don't feel like it's personal.”

He stood at the door, nearly taking up all the space of the frame. Holding the cat in my arms gave me courage, as I felt his low purr against my hands. I took a few steps back, and had a curteous bow.

“Voivode Vlad Dracula Tepes, me and this cat welcome you into our home.”

He smiled, and stepped in.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy

#Sola Gratia #Sola Gratia part 11 #fanfiction #fanfic #dracula fanfic #dracula fanfiction #dracula #dracula castlevania #dracula netflix #dracula bbc #dracula bram stoker #castlevania #vampire #vampire x human #romance #slow burn #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #dracula x OC

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writingisbae · 5 years

Text

Monstrous Friends - Chapter 1

When you wake up in the hospital after an accident that almost killed you, you’d expect to be a little confused, in shock even. What I didn’t expect, however, is to wake up surrounded by a bunch of nightmarish monsters , snarling at me. They seem pretty aggressive, yet somehow they manage to remain perfectly still at the foot of the hospital bed.

If I were a sane person, I would have probably screamed. But being me, I just grin and wave at my strange visitors.

“Howdy, friends! Come to finish the job? Sorry, I’m pumped full of painkillers so I doubt it’ll be as gruesome as you undoubtedly want it to be.” I wink at the one closest to me, a slimy thing with long sharp fangs and eight eyes. “Oh where are my manners? Would you like some tea?” I gesture to the full bottle of water on my bedside table. Every single monster turns their head sideways to scrutinize the bottle. I’m sure they’re even more confused than I am. It’s not every day that you meet such a strange person as myself. Poor things were probably looking forward to feasting on my flesh and my screams tonight, and instead they have to listen to the nonsense I constantly spout. I wish I could say that I’m only like this because of the accident, but I’ve always been one to just blabber on about whatever’s on my mind. Not many can keep up with my warped logic, so I’m actually happy to have some company for once, even if they don’t adhere to society’s ridiculous beauty standards.

“Hey, you guys look like you’re posing for a family portrait.” Still, no reaction. Their inhuman stillness is starting to unnerve me. My fingers twitch. I grab a sketch book and a pencil from the bedside table and do a quick sketch of the group. “You know I usually charge for my art, but since y’all were so nice to visit me at the hospital you can have this for free.” I rip the page out and hand it over to the only monster that seems to have hands - a pale zombie-type with what looks to be tiny spiders crawling all over his face. He takes the drawing without a word, and the group of horror movie rejects keeps staring at me. What do they want from me? They already have my art.

“A thank you would have been nice”, I mutter. That’s when the door opens. I expect Frankenstein’s monster, or maybe the ghostbusters, but no, it’s just a nurse. Without as much as a shudder she walks by my visitors and slaps a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“How are you feeling?”, she asks.

“Absolutely terrified”, I answer, yawning.

“Excuse me?” I wish she was quiet like the monsters. “Oh, of course you are. But you’re going to be alright. The driver of the other car, however, wasn’t quite so lucky.” Her voice is dry. Of course she blames me.

“What about the guy who was in the middle of the road?”

“Excuse me?” I’m beginning to think she’s a parrot, but then again, she’s not colorful enough for that.

“The guy that I was swerving to avoid? He’s okay right?” She may blame me for causing one death, but at least I saved a life too.

“There wasn’t anyone in the road.” She rips off the blood pressure cuff and pushes a thermometer against my forehead. The monsters watch with interest, countless eyes following the nurse’s movements. She’s pushing the thermometer against my skin with enough force to leave an indentation.

“Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you.”

“Just like they are right now”, I joke, smiling at the zombie I gave my drawing to. The piece of paper slowly slips out of his grasp, sliding out from between his rotten bony fingers and sailing through the air until it lands on the bed.

“What’s this?” The nurse picks up my drawing. She immediately drops it after she sees what I drew. “Ah, right. I’ll let you get some rest now.” She hurries out of the room and leaves me alone with my friends again.

“She really can’t see you, can she?” Mr. Slimy nods. Green drool drips off his chin and singes the blanket. I figure the staff won’t notice some extra holes, so I just shrug it off. “So what do you want?” Now that I know that they are capable of communicating, I might as well get some answers, since it doesn’t look like they’re leaving any time soon.

Mr. Zombie points at me.

“Well here I am. Now what?”

“They feel like they owe you.” The voice makes me jump. I’d gotten used to the silence. By the door stands a little boy in a hospital gown.

“You can see them?” The boy just shrugs and sits on the edge of my bed.

“They won’t hurt you”, he assures me. “I’ve never seen so many in one place. Must have been a really bad guy if so many monsters were tasked with taking him out.”

“Uh, what?” He’s worse than me, making no sense at all.

“The man you killed. They’re saying thank you. You did their job for them.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him”, I protest. “There was someone standing in the road, and it was raining. It was an accident!”, I insist.

The boy shrugs again. “No matter. The result is the same. They’re indebted to you now.” He picks up my drawing and studies it intently, brows furrowed.

“Who the hell are you?”, I ask. How does a little boy like him know so much?

“I’m Soren. You’re Clint, right? I read your file.” He says this like it’s no big deal.

I frown. “How did you get my file?” He gives my drawing back to Mr. Zombie and turns to me.

“Staying here for as long as I have has its perks. I have cancer, Leukemia.”

“Ah, that explains your fancy hair style.” Soren laughs.

“So what do I do to make them go away?”, I ask.

“My guess is, they want your help.”

“Help with what?”

Soren shrugs again. I’m worried he might pull a muscle.

“Let me try something.”

I hand the sketch book to Mr. Zombie.

“Can you write? Or draw?”

He stares at the pencil in his hand, then sticks it right in his eye.

The silence is filled with the sound of two synchronized facepalms.

Mr. Zombie hands me back the sketchbook with some squiggly lines drawn on it. Soren moves closer to me and together we investigate the weird drawing.

“I’m looks like a tree”, Soren suggests. Mr. Zombie shakes his head.

“Is it a bird?”, I ask, greatly enjoying our game of charades. “Is it a plane?” Mr. Zombie snarls at me.

“Oh, you’re holding it upside down!” Soren turns the picture.

“Jason Parrish”, I read. I could swear it did not look like letters before.

“The famous actor?”, Soren asks. The entire group nods. A beast that looks faintly like a wolf - if wolves had four scorpion tails that is - pulls one of its tails across its throat, the universal sign for death. Mr. Slimy grabs the tail with his teeth and rips it right off and I watch in amazement as a new one grows in its place.

“Remind me to never piss them off”, Soren whispers to me.

“I wish I could introduce these guys to my ex.”

Soren nods solemnly, clearly remembering his fair share of nasty people who deserve to get their limbs ripped off.

I look back down at the paper in my hands.

“What do we do now?”, Soren asks.

“I guess we better find Jason Parrish. Whatever he did, if it made our new friends this angry, I would love to pay him a visit.”

“Oh yay, my first murder”, Soren jokes.

“Don’t worry, apparently I’m already a pro.” I wink. “The only question is, how are we going to get out of this hospital?”

As it turns out, our monster friends already have a plan for that.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #wip: monstrous friends

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rosetowersfanfic · 6 years

Text

Wonder Boy

Just something that spiralled from me picturing Donald’s and Storkules’ first meeting being similar to Hercules and Meg’s.

Storkules rushed through the forest towards the sounds of battle. Ithaquack often had fights break out between the various - and generally pretty violent - immortals and creatures.

Depending on what was going on and why they were fighting, Storkules was either going to break up the fight or join in. It was usually both.

The demi-god smiled to himself. There was nothing that got the blood pumping like a glorious battle, except perhaps regaling to others the events of the battle in the most dramatic way possible.

Storkules came to a halt at a shallow river to quite a sight. The fight he’d heard only had two combatants, both of whom were closely matched; this was surprising since one was a full sized centaur and the other was a small, clearly angry duck.

Said duck, however, was also very good at channeling that anger into skilled combat, allowing him to keep up with the centaur’s brute strength. Water was splashed about, droplets catching the sunlight as the pair were focused only on each other; Storkules watched, unnoticed.

He was unable to take his eyes off the small duck’s movements, entranced by the quick and aggressive maneuvers as though he were watching a dance.

“Back off, ya big palooka!” The duck snapped, dodging the centaur’s grasp and kicking him in the left foreleg.

The centaur wobbled slightly and grunted, but righted himself easily and put on a cruel smile.

“Aw, c’mon,” he went for the duck again, this time managing to grab him and hold him tightly in his fist. “Just one little kiss. I gotcha outta that ravine, didn’t I?”

He held the duck up to his face with a leer. Storkules finally snapped out of his stupor and ran up to them.

“Excuse me, sir!” Storkules called out, hands on his hips in a heroic stance.

“Perhaps you should put the young gentleman down.”

The centaur glared at the demi-god; the duck rolled his eyes.

“Aw phooey. Look Wonder Boy, I’ve got this so scram.”

Storkules blinked, taken back. “Uh, sorry but are you not a duck in distress.”

The duck, who was trying to push himself out of the centaur’s grasp, quacked at him irritably.

“I’m a duck! I’m in distress! I’m fine, have a nice day!”

Storkules drew his sword. “W-well clearly you’re too close to the situation to fully grasp the danger you’re in and-” Storkules was interrupted by the centaur’s fist slamming into him, sending him somersaulting a few feet backwards and into the water.

The centaur approached him with a chuckle.

“Had enough pretty boy.”

Storkules sat upright and tried to process the situation, and suddenly realised he’d dropped his sword.

“Gah! My sword! C’mon, c’mon, a hero’s only as good as his sword!” He held his weapon in triumph for a few seconds before realising he’d grabbed a fish.

The centaur laughed hard and loud at the mistake, making him idle for a few crucial seconds.

The duck face palmed. “Use your head, ya dummy!”

Storkules grinned. “Not a bad idea…”

Storkules rushed forwards, headfirst into the centaur’s gut, shoving him backwards and making him lose his grip on the duck. Said duck splashed inelegantly into the water with a squawk.

He spluttered and thrashed around until Storkules picked him up.

“Ah, sorry,” Storkules set him on a low branch that reached out over the river.

“That was dumb.”

The duck glared at him. “Yeah!”

They were both startled by grunting and saw the centaur getting back on his feet.

“Ah, one moment.” Storkules ran back to the centaur, already drawing back his fist. By the time the centaur had gotten to his hooves and turned to the demi-god, he only got a quick look before he saw stars as Storkules’ fist hit his face, easily launching him into the sky.

“Yes, a new personal record! Did you see that-” he turned back to the branch and realised the duck and hopped off and gotten back to shore; he was now in the process of trying to wring out his hat.

Storkules was struck dumb by him again, haloed by the sunlight reflecting off the water and casting a sparkling, golden glow on his wet feathers.

“Uh,” Storkules cleared his throat as he struggled with his words. “Are you alright, Mister-”

“Duck. Donald Duck,” he replied curtly, now focused on wringing out the hem of his shirt. “You can call me Donald.”

He then turned to face Storkules, hands on his hips in a challenging pose. “So, Wonder Boy, ya got a name to go with the muscles?”

Storkules blinked and stammered awkwardly, caught off guard by Donald’s boldness.

“W-well- it’s- uh- I’m-”

Donald rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, and people call me inarticulate.”

“S-storkules! My name is Storkules.”

Donald raised a brow. “Wait, Storkules? The demi-god? Son of Zeus? Legendary hero?”

Storkules nodded. Donald took a good look at him, from top to bottom.

“Huh, I always pictured you as a redhead. Well, I guess we found the right place. This is Ithaquack, right?”

Storkules nodded again.

Donald huffed and started to walk off. “Welp, better find my sister and uncle. Who knows what kinda trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.”

Storkules scrambled after him. “Perhaps I should accompany you! I know this island like the back of my hand, and I could never forgive myself if I allowed some other foul being to attack you!”

Donald rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. They’ll have probably started a fight by the time we find them, so I guess some more help couldn’t hurt.”

Storkules grinned. “Excellent! Say, how did you find Ithaquack? Most mortals don’t even know of it.”

“My uncle isn’t most mortals. We flew here in my sister’s plane and hit a storm. We had to bail out and got separated. I got stuck in a ravine cause I was tied up in my parachute,” he grimaced.

Storkkules frowned. “That explains how you got involved with, well…”

Donald rolled his eyes. “The pinhead with hooves? He got me out and wanted a reward. Guess he’s just one of those immortals who thinks “no” means “yes” and “eat rocks” means “take me, I’m yours”.” Donald punctuated the last statement by getting up in Storkules’ face and batting his eyelashes.

“Probably just as well Uncle Scrooge wasn’t there, all you did was punch that creep to the other end of the island. Last time some demon flirted with Della he threw salt at it.”

Storkules nodded along with him. Okay, more names. He had a sister named Della and an uncle called-

“Wait, Scrooge, as in THE Scrooge McDuck!”

Donald sighed. “You’ve heard of him?”

“From my uncle, Lord Hades. McDuck has managed to dodge death so many times we’re not even sure if he’s mortal anymore. I mean, others have had a good run, many far older than your uncle. But they generally live quieter lives or try harder to avoid danger.”

Storkules found a large boulder to climb onto and struck a pose.

“He is a legend in the Underworld! He’s fought with the most dangerous creatures imaginable, gone to places no mortal can even conceive, you must feel so blessed to have him as an uncle- hey! Where are you going!”

“To find him before he finally gets himself sent to the Underworld. You coming?” Storkules ran to catch him up.

“My apologies, Donald. I understand your worries, Ithaquack has many dangers and it would be best to find your family soon.” He went quiet as a worrying thought came to mind.

“So, your uncle doesn’t approve of you dating?”

Donald rubbed the back of his head. “Well, it’s mainly when some creep bugs us that he gets involved. Mortal or not, he usually jumps to our rescue,” he rolled his eyes. “Despite the fact that we’re adults now, but what can ya do?”

Storkules mulled over Donald’s answer for a moment. “So, what if you were to consent to a relationship with… uh, I dunno, an angel, a gorgon, a demi-god… purely hypothetical of course!”

Donald raised a brow at Storkules, who was now sweating profusely, and shrugged.

“Well, my sister had that fling with a dryad (can’t remember her name actually), but I’ve only been in relationships with mortals.”

Storkules deflated. “O-oh, uh, but would you ever consider a non-mortal?”

“Eh, to be honest, you guys are kinda complicated. Weird old traditions, crazy families. Not to mention you’re gonna outlive me,” he shrugged again. “It was why Della and the dryad didn’t work out. No offence, but dating a god can get really weird.”

Storkules nodded. “I suppose I can understand. My existence is rather complicated; family dinners with Aunt Hera are still incredibly awkward.”

Donald chuckled nervously. “Uh yeah, I guess it would be. To be fair I kinda get why people want to date you guys.” They stopped at a long log blocking their path, which Donald calmly hopped onto. “The fancy gifts, the cool stuff you can show us, plus your basically gonna be hot forever,” he continued, turning to gesture at Storkules on the last point.

The two stared at each other for a moment as they both processed what Donald just said.

Donald’s face suddenly turned red.

“Gah! I-I mean in general and uh-” Donald lost his footing and fell to the other side of the log with a thud.

“Are you alright?” Storkules asked, looking over the log.

Donald stared up with an expression of resignation. “It’s fine, I only hurt my dignity. Don’t worry, I’m pretty used to it.”

All of the sudden they heard shouting.

“Curse me kilts!”

“Bring it on, ugly!”

Donald stood up and dusted himself off.

“That was my family!” He ran in the direction of the voices.

“It sounds like they’re on the beach!” Storkules ran after Donald with a grin.

A potential relationship with a handsome duck with warrior blood and an opportunity to impress said duck’s family by helping them fight an attacker. This was definitely better than beating his personal record.

#ducktales #storkulesxdonald #storkules #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #della duck

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visored-headcanons · 6 years

Text

Did you guys ask for a butt-ton of Rose head cannons?

No?

Too late

Prior to Hollowfication, Rose was 6th in line to head the Otoribashi clan. For most this was strange, specifically because Rose was the only son of Lord Izuko and Lady Yuri and despite being their only son that his eldest sister Yuki was next in line to head their clan.

Rose grew up on a mid-level noble house known for their hospitality and their appreciation of the arts. Doted on by five elder sisters, Rose had a very happy childhood filled with laughter and music.

He could still recall the first time he encountered an insturment, an imported violin that just called for him to pull it from its protective case. By the time someone had noticed that he had wandered away from where he was supposed to be napping he had figured out how to start to read the music that was in the case. His father had found him looking so peaceful as he played those shaky melodies. Seeing his father he started to talk about what he was doing, small hands pointing out the notes as he wore the happiest smile his father had seen him wear. The next day Lord Otoribashi sent out requests for artists, seeking out teachers to help him learn more.

By the time Rose grew old enough to have significant spiritual pressure he had learned to play 28 different instruments, 6 different painting styles, and had started to compose his own works, all of which made him a very desirable bachelor.

Rose, even at his young age, had a dream of finding truest love and asked his family to allow him to find love on his own.

He found that just with music that he was a natural when it came to the soul reaping arts, holding the academy record to quickest connection to Shikai, hearing Kinshara’s name only 2 weeks after receiving his blank sword.

Rose passed through the academy with little trouble, joining squad three as a seated officer with his talent.

For nearly 20 years he quietly made his way up the ranks, rising to third seat at around the time he ran into Shinji Hirako, the current 5th seat of the 5th and rumored to be applying for the next open captain’s spot.

Rose knew Shinji faintly from some of the interactions his family had with the higher level house of Hirako, but they had never gotten the chance to speak seeing as he had always spent his time with his sisters rather than deal with political matters at those meetings.

Rather than get into proper greeting Shinji grabbed Rose by the hand and pulled him into an alley with him, just avoiding getting run over by the most recent Kenpachi. “That was not my best idea.” Shinji slid down the wall.

“What sort of idea was that?” Rose could help but smile as he raised an eyebrow, amused as Shinji told him how he had attempted to sneak into the 11th to test his Bankai against high level fighters and had caught the attention of the Kenpachi and decided to hightail it rather than die a painful death.

Laughing in that alley, Shinji asked Rose if he would come join him and some friends for dinner and a night on the town after.

It was that night that Rose met the captains of the 7th and 9th along with the lieutenants of the 8th and 9th for the first time. He was partially stunned at how easily Shinji slid into the table, lazily introducing Rose to these high level soul reapers. By the end of the night, under the fog of alcohol and laughing til his sides hurt, Rose had been fully invited to join Hirako’s friend clique, and he had discovered that he thought that Lisa Yadomaru was the most beautiful and intelligent woman he had ever met.

The small group would meet up often, sharing good meals and fun times as they would settle into the restaurant or quarters of choice for the night, laughing at the latest tale of what the mystery lieutenant of the 12th had done and often discussing any and all possibilities of who the mystery man could be.

It was only a week after Shinji became a captain that the secret got out and little Hiyori Sarugaki was revealed to be the fearsome lieutenant of legend. When Shinji dragged her and Hachi to their first all group meeting, Rose decided that Shinji had a talent for finding special people. Not many people could out both a member of the secret Kido corps and a mystery lieutenant of legend and then invite them to dinner in the same week.

The group’s first recorded instance of a spit take is in finding out that Rose is only about 6 years older than Hiyori, making him the second youngest member of the group. The young ones decide to unite.

Despite being their lowest ranking member, Rose had never been so happy to find a group of equals who he could get close to so easily.

At least until they tricked him into becoming a captain.

As much as he wanted to hate them for tricking him into a position of power he can’t. They’re so happy and they even invited his family to his promotion and he just can’t stop the dumb smile from creeping onto his face.

A few days after getting black out drunk, Iba comments on how she’s never noticed his tattoo before in the middle of a training session where the back of his kosode was torn open. After excusing himself he finds that in his latest night of getting blackout with his friends that he got a tattoo of the symbol of the third on his Haori as a large stone sitting betweeen his shoulder blades with throned vines and marigolds growing out from behind it and reaching all over his back. Its beautiful and lovely and he’s so upset because this lovely piece of work is on his back and he needs a dozen carefully placed mirrors just to be able to see it. It becomes his little secret and no one else finds out about it until he becomes a vizard.

Right when he finally feels like he’s gotten this whole captain thing and that his division is doing the best it has in nearly 4 centuries Aizen makes his move and one moment he’s running to help Hiyori, screaming as the bone mask forms onto her small face, when he feels this horrible pain accompany the sick feeling of a sword stabbing him just under the left side of his rib cage and then he’s waking up two years later, chained to a large rock in Kisuke’s hiding spot in the world of the lving.

The four years following Kisuke waking them up is one of the saddest terms of Rose’s life. No matter how much Kinshara whispered sweet melodies to him, he couldn’t find the strength or will to reach out and take the blade into his grasp. The music is gone and so is the Rose who loved life, all swallowed by Arpeggio, his inner hollow.

Its watching his closest friends break down from the pain that he finds himself holding Lisa in a tight hug, softly singing her favorite songs as she clings to him. Its in a bittersweet kiss and each other’s embrace that they fall asleep and dream happily for the first time in years.

“I’m not going to listen to this anymore.” That’s all the warning the other Vizards get before he fills their sad silences with unending melodies, singing ballads and old bar songs to make them smile and slowly they become not quite themselves again, but something new and closer together than before.

After 6 more years of sleepless nights and begging for the voice in his head to stop stop stop talking him to give in, Hiyori and Kisuke figure out stabilization and Rose and the others get back control of their inner world.

Due to how they looked so alike, it was decided that Rose and Hiyori would be the ones to go out and buy food and such due to how they could pose as siblings and how easily they could blend into a crowd. They ended up spending a lot of time together over the century and Rose doesn’t care how many times Love proclaims that Hiyori’s his baby sister and no one elses’, in Rose’s eyes she’s the sixth sister he never had.

Its easy to fall for Lisa, and he doesn’t even realize it until one of the others points out that they seem to be a couple in a romantic relationship. He hates to admit it, but if they had never gone into exile together he wouldn’t have ever found the nerve to try to get close to her, so he makes up for it by trying to make their new lives as happy as possible.

Traveling the world, Rose has them stop so he can pay homage to all the great performers who created such lovely works while they were alive.

Every chance he gets he visits the art districts of every city, dragging the others in their best dance shoes and clothes to dance to the music of dreamers and cheer on those who are reaching to be the next great of their fields.

The others often tease Rose about how in his efforts to make his next great work that he always manages to make a huge mess. Paint and ink splashed onto the floor, papers scattered all other the floor, canvases left in doorways, how he gets lost in his work and if someone is in range that he might accidentally start drawing on them or they get dragged in as life models. Only once did Kensei fall asleep where Rose was working before waking up to find that Rose got lost in his work and painted a mountain range on his arm. Quality image but Kensei did not appreciate unwittingly becoming a canvas.

Rose isn’t always all dressed up in his ruffles. Due to his sporadic and messy nature when he gets inspired he has a large supply of comfy clothes that are are stained with all sorts of colors and patterns, soft from endless washes. When one of the Visored sees Rose walking around in those comfy clothes, pilfered hair tie pulling his hair out of his face, they know what’s coming and prepare to evacuate from his zone of inspiration.

The others may roll their eyes and Hiyori might be fake retching in the background, but Rose loves calling the others his family. He grew up in a large family and loves having a ton of brothers and sisters. The others may still give him annoyed looks whenever he introduces them as his family to others, but they’ve come around to the idea and they absolutely adore one another even if they won’t say it aloud.

Rose and Mashiro are the ‘poor-oblivious-babies’ of the family and no matter how embarrassing they are or how badly they read a situation the others will go into ‘defense-squad-mode’ to protect their poor dumb loved ones.

When they return to the Soul society to get their trial and finally tell their side of the story, Rose immediatly latches onto Izuru. The poor boy is so confused when suddenly finds himself being addressed as “Muse” and being doted on by one of the most powerful figures in soul reaping history.

As much as he loves the color and bright lights of the world of the living, Rose knows that he’s needed on the other side to help rebuild what had been torn apart when he had been forced to flee in exile.

Surprisingly, both he and Lisa adjust very quickly to their new long distance relationship, weekend visits and some surprise dates spicing up their new monotonies.

Most of the division is startled when their, admittedly depressing, halls are filled with music and color when Captain Otoribashi returns to the 3rd. In the short course of a single month, the division feels homier than ever, new flower beds planted and wind chimes tinkling in every doorway, and even their dour lieutenant finds himself wearing a content smile as he trains alongside the captain who promises to stay.

“I will never willingly leave you alone like that, Izuru.” The promise is made so easily as Izuru watches his captain lightly strum a guitar, “Here I have my muse and an entire division counting on me, and I won’t let anyone take it from me again.”

Rose is...eccentric to say the least and while it may be offputting to Izuru at first, he eventually takes it all in stride. Honestly nothing can really faze Izuru much after working under Rose, he’s heard and seen his captain do all sorts of strange things and takes all the odd requests and pieces of art with little to no complaint after a few months.

A few months after he’s settled into his position, Rose is the first of the Vizards with blood family to reach out to them.

With the rest of the Vizards standing behind him, Rose enters his old home, tears springing to his eyes as his sister Mina doesn’t hesitate to scream his name and run into his arms, finding himself surrounded by family he never thought he would see again and introducing them to the family who helped bring him back home.

Being a zombie was...not as bad as Rose thought. He doesn’t remember much after get a starbeamed through the chest until Mayuri got his up and moving again. He actually forgot about the missing portion of his body after the battle ended and walked up to the other vizards like everything was normal and that he didn’t have a star shaped hole in his chest. He...still has not lived that one down.

After TYBW and he and Izuru are back in working condition, both once again broken and hastily repaired, they work to make sure no one ends up like them and to try and find happiness after such darkness.

A short while after Lisa becomes a captain, he asks her to marry him and to make another family of them and hopefully some children.

A few months later, Rose decides in the midst of their first dance that his life may have been complicated and full of a lot of pain, but he’d do it all over again if it meant he’d get to be with all those loved ones and end up on that dance floor again.

#rose otoribashi #otoribashi rose #bleach #head cannon #really long #i was inspired #vizard #vizards #visored #rosa #slight rosa #back story #I really love Rose #getting back into the swing of writing massive amounts of head cannons #fun fact #a butt ton is an actual measurement: 126 gallons of wine

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stony-feels1776 · 6 years

Text

Recovery - Safe (Chapter 4)

Hello all! Here’s chapter five of Recovery - A Stony fic!

Warnings: Angst

link to it on wattpad: x

more under the read more

Tony closed his eyes, expecting to hit the ground at any second.

And then someone yanked him upwards. The wind knocked out of him, Tony couldn't process anything. Fear pulsed through his veins and his head buzzed with pain and racing thoughts. He then was on the floor. It was cold. He curled up, groaning in pain. Gently rubbing his head, he attempted to open his eyes, only to see Clint with a knife pressing against Loki's throat, Steve watching Tony carefully, and Thor threatening his brother.

Tony groaned and turned over, away from Steve and the others.

The fall.

Memories from New York came flooding back. Tony wanted to scream and rip himself apart, but he was too weak and too shaky to do so, so he just started shaking on the floor, groaning quietly. Steve's soft arms wrapped around Tony as Steve pulled Tony's head carefully into his lap. "Shhhh," Steve whispered, "it's okay, Tony." Tony tried to snap himself out of this.

He forced himself upright, pushing away Steve's arms and ignoring the burning pains spreading throughout his entire body. His head pounded. "I'm fine," He hissed, but he was unbalanced on his feet.

"Brother, I told you not to kill any of my friends!" Thor yelled at Loki, who was stuck in a corner with Clint's knife against his neck. Loki shrugged and chuckled.

"Surely that one cannot be your friend?" Loki said, pointing at Tony, "He's weak, immature, and self-centred. And an idiot. Sure," Loki leaned forward, the knife pressing gently into his neck, "he may think he's so clever with all of these toys he made up, but that'll never account for how stupid and careless he is."

Tony took a step backwards. He's told himself the same thing, but now someone was openly stating it and his friends were hearing it. He took a shaky breath. Not here. Not now. He was fine. And if he wasn't, well, back to faking it. Steve took a step towards Tony, reaching his hand out. Straightening his back, Tony put on a sarcastic smile. "Ah, yes, I'm terribly offended by your opinion. I don't even take my friends' opinions into consideration - why would I take yours?" He said sharply. Ah, good. He sounded like Tony Stark again. Finally.

"Because you know I'm right," Loki hissed before Thor hit him hard.

"Loki, how dare you speak of my friends like that? They are all good people, Stark especially. He has the courage to stand up to fools like you!" Loki staggered and Clint pulled the knife away and held it tightly as if he might stab everyone at any second.

Tony felt shivers run down his spine. Right now, without his armour and a weakened body, anyone could take him out. Clint could stab Loki and Thor before anyone blinked and could take down Steve too.

Stabbing Tony would be so easy. But Clint wouldn't do that. Clint was a trained assassin and could give Nat a run for her money, sure, but he was also a dorky family man who cried at Disney movies and dogs. He tried to avoid murder as much as possible these days.

"Yes, Loki," Tony said sourly, "I may be narcissistic and foolish and impulsive, but I'm not the one attacked with a group of alien robots." Tony paused and raised his arms, "I own all of this. I do have a few little toys, though, which I'm sure you'd like to meet."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "You had nothing to save you from," the smirk on his face grew, "the fall."

Tony bit his tongue so hard he could taste metallic blood in his mouth. He raised his head some more, panic running through his body. He wanted to shut down. To sit down and give up and weep. But he couldn't.

He was Tony Stark.

"You're wrong," Tony said, pointing at Thor, "I have friends. What do you have? Nothing but spite and some weak bad guys who'll follow you around." Clint smiled at Tony. It was nice for everyone to see Tony being his sarcastic self.

Instead of a weak, poor, silent ass who could barely move.

Tony had to give credit to the doctor - who he had suspicions about who she could be - because if it weren't for her, his healing process would have been slowed up greatly - he may even be unconscious with broken bones in a hospital if she wasn't there to fix him up.

Tony didn't even know what had been broken or torn. Pepper wouldn't let him read it.

Pepper.

Tony's heart ached. Yes, sure, he might have been in love with both her and Steve while dating, but he did genuinely care for her and if they'd stayed together Tony would have stayed far away from Steve.

But it didn't matter. Pepper didn't want to be with Tony.

But Steve did.

Loki simply laughed. Thor picked him up by the neck. "I'll be punishing him," He said grimly, "I apologize. I thought he'd behave." Thor dragged Loki out and then with a crash of thunder, the two disappeared into the cloudy sky.

Tony rubbed his collarbone. "Well, wasn't that fun and predictable?" He said, walking over to the kitchen and sitting down on one of the bar stools. Sighing, he scanned Clint and Steve's faces.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve started, "he's wrong. You're so great, Tony."

Tony scoffed. "Hardly." He replied. "Steve, I'm famous. I get criticism often. It doesn't bother me. What I've learned is that you ignore the hate unless it's too bad. Then you sue that person. It's not very difficult." He explained easily. It did affect him. Every piece of hate. It made him re-think everything.

Now, he usually just had FRIDAY delete all of it. That was simpler.

"Tony, you are pretty good," Clint said, poking his finger on his arrow, "you keep us all together. And make us look cool. And pay for everything."

"I'm tired," Tony said, rubbing his eyes. Sleep did indeed sound good. Temporary death. And with that, Tony swept out of the room and into his bedroom, where he fell asleep before waking up and staring at the wall until morning.

---- next day ----

It was morning. Tony was awake. He'd been awake most of the night, sitting in his room, staring at the wall. Reviewing his regrets. Trying to figure out his feelings.

It was weird that he'd been in love with both Pepper and Steve. That was weird. It kind of made him feel like a cheating bastard. Seventeen years ago, Tony would have been fine with that. But not with Pepper. He took a deep breath. Why did he love Steve? Well, Steve was.... perfect. Kind. Strong. Just... Steve.

Why did Pepper leave him? Did she use her new job as an excuse? Tony didn't blame her. If he were her, he wouldn't want to date him either. Pepper could have just told him she didn't love him. Yes, he'd be heartbroken. But he's heartbroken now, too, right? He shook his head.

"Time, Friday?" Tony asked the room, sitting up straight and stretching.

"Seven o'clock, sir. It is also April Fools day. And Easter. I see we have no plans this year." Friday informed him. Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his head. Ah, yes. Easter. April Fools.

"Any pranks I should know about?" Tony asked.

Friday hesitated, goddamnit. "No, sir."

Sighing, Tony stood up. He was starting to feel more steady - but the lack of sleep caused a headache almost instantly. He winced and rubbed his head before walking out of the bedroom.

A sense of unease overcame him. Clint's face was on everything. "What in the fuck..." Tony whispered, picking up one that fell to the ground. It was badly photoshopped and was a weak picture of Clint sticking out his tongue and winking. He turned it over, wherein cursive purple sharpie, it read 'top or bottom?' "God, Clint, if you weren't my friend I would have stabbed you," he added, looking at it fondly. Clint's cursive sucked.

"Heya," Clint said, walking out. Only, taped to his face was a picture of Tony. Laughing, Tony sat down, shaking his head. Clint came over to him, dressed in very tight pants (which, naturally, were neon lilac) and a blazer - no shirt on underneath.

"Dear god, Clint," Tony said. Clint picked up a pair of Tony's tinted glasses from the coffee table and put it on over the picture. He put his hand up to the picture and pretended to blow kisses to Tony. "That's such a bad picture of me, too, god - wow."

Tony looked up at Steve, who was wearing another pair of Tony's glasses and a graphic T-shirt, complete with a black blazer and black dress pants. The top of Steve's hair was also dusted dark brown - from makeup or something, Tony guessed. He looked... stunning. Absolutely stunning.

Natasha came out next, wearing all black, half her face painted to look like the Iron Man helmet and repulsers drawn on her palms. Clint whistled at her as she posed, pointing her hands at Clint. She made a whistling noise, and when she ceased to whistle, Clint pretended to get hit and flew backwards. He quickly fixed the picture as it moved on his face.

Thor flew out, fabulous facial hair drawn in his own facial hair with a black sharpie. He was also wearing a cardboard sign taped to his chest that said 'Tony Stark.' Bruce followed him, wearing a 'Stark Industries' shirt and colourful glasses, along with his curly grey hair slicked back. Vision had tiny pictures of Tony's face taped along his whole body, and Wanda had 'Stark' written on her cheek. Rhodey came out, actually wearing Tony's suit. Sam followed, wearing an old iron man helmet.

Tony clapped. Clint unbuttoned the blazer and Tony put his hand over his eyes, "Clint, no one wants to see your pathetic abs, no offence." Clint made an offended noise and swatted Tony's hand away from his face. Turns out, in the time Tony had covered his eyes to when he uncovered them, Clint had managed to draw angry eyebrows on the picture. Tony laughed again, eyes wandering to Steve, who was leaning against the wall, smiling warmly.

Tony ripped the picture off of Clint's face which had sharpie all over it. He had 'Tony' on one cheek, 'Stark' on the other, Sharpie-made facial hair, and 'billionaire playboy' written on his forehead. "Clint-" Tony paused, raising his eyebrows, "-what even are you?"

"Billionaire playboy," Clint said. A few moments later, he added, "I wish."

"Question. Does this come off?" Thor interrupted, stroking his beard, mixing the blonde facial hair with the black sharpie. "I wish to show my friends back home. I believe they'll enjoy this. Plus, today is your... E-a-ster. I don't mean to intrude."

"No, no, don't worry. Easter isn't something people can ruin." Steve said quickly, putting a hand on Thor's arm, smiling. "Easter is fun. The Sharpie on your face should last a while, after all. You'll get candy today. Lots of it."

"Alright," Thor said, grinning, "I shall join you."

"Great. Friday, show me places we can go." Tony said, flicking his wrist. A screen popped up in front of them with lists of places charities were holding egg hunts. "That one," Tony said, pointing to one entitled 'The Northfolk Easter Egg Shenanigans'.

"Sir, this one is being held at a facility entitled 'Northfolk Charity for Cancer Research and Children's Hospitals'. It donates all money to research for cancer and other terminal illnesses and regularly donates to children's hospitals and schools around the world. I've sent a message asking them for permission to join them." Friday replied without missing a beat. "They replied that you and the Avengers were gladly welcomed as Easter is a day no one should miss out on, and the children there cannot wait to meet their favourite heroes and role models."

Steve smiled. "Tony Stark spends his Easters as charity events?" He said, eyebrows raised, cheeks a little pink as he adjusted the glasses. He walked so he was standing behind the couch where Tony was sitting.

"I secretly enjoy seeing children think I'm incredible because the adults either want my money, my body or want to kill me," Tony said simply, closing his eyes and motioning with his head to his body, "or are you guys, which is probably an unhealthy mix of all three."

He opened his eyes to hear his friends laughing and Steve's eyes sparkling. "I never knew you did this," Steve said, putting a hand on Tony's shoulder, "you always looked like the type of person who stayed home on Easter." He slipped off the glasses and slid them on Tony's face gently.

Tony adjusted them so they fit correctly on his face and looked up at Steve, touching his hand for a second before he realized the rest of the team was making 'awww' noises. He stood up and looked at them. "Okay, guys," Tony said, "I don't know if we should all go dressed like this," he motioned to the entirety of Clint. He looked down at himself. He'd thrown on a simple black t-shirt and some sweatpants for bed.

They all nodded and went off to separate rooms to grab clothes and make themselves look at least somewhat presentable. Tony walked into his room and took off the glasses, looking at them for a second. He kissed them gently before setting them down and taking out a suit to wear.

He quickly got changed. He adjusted the thing on his leg, sighing. He didn't want to wear it, but he was worried without it he'd be off balance and wouldn't be strong enough to walk. At least the brace-like mechanical thing wasn't that noticeable. He bit his lip and walked out, where Steve was standing. He didn't change his clothes - he didn't need to.

Natasha had washed her face but didn't change her outfit. Rhodey was wearing a simple suit. Sam was matching him. Thor and Vision were wearing their normal apparel, Wanda was wearing a not-so-fancy red dress with flowers on it, and Clint was wearing a fancy suit.

"Lovely. Now, all of you pile into the car, I'm going to prepare some candy to give out. Go." Tony said, shooing them out. When everyone was out, he turned and clicked a button and his DUM-E robots activated, coming up to him, making cute little robotic noises. "Protocol Easter. I want 53 eggs hidden in ridiculous places around the place. 109 little-stuffed chicks. 17 stuffed sheep. It better be done before I get home or I'll dismantle all of you. Friday, you're in charge, hon." He grabbed his keys, threw them into the air and caught them, and walked out the door.

"Happy! Lovely to see you. Is the kid here?" Tony said, greeting Happy, who was driving their extravagant limousine. Happy nodded, opening the door for Tony. Tony saw all of his friends sitting around awkwardly, along with Peter, whose eyes lit up when he saw Tony.

"Mr Stark!" Peter exclaimed. Tony sat down next to him, patting his knee.

"Hey, kid. Happy, Friday should be sending you the address. Northfolk. Quickly." Tony said, looking down at his watch. 10:00 am. They were five minutes late already.

Happy nodded and started to drive.

"Mr Stark, happy Easter! I'm so glad I get to spend it with you!" Peter said, bubbling with excitement.

"Yeah, kid," Tony said. I'm glad you're here too, his mind said. He smiled at Peter and pulled a few chocolate eggs from his pocket and gave them to Peter. White chocolate - Peter's favourite. Tony put his arm around Peter and hugged him.

Peter made a squealing noise and Tony let go, rubbing his ears. His head begun to spin. Breathe in, then out. Tony was fine. He pushed away the anxiety and smiled, looking at Steve, who stared back, a ghost of a smile on his face, blue eyes bright.

"Goddamnit!" Happy screamed as he slammed on the brakes, stopping short. Tony put his hand out, stopping Peter from flying forward.

"Peter! Put on your goddamned seat belt!" Tony yelled, pointing to his own seatbelt. Peter quickly scrambled to buckle up, eyes showing fear as he looked up at Tony, who was digging his fingernails into Peter's hand without realizing it. Peter winced in pain. Tony let go, shaking. He opened his hand and stretched his fingers. "Peter, I'm sorry-" Tony murmured, looking at Peter's shaking hand, where there were little red marks from Tony. Peter didn't say anything.

Tony took a deep breath as they arrived. He rubbed his arm vigorously, clenching his jaw. He prepared to put on a fake smile.

The children all stopped and stared in awe as their favourite heroes got out of the car. Happy popped the trunk and threw Steve his shield. "Captain America!" one girl exclaimed, jumping up and down. Tony was glad Steve was getting the attention. Steve sat down on the ground, and children came over, poking him and asking him questions. The rest of the team did the same.

A little girl came over to Tony. "Is Pepper going to come?" she asked sweetly. Tony looked up at her, smiled, and shook his head gently.

"No, she's busy this year." The little girl frowned and walked away towards Rhodey. Tony rubbed his head gently, still shaken. "Come on, Stark," Tony whispered to himself, "it's Easter. Don't ruin it." He remembered all the times his father had gotten mad on Easter and ruined the day. All the times his mother and father were gone on Easter.

All the times he used to be with Pepper on Easter, visiting hospitals, giving out candy and cash.

But now Pepper was gone.

He shook his head and punched his arm as discreetly as he could. Standing, he went to grab the buckets of candy Happy always had on Easter. He handed out the chocolate to every kiddo who wanted some. Only three kids said thank you, Tony noticed. He didn't say thank you ever, so he couldn't really talk, though.

"Alright, folks!" A tall man said. He was dressed in mom jeans and had flowers in his semi-long hair. "Oh, wow, hello Avengers! My name is Harlem, and I'm hosting tonight! Why don't we all go in for food?"

The children all cheered in response and ran into the building. Steve stood and walked over to Tony, extending his hand. Tony took it and Steve helped him up. Tony looked at Steve, brown eyes portraying sadness. Steve noticed. "What's wrong?"

"I-" Tony began, "-nothing. I'm hungry. Let's go." Tony said, patting Steve on the back before walking inside. He wasn't hungry. If he ate, he was afraid he'd get sick. His stomach ached. He followed Bruce around, muttering about electrons and how he missed his suits. Bruce said a few sympathetic comments now and then, but for the most part, he was focused on his food.

Clint was busy showing the kids how he could name any flower and Natasha was showing a group of eating children how to punch correctly - but also telling them that punching people was, in fact, not something you should do all the time.

"Mr Stark?" A little boy asked, walking up to Tony, "How did it feel like the be in space?"

Tony tried to repress the memories. The fall. The cold. The feel of death. "Alright," Tony answered, looking at the ceiling. The kid smiled.

"How did you survive the falling? You fell a lot."

"I was caught," Tony said quickly, out of breath. Bruce noticed this.

"Hey, kiddo. I caught him. Well, the Hulk did. How about we talk about something else, hmm?" Bruce suggested softly.

"Oh, okay. Are you gay?" The kid asked.

"Wh- I- uh-" Tony began, stuttering. There were no cameras. No fans. Just a child and Bruce. "Sure."

"Are you dating Dr Banner?" The kid asked.

"No," Tony answered simply.

"Who, then?"

"Uh-" Tony paused, "no one."

"Oh, okay. What happened to Pepper? Did she not like you?"

"I've got to go-" Tony said, standing, rubbing his arm. Bruce began talking to the child firmly, but Tony didn't listen. He stumbled away. Once he was outside, he collapsed near a tree, taking shelter in its comforting shade.

Steve followed him, sitting down next to him silently. "You okay?" He asked gently.

"Always," Tony replied sharply, running a hand through his hair and exhaling. "It was getting tight in there. I don't do too well with lots of kids asking me questions left and right." He lied. Steve grabbed Tony's hand.

"Ever since we- uh- confirmed we were dating - did we confirm it? Between ourselves? - our relationship has gotten even more confusing and awkward. Tony, I won't be hurt if you don't want to - uh - date." Steve said, staring at the sky.

"I do," Tony confirmed softly, squeezing Steve's hand.

"I do too. So, now we're dating. Officially. Indefinitely. Unless you change your mind, of course," Steve said.

"Or if you change yours," Tony added, "I'm a handful."

"But now you're my- uh- handful. Sorry. I'm not too good at this whole romance thing." Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

Tony moved quickly, grabbing the collar of Steve's shirt and pulling him close, "I don't care. You'll always be my Captain Romance." He didn't lean in to kiss him, though. Steve was old style. Slow, serious relationship - that's what he was probably looking for. Instead, Tony kissed Steve on the forehead and sat so his legs were touching Steve's.

"Egg hunt time!" The host of the event - Harlem - called out. The children ran out and lined up. "Now, because we have a visitor from another planet who's never experienced Easter, there are two egg hunts. The kiddos here," he motioned to the children, "will have their hunt in the backyard. The heroes will be doing it in a park just down the street. Heroes, it was fantastic having you here. And a big thank you to Mr Stark for his generous donation! Ms Hansen will escort you and host you."

A small lady with red hair walked over to them, face red. The Avengers nodded, saluting the children and Harlem, who did the same back. They then followed the lady down the street and to a large park. Tony scanned the area, finding the hidden eggs with his eyes so he could get them as fast as possible. It may seem childish - but Tony hates losing at anything, and egg hunts were no exception.

"Okay. So, for those of you who are new to this, the goal is to find all the eggs. It doesn't really matter who finds the most or who is the quickest, but if you wish to race, fine. But, in the end, we do make sure everyone has an equal amount." Ms Hansen explained. Thor nodded. "Also, please do not break anything. Now, there are baskets for each of you." She motioned to a table with baskets on it.

They each grabbed one. "Okay. Three, two, one... start!" She said.

Tony raced into action, limping as fast as he could, snatching up eggs from the ground. He picked up two from the grass and then one from under a table. He found three buried under some rocks. He ignored it when Thor snatched one from under his nose.

Then he spotted it. It was big, golden, and hidden in the leaves. His eyes widened. This one would get him the win, for sure. He walked over to the tree and started climbing, ignoring the burning pains in his arms and legs as he manoeuvred himself onto the first branch. Looking down, he took a shaky breath. Could he climb higher?

Could he risk the fall?

He pushed onward, onto the next branch. He stood on it slowly, reaching for it, as it was just above him. However, he just couldn't get it. Goddamn him being short. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself onto the next branch.

Crrrack. It made an ugly, unsettling noise.

"Tony!" Steve cried, running over to the tree, dropping his basket full of one (1) egg.

Tony reached for the egg. As he grabbed it, catastrophe occurred - as it always does.

The branch creaked and collapsed under him. Tony tried to grab the other branches - but his hands simply slipped off of them, bleeding and raw. Just as he prepared himself to hit the ground - he hit something else instead. Something much gentler.

Or maybe he had passed out or was hallucinating.

Steve caught him with a soft 'oof,' gently holding Tony and scanning him, looking for any injuries besides his scraped up hands. "Well, that was extravagant," Tony said, chuckling. Steve put him down gently, and Tony stood unsteadily on his feet. He picked up the big egg and showed Steve it. "Look! I think I win. I got nine eggs - ten if you count this beauty - and I literally fell out of a tree. I think I win," Tony explained, hands shaking and bleeding all over his's own shirt.

"God, fine! You win, Tony, good god! Hey, Ms Hansen, do you, by any chance, have a first aid kit?" Steve said hurriedly. Ms Hansen ran over, first aid kit in hand, looking extra pale as she stared down at the blood. Steve took it from her and slowly wrapped Tony's hands in gauze. Tony waited impatiently. Clint came over and grabbed one of Tony's hands that wasn't covered in gauze yet.

"And y'all think I'm the careless one," Clint huffed. He looked jealously at Tony's basket. "I guess you do win. I stole all of Natasha's and my basket still doesn't look as pathetic as yours."

Tony smirked, "I always win, Clint, you better step up your game," he didn't bother to tell Clint how Natasha was sneaking up behind him, water bottle in hand, eyes sparkling, eager for revenge.

"For fu- I mean- for heck's sake, Nat!" Clint cried as the cold water splashed on him. Natasha laughed at him, smacking the back of his head playfully and gently. Clint spun around and tried to grab the half-empty water bottle from her, but she grabbed his hand and poured the rest on him, dousing him with the cold liquid.

Tony chuckled. "Yes, congrats, Mr Stark, you got the most eggs, plus you found the lucky golden egg, so you win. Now, if all of you could dump your eggs out in a pile." Ms Hansen said. Tony dumped his and the other Avengers followed suit. "You can keep the golden egg, Mr Stark, you've earned it."

Tony gave the others a significant look and opened it. Inside was a picture of all the Avengers drawn in crayon. "A young child with cancer drew that," the host informed them, "he died earlier this week. It was his wish for his drawing to get to the Avengers - his heroes."

Tony stared down at it. It was intricate and he guessed it must have been something the child was working on for a long time. He ran his fingers over it gently. In the corner, there was a small signature. "His name was Pete. Pete Nunez." Ms Hansen added.

"Thank you for giving it to me - us," Tony said softly. Children and fanart were a weakness of his. Now to know the child who made this picture was dead - it hurt. He tore his eyes away from it. He could cry about it later. Not now.

Ms Hansen gave them each seven eggs. They all opened it, pleased to find chocolates of all kinds. Tony gave half of his to Peter - who wouldn't talk to him. He said a small 'thank you' to Tony and went to sit by Thor. Tony's heart ached. First Pepper, now the kid.

"Thank you, Ms Hansen. Friday will be transferring 10K to your account tonight." Tony said, shaking her hand. She smiled and lit up, nodding eagerly.

"Thank you, Mr Stark, your donation and the Avengers visit means the world to us," she said, shaking everyone's hand.

"You're quite welcome. Anytime." Clint said, bowing and kissing her hand, making her chuckle.

"Well, I must be going... Harlem probably can't last long with sugar-high kids alone for long..." She said before running off. Tony waved at her.

"Alright, let's go back home," Tony said, adjusting his coat. He glanced at Peter. "Hey, kid, can you come with me for a second?" He asked, eyes burning into Peter's. Peter gave a hard look at Tony before following him off to a corner. "You guys go ahead - Happy will get ya' situated," Tony called to his friends, pulling Peter off to the side. He grasped Peter's hand and examined it. There were no marks anymore.

"Mr Stark, I'm fine, I'm sorry--" Peter began.

"Don't. You have no reason to be sorry. It was my fault. I'm sorry, kid. I... I didn't mean to." Tony apologized, not looking at Peter.

"It's been a tough few weeks. Forget about it, okay? I'm okay." Peter said quickly, looking Tony in the eyes. Tony stared down at him.

"Okay. Done - forgotten. Let's go." Tony said, shrugging. They walked over to the car and hopped in, Happy driving them home.

----- time skip -----

As Tony stepped into the house, he grinned, already seeing eggs peak out of random places. Clint gasped as he stepped on one as he took off his shoes. Inside was a picture of Tony. Clint's eyes lit up. "How many did you hide?" he asked, thrilled.

"Twenty," Tony lied. "Exactly twenty. No more, no less."

Clint grinned, eyes flashing at Natasha competitively. Peter, however, jumped right into the hunt and jumped around the house, picking up five in the living room.

---- time skip, again (whoops) ----

Tony sat down next to Steve without looking at him. Peter had Clint had collected twenty-three eggs, yelled at Tony playfully for lying, and found three of both the chicks and sheep. Peter went home - he needed to get back to May. Clint and Natasha were fighting over chocolate in their room - they had a bunk bed. Clint had declared that 'he was a top' and so naturally he should get the top bunk. Natasha had smacked him but allowed him to claim the top bunk. Bruce was colouring - a stress reliever, he'd say but was really just because he was a talented artist and loved to draw and colour. So, with him being so talented, he was using watercolours instead of coloured pencils, pens, or markers, as less-talented people would. Tony had tried once, but the watercolour didn't agree with him and he ended up failing. Steve could draw but didn't like to colour his work. In fact, Tony had only ever seen one drawing Steve had made. It was one of all the Avengers, sketched in pencil, but it was fantastic.

Rhodey was commenting with Sam about some nonsense about missions they've flown. Thor had flown back to his people to show them his new facial hair made by the sharpie. "So, Steve," Tony began, "today was... interesting."

"Yeah," Steve said, smiling a little, "I had fun."

"So, are still sure you want to date me?" Tony whispered, smirking.

"Positive, Tony."

"You won't do a Pepper on me, will you? Make me all attached to you and then have to do life? Because I will become your life, Steve, I swear. Y'know, they say life is hell. I guess I am hellish." Tony said in a threatening way.

Steve laughed, "No, I won't - I don't really have much of a life anyways."

"God, you sound like Peter. 'I don't have a life, so please give me a mission,'" Tony mocked Peter's voice, "well, I have news for you, you do have a life, Captain America. America's Loveliest Hero." He playfully punched Steve's arm. Steve's laugh turned into a chuckle.

"Aw, you really think I'm lovely?"

"America does."

"America has good taste."

"America has awful taste - just look at the politics! Gun control! Steve, hold my beer, I'm going to shoot the next fucker who says that we don't need gun control - wait, that's not how I should solve my problems, especially this one."

"So I'm not lovely?" Steve asked, pouting.

"No," Tony replied, "you're alluring. Exquisite." He paused, "Delicious."

"De - what?" Steve said, raising his eyebrows, face turning red.

"I memorized the synonyms for 'lovely.' Delicious was one of them." Tony shrugged but was glad that made Steve blush.

"You're a dork."

"I prefer the term 'genius.'"

"You are a genius."

"No, you are."

"Tony!" Steve objected, but Tony simply smiled and Steve wrapped his arm around him, pulling him close. Tony felt the warmth from Steve's hands and melted into his touch. He was so warm. Warm - Tony checked Steve's forehead, worried he might be sick. "What are you doing, Tony?" Steve said, laughing a little as Tony rested his hand on Steve's forehead.

Tony was glad to feel that Steve's body was warm but he wasn't ill. "I was worried you were sick - I've had enough hospital time, I don't want to get sick and end back in that hellhole."

"Oh, of course. You aren't just concerned for me?"

Tony grinned, "Well, that comes along with you being mine - yes, I am concerned for you, but right now, more so for me." That was a lie - Tony wasn't concerned for himself at all. Not anymore. But he couldn't look like a total fucking softie.

Steve scoffed, "of course. Well, I wouldn't want to get you sick anyway."

Tony leaned away from Steve. Can't look soft or gentle. No cuddling. Gotta act tough. Completely tough. Stone cold. Cold but not too cold to not love. Tony grabbed Steve's hand. "Ooh! Gosh, Tony - your hands are freezing!" Steve exclaimed. He clasped his other hand over Tony's other hand. Tony stared down at their hands.

Pepper and Tony never really held hands. They had some gentle moments like this, but for the most part, they were swamped with business and usually just kissed or hugged. But this - the electricity - the love - that swam through they connected hands - it was spectacular. Tony felt warm - loved - special. He smiled to himself. "My hands are always cold. Like the machines I work on - well, used to. I wish you'd let me get back to work. This is stupid."

"Tony - you can't work yet. You've been home for what - three, four days? I know you've been acting like your usual self, but I can see it every time you're in pain. Your nose crinkles and you look almost... angry. You rub your hands and try to ignore it." Steve said.

Tony looked at him. "You're like a stalker. No - I don't do that when I'm hurting. I'm fine." It was a lie, of course, all of it.

"Tony, you can't keep lying to me..." Steve said. He sounded almost... disappointed. Tony's heart skipped a beat. Did he upset Steve? Was Steve mad at him for not telling the truth? Oh, God, was he ruining the relationship already.

"I'm honestly fine, Steve. The first day was rough, yes, but -" he paused, "I'm feeling better. Way better." It wasn't a total lie - he did feel much better. Occasionally he'd feel sick or be hurting, but hey, he wasn't puking everywhere now.

Tony's face flushed. That night, Steve and Clint had helped him get undressed. And into a tub.

"You're blushing. Why?" Steve asked, sounded half-amused, half-concerned.

"I just thought of something," Tony said, trying to make up a story - god, they couldn't talk about that night - it was too awkward, "1998. May. There was this girl -"

"Tony! I don't need to know about that."

"She was very... flexible."

"Tony!" Steve cried, covering his ears, hands leaving Tony's.

Clint walked back into the room, clearly drunk. "Didja know that if... Steve was named... Stove... your guys' names would match... Stove and Tones - sold-mates."

"How much did you drink, Clint?" Tony said, surprised. "And, dear, my name is Tony, not Tones."

"Ohhh, shut up, Toby, your names is Tones - Secret Agent Tones," Clint said, his wors slurring.

"Clint! Back in the bathroom before you puke again!" Natasha called, looking exceptionally angry. Tony cringed under her glare. "Sorry, guys. Clint got into a batch of serious stuff."

"How?" Steve asked.

"I don't know. I'll smack him until he tells me." She hissed. Steve shifted and looked down.

Clint sauntered over to her, stumbling, looking like a dramatic actor almost, before stopping right in front of her and putting a hand to his mouth. Natasha shoved him into the bathroom quickly.

Steve looked at Tony, concerned.

"I'm sure he's fine," Tony told him, patting him gently on the shoulder, missing their hands intertwined. But he wouldn't ask for the attention.

\\authors note//

heya! well, this is late. but!! happy easter/april fools!!

i was working on this a lot but i just couldn't end it and i had an,,,, eventful week.

word count:6161

date: 4-9-18

#recovery #recovery chapter four #recovery chapter 4 #stony #avengers #marvel #stony angst #angst #angst /#tw angst #angst //#stony fluff #easter #april fools #ask to tag

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starspatter · 6 years

Text

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 4

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 5,361 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for your patience, here's part 4~

See me here in the air Not holding on to anywhere But holding on so beware I have secrets I won't share

-t.A.T.u., "Clowns (Can You See Me Now?)"

Then.

“Psst. Hey look over there, it’s that Brown girl.”

“The one hanging out with the freak in computer class? You think they’re dating?”

“Ew, gross.”

“You know I heard she got knocked up by some loser in high school. I bet she has like, no standards.”

“Wow, what a skank. So she’ll sleep with anyone, huh?”

Look who’s talking, Queen Jezebel.

Stephanie tried her best to ignore the snobby gathering of rich sorority girls as they gossiped and giggled loudly behind her back in the gymnasium locker room, mingling and clinging onto the clear alpha’s authority. Hiding and huddling under a protective umbra, umbrella safety in numbers. …So much for college being better than high school when it came to cliques and bullying.

As they passed by her change station – all the adulating acolytes swarming around their leader like an amoeba – one appendage broke away from the buzzing cluster just far enough to bump blatantly into her bare shoulder.

“Whoops. Sorry.”

The drone drawled in an excessively sarcastic tone that didn’t sound sincere at all, to the observant master’s smug approval.

Really, just like high school.

As tempted as she was to make a snide remark on the obvious imbalanced power dynamics, Stephanie managed to swallow her pride and suppress retort. Biting her tongue until they were out of sight, upon which she stuck it out in an equally mature gesture in their wake.

“So like anyway, I hear this new gym opened up on the outskirts downtown. It’s kinda out of the way – like, by the boonies almost – but apparently the instructor there is really hot.”

Stephanie couldn’t catch the statement that ensued, as the distance between them had already advanced to the point their fading words were muffled by rows of metal. There was a shrill burst of shrieking laughter before they exited though, harpy peals mixed with a round of half-appalled gasps, rebounding and resounding raucously off steel. Odd, she could’ve sworn she heard something about pirates…?

She sighed and shrugged as she got dressed, wiping the workout sweat from her face with a towel and pulling her sweatshirt over her sports bra. She didn’t much mind being lumped in with the outcast crowd; frankly she was used to being looked down upon by others by now, but the derisive comments still stung her self-esteem – especially when she was already having a bad day, due in part to being so bluntly turned down by the public pariah she was supposedly “associated” with.

Face it, girl, not even the “freak” is interested in you. What were you even thinking, blurting out something stupid like that. It must’ve come off as totally desperate; someone as smart as him probably doesn’t want to bother spending time with some dumb blonde chick who can’t even find her way around campus anyway.

She had come here to blow off some steam after being grilled on her grades in addition to the above gaffe, but now thanks to those sickening sycophants she was sorely reminded of her own poor social – and subsequently intellectual – standing. Missing culture and class (in all senses) often made her an easy scapegoat, much as she endeavored to rise above those who stooped to such low level of insult in order to make themselves appear somehow more “sophisticated”. She couldn’t help being a bit ruffled though, bile riling spitefully in her stomach as self-doubt simultaneously rolled about her conscience.

I mean come on, who are you even kidding? All you’re really good at is PE and pretending to be from a decent background instead of another broken dysfunctional family. Doesn’t matter what his type is, he’s way out of your league.

While she normally tried to cover up lack of conviction with clever wit, this was just the newest in a long series of successive failures (though it certainly didn’t top the ultimate blunder she’d made once). Chalk another one up to the slew of screw-ups and setbacks that plagued throughout her past, piling up to the point she may as well be called the Leaning Tower of “Please Kick Me”. Despite exertions to deny at least one side of her upbringing, the dominoes were stacked against her since birth. Any psychoanalyst worth his salt (assuming she could even afford one) would point to a mess of complications stemming from childhood, starting with “daddy dearest”. Freud would likely have a field day with her “father figure” fixation – in the more negative than positive association. While both parental “role models” had problems with neglect in the past, it was the paternal ones that particularly persisted. Thanks to her poor excuse for a pop, she’d suffered her share of blows (both emotional and physical) that defeated and deflated a daughter’s dignity, culminating in a personal vendetta against crime and clueless adults who can’t even properly take care of their kids. (Which in itself was one of the reasons she sadly but firmly determined in the end to give her own offspring up for adoption.)

Objectively, it was no wonder she had terrible luck – if not taste – with men, chasing endlessly after a string of doomed relationships (and consequently consecutive rejections), sought as a self-diagnosed surrogate to replace the male attention and affection she never received growing up. …So she idly acknowledged the full irony of the situation when, in order to distract from her dejection, she considered the inadvertent advertisement mentioned earlier as a potential solace.

Maybe I’ll go ogle some eyecandy for peace of mind.

She had promised her mom she’d come home for the weekend after all. She could stop by on her way, scope the – ahem – place out a bit. From the sound of the discussion, it was located fairly close to the suburbs, and establishing affiliation with an exercise facility near her neighborhood would be pretty convenient during vacations, compared to commuting back and forth like she did in high school. (Having a certified hunk for a fitness instructor as well would just be a nice bonus, icing on the cake. Given her strict regimen, surely she deserved to treat herself to some confectionary “consolation” on the side.)

…When she stepped off the bus in the middle of Gotham’s busiest shopping district though, she realized she probably should’ve done more research into its exact whereabouts first.

Dear Diary, remind me to print out directions next time. Or at least a map.

As she wandered hopelessly through the streets, now without the benefit of a guide or even a destination address to go by, eventually probing enough passersby bore fruit. By the time she arrived there though (out of breath as if she had already run a marathon), the sun was starting to set. Craning her neck to gaze up at the building sign towering above her, she snorted slightly at the lofty title.

“Out of the Nest Aerial” – what a weird name.

A bell chimed as she entered, alerting a man who was bent over some boxes in the back of the lobby (which smelled of fresh paint and renovation), apparently busy packing away some materials. He must’ve been surprised by a customer at this late hour, as she caught a cursory lift of his (lean yet muscular) arm to glance at a wristwatch. Still, he called pleasantly over his shoulder:

“Be right with you in a moment.”

Eyeing the robust frame of his behind, she assured:

“Ah, take your time.”

donotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbutt

Damn, those gals seriously weren’t kidding about the view. …As the ass-umed target of their talk turned around though, she realized what they must have been chatting about that set off such a funny fit, following screeches with shushes. Steph felt her own face flush as she admonished herself for inappropriately zoning in from one conspicuous feature to another.

donotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseye

Despite the discernible… “deficiency” in the other’s visual department, the defect didn’t detract from his overall attractiveness, magnetic movie star looks unmarred by partial eclipse. One shining moon’s force of gravity was sufficient enough to draw her into its depths. …If anything the shadow blocking the opposite sun’s reflection only enhanced his handsome appeal by augmenting an alluring air of mystique and intrigue – a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious if she ever saw one. Hell, the rest of his heavenly body’s figure was practically flawless, revealing the results of what must’ve amounted to years of intense physical training. Aside from deducing self-discipline as part of his personality, he carried himself with the convivial charisma of a cheerful showman presenting some grand performance (which she vaguely recollected from her father’s former game show hosting days). A voguish comportment vaguely cobbled from the kinds of classy male caricatures generally seen strutting on red carpet catwalks, peacocks fanning their feathers for their – in this case – drabber female counterparts (fans who would squeal and fall over themselves with glee if given a chance to even get within vicinity, let alone dare to lay claim of victory). Suave and stylish – if slightly synthetic. All preened plumage and perfect poses, placid and practiced. Like plastic roses, permanently planted for all to adore – parading proud and prominent down a promenade. Whose upbeat character’s charm was hardly diminished as he grinned gregariously in greeting, the gorgeousness of such a stunning smile more than making up for any handicap. …Although she noted the guy’s gait seemed somewhat rigid for somebody of his stature, walking with a minor limp towards her. Her blush deepened as he approached, exuding a masculine musk as his powerful paw extended to shake.

“Welcome. How can I help you, miss…?”

“Brown. Stephanie Brown.” She babbled rapidly, tongue tying again as she tripped over her response. “Nice booty- I mean, nice butt- I mean, nice to meet you. …You know what, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

Fortunately, he seemed to take the semi-suggestive (if perhaps politically incorrect) comment in stride, simply chuckling aloud with unalloyed aplomb.

“Trust me, I’ve heard it all. Richard Grayson, at your service.” The dreamboat flourished a forgiving bow, adding with a flirtatious smirk: “You can call me Dick though, all the ladies do.”

ohmygod please stop

“Um, I was wondering if I could check you out-” She hastily checked herself again. “Er, check out your equipment?” God, why did that still sound so embarrassing to say. “I was thinking of signing up to join if you’ve got memberships available.”

“Sure, although we usually close around this time. Was just about to lock up soon actually. I’ll make an exception for such a lovely little lady though.”

Red crept further onto her cheeks. “Thanks, I’ll just take a quick peek.”

He nodded. “Feel free to look around, most of our stuff’s upstairs. Would you like me to give you a special tour?”

“N-no, that’s okay.”

She squeaked, subduing an internal squee.

“All right. Let me know if you need anything.”

She skipped swiftly up the steps, heart skipping beats. Today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

When she reached the upper floor though, she stopped short to see someone was unexpectedly there before her: the very person she had intentionally come to forget about.

What’s he doing here?

He didn’t seem to notice her presence, focused intently on a pair of uneven horizontal bars before him. Muttering something to himself under his breath, clenching his fists and flexing a few times. After the limbering stretch, he inhaled deeply before charging at his opponent, clearing the first hurdle with ease by using it as a springboard. He appeared to have some trouble latching onto the second, but managed to rectify his grip in time, righting himself as he swung up and over in a circle. Adjusting his center of weight, he settled into a handstand, still facing away from her. Gradually, he removed one palm from the pipe, impressively relying on a single limb’s strength to maintain balance.

A memory pricked in the back of her mind. Gotham High. After dusk. An empty gymnasium. She had forgotten her homework at school after practice, so she hopped on her scooter and raced back. As she neared the gym though, she heard a groaning crash within, followed by an angry curse. Poking her head cautiously through the door crack, she spotted someone lying prostrate on the floormat beneath the parallel beams (which were presumably set up again by said individual after having already been put away prior), alarmingly appearing unconscious. At first she panicked, and was about to run and call for an ambulance when the comatose corpse stirred, sluggishly staggering to its feet. Despite dragging them a little, he wobbled over to take previous position at the end of the pad. Stabilizing himself, he waited a minute for dizziness to dwindle before tumbling and backflipping across the entire expanse, vaulting high into the air to land – almost, but not quite – on the mark.

While she winced in his place, he merely picked himself up and gave it another go, repeating the routine over and over, for what felt like hours. She stood there and watched with silent marvel, gaping in spellbound, slackjawed awe at each graceful arc and twist, utterly mesmerized by this bizarre boy’s sheer determination to get it all precisely right – nearly bordering on desperate, if not suicidal. No matter how many times he tried though (nevermind shocking disregard for the quantity of bruises gained in the process), each attempt produced little improvement. Even if he managed to successfully pull off the whole maneuver, his hands shook so much upon descent that he still slipped off the perch – almost as if some part of his subconscious were involuntarily compelling himself to hold back. Finally, he kicked the dual poles over in frustration, storming off towards the outlet. She hurriedly ducked around a corner, but was able to get a good glimpse at his visage before he vanished.

She knew his name straightaway from face alone; everyone did. She’d seen him around in the halls, heard the whispered rumors, but had never spoken to him before. Most people strove to avoid interacting with the “world class weirdo” if they could help it, and his raging outburst at the end was admittedly a bit disturbing. …But the bitter expression of disappointment he wore as he glumly gave up became burned into her brain, ingraining irritation on his behalf. He evidently possessed extraordinary talent, yet still wasn’t satisfied with himself. (Her own signature moves paled in comparison, and not even the most senior members on the team could come close to the caliber of coordination and dexterity – let alone stamina – required to execute the intricacy of the initial sequence.) No one else seemed to recognize his raw skills either; or rather, he didn’t allow anyone to witness them for whatever reason. When he showed up to class the next day sporting so many injuries, everyone speculated how the infamous “delinquent” must have gotten into some kind of brawl outside of school, and steered clear even further. He didn’t say anything in his defense, but she found herself privately lamenting the misunderstood look of loneliness in his eyes – that in a way felt so achingly familiar from when she’d spend her mornings carefully concealing her “loving” dad’s last night beatings with makeup in the mirror.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to openly express sympathetic sentiment. She had her own pressing business to attend to, as shortly after that she discovered she was pregnant. Her louse of a boyfriend had already long broken up with her, dumped and ditched to fend for herself as soon as the quake of ’09 hit, fleeing like a coward while she stayed to try and help other survivors. Not only that, he completely skipped town in the aftermath – coincidentally for the entire duration of her gestation period – only coming back when chaos died down and the coast was clear, in all contexts. After she gave birth, he actually had the gall to try and get back together with her, but she kicked him hard in a certain place and then punched him in the face – twice – when he wouldn’t stay down. (Okay, so admittedly she was taking out more aggravation at herself; maybe he didn’t thoroughly deserve the brunt of such brutal treatment, but she hadn’t had the best experience with guys who refused to take “no” for an answer either.)

While the calamity exposed some awful realities about human nature, she wasn’t the only one who chose to remain behind to aid relief efforts. Among the scattered, smattering handful of Samaritan citizens left, she had observed another teen around her age (maybe a little younger, if his size was anything to go by). Although for an excruciating amount of time, he seemed frozen absolute, suspended animation amidst the burning wreckage. Glazed pupils in a trance, as if unable to process surroundings – before snapping out of stunned stupor into action. Festinating, fighting frantically through the frightened crowd, urgently racing to rescue as many as he could from the rubble. At one point he even recklessly risked his own life to dive under a crumbling, unstable column, reacting on impulse in order to save a small child from the structure as it collapsed. He almost looked more terrified than the toddler afterwards, whole mass trembling (and not just from the aftershock tremors), but he held the crying kid close and soothingly promised it would be okay, that they’d find his parents, that they were okay. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t learn who he was until later, when she and the majority of the refugee student body were relocated to Gotham Heights High nearby, since their own cheap institution was devastated beyond immediate repair. (Eventually it would be rebuilt and renamed, dedicated in honor of the late Mayor Hamilton Hill, who perished during the upheaval.) The noble sacrifice that stranger demonstrated on that day seemed a stark contrast to his cold reputation, and she admired wonderingly from afar, confused as to how someone could portray two totally different impressions in such a short span. Deep down, she was sure the brave hero she saw emerge back then was but a flicker of the real self buried underneath frigid fortress’s exterior, convinced that a closed off heart was far kinder and more courageous than the owner let on.

At any rate, she had enough concerns on her own plate for the time being, dealing with the “reminder” her ex had left her of their time spent together. While she tried to keep the matter discreet, there was no way she could hide such a (literally) huge secret forever – from her mom or from faculty. When the truth came out, some of her (idiot) friends thought it was cool she was having a baby, envying the attention and constant excused absences. Others displayed their disdainful opinions on the affair, albeit in a more “indirect” manner. Maybe they were also jealous, or more likely her teammates were mad at her for having missed so many meetings under the pretense of “not feeling well” – only to announce she was officially taking an extended leave right before the big tournament, forcing them to scramble to redo the group floor routine. (They were already reluctant to let a transfer “rival” join, even though she had easily wowed their coach during tryouts.) Either way, she arrived one day to find her temp hallway locker coated in graffiti, resentful remarks ranging from “slacker” to “slut”. There were worse labels as the list went on, effectively exhausting the devil’s dictionary:

Bitch.

Bimbo.

Tramp.

Trollop.

Hussy.

Harlot.

Whore.

Dreg.

Some of the comments were so harsh and hurtful she couldn’t – didn’t want to believe they came from anybody she knew. Given the setting’s free access and availability, anyone could’ve written (and read) those things. So rather than instantly alert authority, she resolved to stake out between breaks to see if any vandals returned to the scene of the crime. …By the end of the day though, no one had come forward to gloat or claim responsibility. She was about to resign herself to letting the culprit(s) go when he of all people suddenly turned up in the vacant corridor – carrying a spraycan. Crushed by the thought he could’ve been involved – that he was really no better than his hoodlum image – she nearly called him out then and there to give a piece of her mind… when she noticed he was also holding a rag in his other hand.

He had brought cleaning supplies.

Quickly and quietly, he set to work, applying solvent and scrubbing away all the abusive slurs, leaving the cubby sparkling new. He promptly departed without a word, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She didn’t know quite what to make of this random act; lending assistance in a crisis was one thing, but for someone to go out of his way to do her a favor when they weren’t even acquaintances went well above and beyond altruism in its own merit. (It was possible he was erasing evidence out of remorse, but somehow she doubted that.)

She never did get a chance to ask him about it – or to thank him – as her mother marched straight into the administration office upon hearing of the incident and pulled her out for the remainder of the semester, insisting on homeschooling – at least until the fetus finished its own term. Steph had never seen her looking so strong as in that moment. The scathing, scolding speech and matronly outline she sharply cut were striking, if somewhat startling. Their relationship had always been rather rocky, what with the pill addiction and alcoholism and all-around abandonment, but almost losing one’s daughter in a nigh-apocalyptic event tends to put things in perspective. Maybe she felt guilty for not fully being there for her up through adolescence, blaming herself for any shortcomings. She took the catastrophe itself as a sign of self-punishment, almost as if it were own fault rather than Mother Nature’s.

Whatever the motive, she really tried after that to make up for lost contact, God bless her. She got clean – for good this time – started working double shifts at the hospital to pay for damages to the house, all the while singly supporting Stephanie through the labor and adoption proceedings. Even went on a diet and lost some weight, though they still made sure to set aside time to eat waffles together every morning. Steph wasn’t sure why the woman specifically chose something that only offered empty carbs as their “healthy” bonding agent (she supposed since it was a warm, go-to comfort food; personally she was partial to mashed potatoes herself), but it became tradition, and it stuck – as did their adherence to each other, nonartificial sweetness strengthened with syrup.

When she returned to school, she was mildly more anxious to face friends than foes; to that end, she wasn’t even sure where on the spectrum “that person” lay. (Incidentally, she gathered he’d also spent some time “away” in the interim, which didn’t do much to dispel his shameful status.) At this forgone stage, she was uncertain how to broach topics long past to someone she’d still never even had a conversation with. Plus he always seemed so… difficult to approach, exuding an overwhelmingly daunting lone wolf aura. Finding courage or commonality to confront him was a bold challenge, and she always awkwardly lost her nerve whenever she came close.

Despite his history of misconduct, he was perceptibly bright – brilliant even – when it came to academics. His high exam scores earned him enrollment in accelerated classes in their senior year (although even then it seemed like he was still withholding some superior source of knowledge, moderating only enough surface energy to scrape by), and the advanced placement ahead of her only broadened the unattainable distance between them, no matter how hard she struggled to catch up… Which made it all the more astonishing that, in the end, he’d willingly accepted a spot in the same local state college rather than a private university. One might then cynically accuse her of seizing opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it was purely by chance she happened to secure a practical arrangement that put them in rough proximity. Ostensibly though, the only other times their paths managed to fleetingly cross outside of lecture hall took place behind separate, if adjacent bookshelves – until today’s accidental encounter, that is.

As she retrospectively looked on, it seemed he couldn’t sustain the stance for long, dropping posture to hang upside-down for a moment before dismounting. Again, some kind of subliminal instinct seemed to kick in before he hit the ground, and he stumbled with a heated swear. She clapped politely in appreciation though, and he jolted at the noise. Swerving, he snapped without warning:

“Damnit, will you quit bugging me?!”

Her hands halted, shocked by the sudden shout. He blinked as he registered the spectator, growing more mortified as he became aware of his error.

“Shit. Sorry, I- thought you were someone else.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He gulped and shuffled uneasily, steadying respiration before attempting to start over.

“So. It’s you again, huh.”

Hello to you too.

“Hey. Fancy meeting you here. We just keep running into each other today, don’t we?” She ventured what she hoped came off as a friendly jibe to defuse tension, though there was some genuine suspicion behind it. “You wouldn’t be secretly stalking me, would you?”

He didn’t fall for it. Rather than take the bait, he instead reached casually for a water bottle on the bench beside his bookbag, relatively unfazed by the half-serious allegation.

“That’s my line.” His tone was almost eerily calm compared to before, as he unscrewed the cap and nonchalantly took a swig. “I could inquire the same of you, I’ve got a legitimate reason to be here.”

“Oh really. And what would that be?”

He jerked his head towards the staircase, jabbing a thumb for emphasis. “The guy downstairs? He’s my older brother.”

She squinted, distinguishing some physical resemblance now that he brought it up. “You two are related?”

That… explains a lot actually.

“Not by blood,” he clarified. “He was also adopted by Mr. Wayne at one point, so technically that makes us step-siblings.”

There was a pronounced privation of fondness in the terse, formal way he delicately articulated their former guardian’s designation, tongue tart and taut as a tightrope. She hazily recalled reading about the second sensation in the tabloids at the time (alongside an exposé detailing the new ward’s scandalous criminal record).

“Oh right, I saw a, um, documentary on T.V. about that. …Wait, you mean he’s Grayson as in ‘The Flying Graysons’? The famous circus act?”

“You didn’t see all the posters in the lobby?”

He pointed over her shoulder at a giant flyer pasted over partition, the enormous wall scroll unambiguously inflating the centerpiece’s ego.

“…Ah. Guess I must’ve been, er, distracted.”

Irises rolled in exasperation, as if expecting such a reply. “He tends to have that effect on people.”

Curious concentration transferred from the glossy print back to him as he begrudgingly murmured this. Hard to think the two were connected to each other, if tangentially. Like day and night, they were. Tentatively, she tried to gear the dialogue in a different direction, nudging towards an encouraging compliment.

“So that’s how you picked up all the acrobatic stuff?”

“Uh- yeah. Something like that.” He winced and rubbed the back of his neck, still seeming uncomfortable with the subject.

“You’re really good at it. That was pretty amazing, what you did just now. You should consider joining the gymnastics team, the males’ division could probably use some support. I hear it’s in danger of being cut to provide more funding for contact sports.” She scoffed inwardly. Like those jocks need any more budget.

He simply shrugged. “I’m not that great. My brother’s better.” …It was pretty plain to see he had a heavily severe inferiority complex. Remarkably though, sourness seemed to subside as a reminiscent, reverent mist remotely shrouded his vision, looking longingly at the faded ruby and gold costume. “You know he’s the only person in the world who can perform a quadruple somersault?” There was a touch of envious excitement in his tenor as he placed a hand on the worn placard, smoothing over wrinkles in the parchment. “…Or he used to be anyway, before the- accident.”

“…Is that also how he lost his eye?”

The clouded veil instantaneously evaporated.

“Sorry. Was just wondering.”

A voice emanated from the stairwell:

“It’s all right. I don’t mind you asking.”

The two turned to see the proprietor poised at the top of stairs, leaning over the railing as he took in the picture with an inscrutable countenance.

“It happened during the quake. Was trying to help some victims trapped in a bus underneath the highway. Got hit by falling debris in an aftershock. …Pretty dumb, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. That was really heroic of you.”

Meanwhile, her other company said nothing, but shot a peculiar look at his brother, who merely beamed benignly back. There was a blank, stony sort of quality to both their semblances though. Impenetrable. Stephanie had the inexplicable feeling she was intruding on some mute, confidential exchange between the two, and decided now would probably be a good time to excuse herself.

“…Anyway, would you look at the time. Guess I should get going. It’s getting late, and my mom’s expecting me.”

“Of course. Thank you for stopping by, we hope to see you back again.”

“I’m sure you will. …Oh, one more question before I go: How do I get to Widowstone Creek from here?”

A brief description of bearings later, Stephanie strolled out the door, now confidently armed with coordinates. The manager waved with a sunny smile as she left – though it might’ve been her imagination, but the salutation seemed a tad subdued as opposed to earlier reception.

“Bye now! Take care.”

He subtly elbowed his younger sibling, who sullenly put up a lethargic hand as well.

“Bye.”

Really, could those two be any more different.

The sky had grown grim, but she was still able to navigate her way around well enough as she approached an area she was accustomed to. She had been right about the place being close to her house, it shouldn’t take her long to get there. …Although now that she knew where she was headed, she opted at the last minute to cut through a back alley to get to her block without further delay – which turned out to be a colossal, costly mistake.

“Well well, what have we here?”

Stephanie stiffened as she heard the thrum of throaty sniggers and motorbikes, headlights peering through the gloom as they illuminated a score of whitewashed faces, arrayed in garish garb; bright polka dot and patchwork patterns that were even more blinding (like looking through a psychedelic kaleidoscope, or experiencing a bad trip on some of her mom’s pills). She would’ve been amused by their gaudy guises, if not for the gleaming assortment of weapons they wielded: knives, chains, clubs, hammers, pipes, bats, and of all things – a spiked rubber chicken, which was the only thing that didn’t seem ridiculously out of place in this scenario. (Scratch that, they still looked ridiculous.) Brazenly brandishing rusted iron and brass to match their brash appearance, lurid and leering. She’d seen reports of their mischievous miscreant behavior on the news, but had never directly run into them before. Outlying residential regions weren’t typically their turf. …But of course today had to be the day they chose to terrorize her territory instead.

Dear Diary, remind me never to try taking a shortcut again. …Assuming I even make it out of this mess alive, that is.

She thought as she backed up slowly, finding herself fenced in by whooping hyenas, sneering and snickering as they encircled their prey. A gang of hellion hooligans, rebel riffraff risen up out of the ashes and anarchy following the cataclysm – even more enormous fashion disasters taking after their borrowed namesake:

Jokerz.

Clowns are here to let you know Where you let your senses go Clowns all around you It's a cross I need to bear

2 notes · View notes

rokurookajima · 7 years

Text

green gloves, oneshot

fandom: black lagoon summary: She misses having a drinking partner, which really, really sucks. / RockRevy, the melancholy nostalgia of humid night air that makes you think too much. Post-series. notes: i've literally put so much thought into revy's character throughout the series i love her so much. this is set several years after the end of the series (more than five years at least), so i tried to write the characters like they were a little older. or at least, how i assume they'd be? title is a song by the national, the atmosphere of that song encompasses that whole bittersweet nostalgic weird kind of feeling 10/10 vibes would recommend. but who knows maybe i'm the only one that gets that kind of feeling from humid summer nights. (disclaimed.)

green gloves

;;

falling out of touch with all

my friends are somewhere getting wasted

hope they’re staying glued together

i have arms for them

;;

She hears it every now and then, on the occasion that she actually goes out for a drink alone. It's the attempted whispers and not-so hushed tones of the Yellow Flag's usual types from behind their glasses.

Is that her?

The woman from Lagoon?

Revy flexes her fingers idly, rolls an unlit cigarette across the bar top. If she keeps her back to the voices, maybe she'll be less inclined to shoot them.

Not that she really would. Not now. At least not over so little; it would take a hell of a lot more than the drunken musing of retired mafia goons and hookers to make her waste the bullets.

But still. The commentary gets old.

"It is her—Revy Two Hands."

"You can see her guns."

"Whatever happened to her?"

She snorts audibly and knocks back a shot of Bacardi. "Good fucking question."

"That can't be her," one of the voices chimes in, and Revy can hear the cheap red lipstick in her shrill tone. "She doesn't have that guy with her."

The comment makes her bristle instantly. Her fingers twitch instinctively for the trigger. Even if the years have mellowed her temper enough to know better than to shoot up the Yellow Flag for less—which she has—, there can always be room for exceptions.

"Right, that businessman—."

"The Japanese guy—,"

"The cute one."

That's the it, the point where her glass clinks back on the bar top and Bao gives her a warning glare, his mouth loaded with the threats of violence he'll impose on her if she shoots anymore holes in the joint.

Only she doesn't reach for her Berettas. She laughs mirthlessly, for the spectators to hear, then slaps a couple of dollar bills on the counter and takes the rest of the bottle with her. It's not like Bao can do anything besides bitch at her for it, but then what else would be new?

She strides past the group, who all silence hastily and cower and stare at her with gaping eyes. One hand, the one that's not holding the bottle, rests imposingly on the grip of a gun, a silent warning just in case any of them have any more pointless words to throw in her direction while she leaves alone.

She misses having a drinking partner.

Which really, really sucks.

;;

Outside the bar is less appealing than inside. The night air is thick and humid; the kind that wraps around her bones and is somehow as chilled as it is suffocating. It envelops her entire body and makes her feel too heavy to move. She lights a cigarette and trudges through it anyhow.

It's late and she's tired, which she thinks is fucking hilarious.

She remembers a few years back, the night would've barely begun. Right now, she'd probably be getting hammered and playing cards at the church with Eda until one would pull a gun on the other, and in the morning they'd wake up on the altar, the sanctuary smelling of spilled rum and gunpowder, laugh it off, and plan to do it all again next week.

Or, she thinks bitterly, she would've been somewhere else, with someone else.

The cute one.

The girl's words echo in her mind, swirling around with the alcohol. She can just picture Rock's face if he'd been there—a blush blooming on his cheeks as he tries to play it off and on a good night, she berates him for it or on a bad night, she draws a gun on the poor girl.

On second thought, she doesn't want to think about it.

Instead, she wanders the streets of Roanapur, drinking Bacardi straight from the bottle, daring anyone who crosses her path to say anything.

It's been like this a lot lately.

The Lagoon crew's been out of the game for a while. First it was no new jobs, then it was new players who came along with new skills, and suddenly the four of them were obsolete. Or she was, at least.

Because Dutch had been working in Roanapur for years before Lagoon, and Benny has his computers, they're both valuable assets to anyone looking for skill.

Revy was only ever a gun (and there's no excuse for a fool with a gun).

Dutch still checks on her every few days, mostly out of habit. He makes sure she's not drinking more than eating. Which she is, of course, but one day she'll appreciate him for trying, maybe.

Secretly, Revy would kind of like to get old. Dutch reminds her of that sometimes, just being there with his wise words and taciturn demeanor. Not that Dutch is old. Just old-er. Just, probably, older than she'll ever be.

And yeah, it's kind of sad because Lagoon was the closest thing she's ever had to a family. A good one, at least. Marginally good.

The roaring drone of water falling pulls her out of her goddamn head for a second. She finds herself beside the fountain at the plaza, the one with the statue of a half-clothed woman posing valiantly at the top. Or she would be valiant if she weren't smeared with seagull shit, dripping down the sides of her head in white tracks.

Next to the noose out front, it's a damn good metaphor for the city.

Mostly, Dutch asks about Rock.

Good, she thinks. Great; she's thinking about Rock again.

And she thinks, why should she care how he's doing? Rock took his puppet master hero complex straight to the top and is pulling so many strings she's lost track. She's done her time worrying over him, keeping his evident death wish from ever actually claiming his life, never expecting anything in return for years only for him to forget that he would've died a hundred times already if it weren't for her.

Rock doesn't need her anymore.

Fuck Rock, she spits at Dutch through a mouthful of bitterness.

She could've left him in Japan—she should've. Let him life a nice quiet life in the suburbs with a pretty white-collar rich wife named Sakura and have white-collar rich kids that complain and cry all the time. Then maybe one day in fifty years, he can come back to hell and leave a marigold on her grave and see if she cares—

And then her bare knee is crashing into the stone edge of the fountain and, fuck, that hurts.

She glares down at it. The skin is scraped raw, already turning purple at the edges and red in the middle. A teardrop bead of blood oozes down over the white scar on her shin, from the sword, from Japan, from a lifetime ago.

Good, she thinks. Great.

She wishes he were here.

;;

Revy doesn't know what it is—the humid air, the Bacardi, or the stinging ache in her knee—that puts her on autopilot, the lights of the city blurring in a haze until she's shoving open the door of Rock's permanent motel room and stumbling over the threshold.

Why is she doing this why is she bothering what's the fucking point—

"When are you gonna lock your fucking door, Rock?" she sighs. There is no bite to her words.

Light from the hallway cuts across the floor between her heavy boots. The thin beam traces a line across the floor and the paper and empty beer cans. It climbs up the side of the bed. And it ends, slicing Rock's face in two.

One brown eye, the one in the light, opens sluggishly.

The door closes and the beam is gone.

"Revy?"

Rock is sprawled out on his stomach on the bed in the middle of the room.

She gives no response because he doesn't deserve one and also because she wouldn't have one anyway. Instead, the sound that fills the room is her heavy boots clunking on the floor where she drops them by the door. Her holster is next, shrugged off of her tired shoulders. Her berettas scrape along the floor before coming to rest by the edge of the bed.

Rock's eyes are on her, she can tell, level with her thighs and the bruise on her knee.

The now empty bottle hits the floor and then she is flopping down on top of him.

The bed creaks.

Rock gives a soft grunt on impact but doesn't complain. Good. She wouldn't care. Instead, he mumbles, "hi", voice muffled in between the pillow and his partner. Ex-partner? Ex-parter-ex-best-friend-ex-something.

There's another lag before a response, the sound of their mismatched breathing filling the room instead. And then-"Fuck you, Rock."

Then: "Hi."

She thinks it's funny, vaguely, how little the room has changed. The Hawaiian shirt she bought him all those years ago hanging on the wall still (why would he keep it, why is it still fucking here), in the midst of his hastily scribbled notes in his cramped business man writing.

Her cheek is sweating where it's pressed into the crook of his neck and Rock probably can't breathe and somehow it's all more comfortable this way.

The things she wants to say sting the back of her throat worse than rum ever could, but she can't even get the words right in her head, and god, it's late, and finally all that comes out is-

"You should've left."

Rock sighs. "Revy..."

Because she's said it so many times. It's something safe, something easy, something that comes spilling out of her mouth with no effort every time she has a feeling she doesn't want to have, doesn't know how to deal with.

"You never shoulda come here, Rock."

The words are weighted down with exhaustion.

How many years has it been?

Rock gives a kind of quiet laugh and replies, "You keep saying that, but I'm still here."

(I'm right here where I'm sitting, Revy-).

Rock says, "I'm not anywhere else."

He squirms under her, and she gets the message, and shifts her weight onto her forearms and knees enough to let him roll onto his back before collapsing back down again. His chin rests on the top of her head and she can feel his pulse on her cheek and it's familiar.

It's an unwelcome thought that goes involuntarily through her mind, of all the times the two of them have been in this same position, which isn't that many, but enough to make the feeling of his hand on her back a comforting one. The time she wants to think of the least, the last night in Japan, in a shitty motel, her skewered leg bleeding on the sheets.

"You wouldn't fucking need a gun there," she thinks, out loud, without realizing.

"Maybe not," Rock sighs again in that tired, tired voice. "But I need one here."

Her gloved hand tightens in the fabric at the collar of his shirt.

Maybe she's kind of bitter, maybe he should act like he still needs her if apparently they both know he does, maybe he should come back down from the top, maybe she should tell him this.

Rock says, "I'm still a bullet, aren't I?"

The things she's wanted to say die in her throat.

#black lagoon #rock x revy #fanfiction #revy x rock #yes guys i'm still writing fan fiction i know i know i know #but im actually so happy with this #and i have so man feeeeelings about black lagoon STILL #and this is a good compilation of a lot of them #and finally getting some of my head canons about revy's inner thoughts out there #otp: the one that let me in #my writing

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