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viewofwomen · 7 months

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From Tantrums to Tranquility: A Guide to Anger Control in Kids

Anger is a natural emotion that everyone experiences, including children. However, when anger becomes uncontrollable or expressed in harmful ways, it can be a cause for concern. Teaching children how to manage their anger is an essential life skill that will serve them well into adulthood. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore effective strategies for helping kids transition from tantrums to tranquility.

Understanding Child Anger

Before diving into techniques for anger control, it's crucial to comprehend the nature of anger in children. Unlike adults, children have yet to develop the cognitive and emotional tools necessary for handling intense emotions. Their limited vocabulary and undeveloped impulse control can lead to outbursts.

The Importance of Anger Control

Unmanaged anger in children can lead to a host of issues, including strained relationships, academic difficulties, and even physical health problems. Teaching kids how to appropriately express and manage their anger can lay the foundation for healthier emotional development.

Establishing Open Communication

One of the most effective ways to help children manage anger is through open communication. Create an environment where they feel safe expressing their feelings without fear of judgment. Encourage them to talk about what makes them angry, and actively listen to their concerns.

Teaching Emotional Intelligence

Emotional intelligence encompasses recognizing, understanding, and managing emotions in oneself and others. It's a vital skill for anger control. Engage in activities that help kids identify and label their emotions. Use books, games, and real-life scenarios to teach them about empathy and perspective-taking.

Introducing Relaxation Techniques

Teaching children relaxation techniques can be invaluable in anger management. Breathing exercises, progressive muscle relaxation, and mindfulness activities can help calm their nervous system during moments of frustration. Practice these techniques regularly so they become a natural coping mechanism.

Encouraging Healthy Outlets

Physical activity is an excellent outlet for pent-up anger. Encourage sports, dance, or any form of exercise that your child enjoys. Artistic pursuits like drawing, painting, or writing can also serve as creative avenues for emotional expression.

Setting Realistic Expectations

Children are constantly learning and growing. It's important to set realistic expectations for their behavior, taking into account their age, developmental stage, and individual temperament. Avoiding unrealistic demands can reduce frustration and potential anger triggers.

Modeling Healthy Anger Management

Children learn by example. Demonstrate healthy anger management techniques by managing your own emotions in front of them. Show them how to express feelings assertively without resorting to aggression or verbal abuse.

Implementing Time-Outs

Time-outs can be an effective tool for both parents and children to cool down in the heat of the moment. When emotions are running high, suggest taking a break to regain composure. This allows both parties to return to the conversation with a clearer perspective.

Practicing Empathy and Validation

Validate your child's feelings, even if you don't agree with their perspective. Let them know that their emotions are valid and that you understand why they might be feeling a certain way. This validation can go a long way in diffusing anger and fostering trust.

Using Positive Reinforcement

Positive reinforcement involves acknowledging and rewarding desirable behavior. When your child successfully manages their anger, praise them for their efforts. Use specific feedback to highlight what they did well. This positive reinforcement reinforces the importance of anger control.

Seeking Professional Help

If your child's anger issues persist or escalate, seeking professional help from a therapist, counselor, or psychologist is crucial. They can provide specialized strategies and tools to address underlying issues that may be contributing to the anger.

Additional Tips for Anger Control

In addition to the strategies outlined above, here are some extra tips to further support your child in their journey towards anger control:

1. Encourage Journaling

Giving your child a safe space to write down their feelings can be incredibly therapeutic. Encourage them to journal about what makes them angry and how they can approach those situations differently in the future.

2. Practice Problem-Solving Skills

Help your child develop effective problem-solving skills. Teach them to identify the source of their anger and brainstorm positive ways to address it. This empowers them to take control of their emotions and find constructive solutions.

3. Establish Routines and Predictability

Children thrive on routines and predictability. Knowing what to expect provides them with a sense of security and stability, reducing the likelihood of unexpected triggers for anger.

4. Promote a Healthy Lifestyle

Ensure your child gets enough sleep, eats balanced meals, and engages in regular physical activity. A healthy body contributes to a healthy mind, reducing the likelihood of emotional outbursts.

5. Monitor Screen Time

Excessive screen time can lead to increased irritability and frustration in children. Set reasonable limits on screen time and encourage alternative activities that promote social interaction and physical play.

6. Celebrate Small Victories

Acknowledge and celebrate the small steps your child takes towards better anger control. This positive reinforcement reinforces their progress and motivates them to continue developing these essential skills.

7. Encourage Problem-Free Zones

Create spaces where your child can go to calm down and reflect when they feel overwhelmed. This could be a cozy corner with soft cushions, a designated chair, or even a special outdoor spot.

8. Foster a Supportive Network

Ensure your child has access to a supportive network of friends, family, and mentors. Knowing they have people they can turn to for advice and encouragement can provide a valuable safety net.

Dealing with Challenging Situations

As you implement these strategies, it's essential to be prepared for challenging situations that may arise. Here are some additional tips for dealing with specific scenarios:

1. Dealing with Public Meltdowns

If your child has a public tantrum, try to remain calm. Gently remove them from the situation if possible. Provide a safe space for them to calm down, and avoid harsh criticism or punishment. Once they've regained composure, engage in a conversation about their feelings.

2. Handling Sibling Conflicts

Siblings often play a significant role in triggering anger. Encourage open communication between siblings and teach them conflict resolution skills. Encourage them to express their feelings and find solutions together, while also setting clear boundaries for respectful behavior.

3. Addressing School-Related Anger

If your child is struggling with anger at school, communicate with their teachers and counselors. They can provide valuable insights and work collaboratively with you to support your child's emotional well-being in an educational setting.

4. Dealing with Peer Pressure

Teach your child assertiveness skills to handle peer pressure. Role-play different scenarios where they may feel pressured and help them develop strategies to assert their own boundaries and make independent decisions.

5. Navigating Transitions

Transitions can be challenging for children, especially when moving from one activity to another. Use visual cues, timers, or countdowns to signal upcoming changes. This helps your child mentally prepare for the transition, reducing potential frustration.

6. Recognizing Triggers

Pay attention to specific situations, people, or environments that consistently trigger your child's anger. Knowing these triggers allows you to proactively plan and implement strategies to help them navigate these situations more effectively.

7. Consistency is Key

Consistency in your approach to anger management is crucial. Children thrive on routine and predictability. By consistently applying the strategies discussed, you provide a stable foundation for them to build their emotional regulation skills.

Celebrating Progress

Remember to acknowledge and celebrate your child's progress, no matter how small. Recognizing their efforts and growth reinforces their confidence and motivation to continue working towards better anger control.

Navigating the path from tantrums to tranquility is a collaborative journey between you and your child. It requires patience, understanding, and a commitment to their emotional well-being. By implementing these strategies and adapting them to your child's unique needs, you lay the groundwork for a future of healthy emotional expression and self-regulation. Remember, you are not alone in this journey, and seeking guidance and support from professionals or support groups can be invaluable. Together, you and your child can forge a path towards lasting tranquility.

#kids #health and wellness

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ashesandhackles · 3 years

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Deconstructing Harry: The boy we meet in Philosopher's Stone to the man in Deathly Hallows

I have often seen fans talk about how nebulous Harry is as a character, especially in the earlier books. They can't make sense of who he is as a character and other more colourful, more actualized personalities take over our attention from any traits Harry might display. Harry becomes more defined for a lot of people OOTP onwards where he displays traits that sometimes make him unbearable or unlikable.

Harry, as we are introduced in PS, has a very little sense of self. He is narratively self deprecating or plays down his presence or skills, not that he is aware he has any. He grew up without any presence of him displayed in the house - no photos, no idea about his parents or what they look like or what really happened to them and discouraged from asking questions. Harry as we meet him is neglected, rootless about his identity and longs for escape. For him, every day is a battle against Dudley, who bullies him or Vernon, thus setting a worldview that never truly goes away: him vs adults. But just because Harry doesn't attach traits or values to self, does not mean he does not have it.

It's an effective narrative tool though - for Harry to be our eyes of the world. Only in later re-readings can we get a grasp of the traits that become more pronounced as books go on. Also, it's not surprising that Harry develops a better sense of self when he is removed from an abusive home.

Let me begin with this:

1. Harry is a fighter

One of the things that struck me in later re-readings is that how much of a fighter Harry is, from the very beginning. He will not lie down and take abuse. The narrative presents it as no big deal, because Harry doesn't assign any importance to it - it's every day life for him.

-Verbal standing up-

See his reaction to Uncle Vernon and the letter fiasco. He stands up for himself, even if it falls on deaf ears. "I want my letter - as it is mine!". Later on, in the same book, a completely befuddled 11 year old Harry stands up to Snape too, but in a politer way: "I think Hermione knows the answer. Why don't you try her?". He gets less polite with Snape as books go on. Harry's humor is something he employs liberally with Dudley when standing up to him - "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick" and we see this trait manifest into the sass we all know and love.

- Fight or flight-

He is remarkably good at "fighting himself out of tight corners" as Snape put it. And although Snape attributes it to luck and more talented friends, he is onto something about Harry's ability to worm out of tight corners. He lives moment to moment in a dangerous situation - relying on his nerve, very fast reflexes and athleticism. He is also able to notice things in an environment that will get him out of a quick pinch. You see this clearly in Department of Mysteries in Book 5 where he comes up with the idea to smash shelves, the mad idea to escape on a dragon, the ministry escape where he manipulates Runcorn's image (as he noticed how people were reacting to him) to create chaos and get the Muggleborns and the trio out, Chamber of Secrets when he instinctively understood the diary is the source of power and stabbed it.

Where does the athleticism and ability to spot dangerous situation come from? This boy has spent a decade cheeking Dudley and running away from his gang, spotting when he needs to get out of the way as "long experience had told him to be out of Uncle Vernon's arms reach" or "ducking when Aunt Petunia aimed a frying pan at his head". The instinct to see a dangerous situation develops over the course of the books in his adventures - to the point Harry unconsciously brings out his wand in Tottenham road without thinking too much about it. He is almost always wary and less quick to lower his wand.

When hiding/ escaping is not an option, Harry is not above physical fighting - despite how small and skinny he is in Book 1. Both he and Dudley fight for a chance to listen at the door when letter first arrives for Harry. Dudley wins the fight. Later on, Harry jumps Uncle Vernon from behind and hangs on to his neck to get his letter. He even does the same thing to the troll in the same book. ( Then over the course of series, we see him beat up Sirius in Book 3, Malfoy in Book 5, strangle Mundungus in Book 6 - all of these are related to his fury over the dead, so different context. But still).

- Manipulation/ Cunning-

11 year old Harry even tries sneakily - waking up early to get his letter (unfortunately didn't work). The other sneaky methods he has employed throughout the series is - not telling Dursleys at end of PS that he is not allowed magic at home, threatens Dudley with it in COS, not telling them Sirius is innocent to play up the threat of a murderous godfather to keep them accountable, and also the smooth way he negotiates with Uncle Vernon for Hogsmeade letter. ("Well it will be hard work, pretending to aunt Marge that I go to St Whatsits" ,"Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her"). He similarly displays his negotiation and playing to what he knows about people with Slughorn in Book 6, Pettigrew in Book 7.

The scene with Slughorn is disturbing, with Harry coercing a drunk Slughorn to give up his memory. You can argue that this is the influence of Felix Felicis, but I think the potion acted more as facilitation. The disturbing way Harry brings up his mother's murder to unnerve Slughorn is his own doing. ("Voldemort stepped over my father's body towards mum" "I forgot - you liked her, didn't you?"). Again, in a life threatening situation, Harry plays to Pettigrew's latent guilt: "You are going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me Wormtail!"

2. Relational justice over abstract justice

Harry's concept of justice is relational and based on his high empathy for the underdog. He notices power dynamic in a situation and empathises with the victim. This is in contrast to Hermione, who has more abstract, bigger picture view of justice. It's no wonder that Hermione is the one who is the most political of the three.

His high empathy for the underdog and needing to stand up for them is because he feels responsiblility that no one should go through what he went through. He stands up for Neville in PS and encourages him to stand up for himself. When he sees his father bullying Snape, it is not about an abstract "this is wrong behavior". Harry goes further: "Harry knew what it felt like to be taunted among a circle of onlookers" , Harry focuses on young Snape's mismatched clothes because he himself knows what it's like to wear clothes that are not yours or ones that make you look ridiculous. His empathy extends to Voldemort too - understanding why he may not want to go back to his orphanage and desire to be in Hogwarts, wondering why Merope wouldn't stay alive for her son, his fixation with Voldemort's maimed soul in King's Cross chapter and later asking Voldemort to feel remorse (" I have seen what you will become otherwise"). Even his reaction to Dobby in COS - "Can't anyone help you? Can't I?" when Dobby talks about his slavery. Hermione is usually seeing the bigger picture, Harry sees the individual.

3. Pathological mistrust of adults

He is less likely of the trio to take an adult at their words or be assured by them when they say they are taking care of things. He has learnt, from a very young age, that he is always expected to take care of himself. And the times he does take things to adult, they consistently disappoint him - by patronising him or acting like he is a child, neither of which he has tolerance for or appreciates. This is why he takes to Sirius and Lupin, who exhibit neither of these communication patterns. In some ways, Mr Weasley too.

Umbridge's abuse of him for him is framed as a battle of wills between her and him, as if he is an equal. And he loses if he complains - "not giving her a satisfaction of knowing she got to me". Harry's worldview has always been - adult vs him.

His inability to trust adults even extends to the ability of adults he likes to look after themselves. While Sirius is understandably a wreck in OOTP, he has by and large followed Dumbledore's orders. This doesn't register with Harry (Ron points it out: "Sirius listens to Dumbledore even though he doesn't like what he hears") and Harry's fears about Sirius, excaberated by Sirius's tendency for recklessness, comes to play.

He even showed similar distrust in Lupin's judgement in taking a potion from Snape in POA ("Harry felt the urge to knock the goblet out of Lupin's hands" and tries to hint at Lupin that Snape will "do anything" for DADA job). And he shows this once again with the most magically powerful wizard he knows - Dumbledore. ("if I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you must do so". Dumbledore has to insist on this before Harry nods reluctantly. It's also Dumbledore's wording, but this is a wizard Harry feels safe with almost entirely because of his power - and yet Harry cannot obey an order like this without reluctance). It's not about Harry's own ability to take care of them - he just innately cannot leave people to it.

4. Humor as a value and coping mechanism

Harry has an established coping mechanism by the time we are introduced to him - quip in the face of danger/ dark humor. There are repeated instances of Harry amusing himself with snarky comments in his head when things are really bad for him. Like in PS, when they are in the hut, Harry wonders if the roof will fall in and then thought that if it did fall in, he might be warmer. In the earlier books (before his growth), he seems to value Ron over Hermione simply because he is more "fun". Harry enjoys being around funny people like Ron, Weasley twins, later Ginny simply because there is some dark stuff happening with him and he needs "fun" people for semblance of normalcy, escape. In fact, this desire is so strong, he attaches it to his romantic relationships: Ginny is a "blissful oblivion" and times with her are "something out of someone else's life". His relationship with Cho failed because her coping mechanism is discussing her trauma and Harry's is escaping it.

-dealing with conflict with people he likes, small digression-

A part of his growing up in later books includes valuing Hermione as much he values Ron and we see it in display in HBP, where he is more willing to stand up for her to Ron (something he kind of did more quietly before in POA - "can't you give her a break?" ) and also get confrontational with her instead of using Ron as a buffer between them to fend off her more boisterous/ bossy tendencies. ("let him make up his mind" "skip the lecture" "don't nag" - Ron took the heat in earlier books. In HBP, Harry is more willing to be irritable with her in a day-to-day interaction - "I hope you enjoy yourself" he tells Hermione when she states her intention to investigate Half Blood Prince. Or when she tests the book - "Finished? Or do you want to see if it does backflips?" "Do you have rub it in Hermione, how do you think I feel now?" at the end of HBP. ) In OOTP, his best method to deal with her when she bothers him was lying, avoiding her nagging and if that doesn't work, explode and treat her to display of his temper. There is more to explore here, of course - even with regard to how he deals with Mrs Weasley in Book 4, 5 and the difference of him hugging her in Book 7.

5. Fascination with the dead/ a passive death wish

Harry feels remarkably little sense of betrayal knowing that he was set up to die by Dumbledore. His self sacrificing streak is rooted in his love, yes, but I also think Harry is a little bit too fascinated by death, not surprising considering most people he loved are dead. Him wanting the resurrection stone in DH, him obsessively spending time at Mirror of Erised (to the point he feels feverish and Ron thinking he looks strange) until Dumbledore stops him, him almost wanting to fail to learn a Patronus because he wants to hear his parents voice, the hearing of whispering voices in the Veil in OOTP which only Luna could hear apart from him, the scene at the grave where he almost wishes he was "lying under the snow" with his parents, the possession scene in the book of OOTP has him wishing to die so he can be with Sirius. You can almost argue the Harry has, in many moments, shown raw desire of death. In fact, him choosing to let go of the stone and not go looking for it is a big character decision for him.

I also want to address Harry's temper and how that develops over course of series, the implications of understanding the people he loved and put on pedestal are flawed - but I am afraid this post is already way too long. So I will leave that for some time later.

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ghostietea · 3 years

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Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

#fruits basket #akito sohma #tohru honda #saki hanajima #machi kuragi #hatsuharu sohma #actually autistic #meta

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

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The Fall of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Heavy Suspense, Language, Adult Themes, Violence, Gambling, Drinking

♢ Word Count: 6.5k

☆ A/N: No joke, this took me about two years to conceptualize. Two freaking years. But I can 100% say it was worth it to write every word. This is by far one of my most creative works and I love that I get to finally share it with you all. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading!

You couldn’t help but notice and admire how pretty the sky appeared when it was tinged in the auroral haze of an autumn morning and backdropped by the twinkling glass panes of New York’s notorious skyscrapers. Though autumn’s end isn’t for a couple of weeks, the lukewarm season allowed Manhattan a preview of winter’s frigid air. The city's constant roar hummed down to a distant lullaby as you walked up the steps and in through the doors of the Metropolitan Detention Center.

It’s an impressively modern building, one you’ve become intimately familiar with in the past couple of years. Everything inside screams order, from the plain white, bleach-scented linoleum floors to the rows upon rows of caged boxes containing a range of one-time offenders, serial criminals, and constant jailbirds. The first time you ever entered the establishment, it struck you just how much the atmosphere felt devoid and depraved, almost as if hope and happiness got stopped, frisked, and turned away at the door. You never liked staying more than necessary.

None of the four guards stationed along the main lobby walls paid you any attention as you marched up to the reception desk. Their inattention didn’t spawn out of contempt but out of fear. They knew who you were here for.

The receptionist, on the other hand, wouldn’t care if the Queen of England herself hop-scotched through the front entrance, bowed, and bestowed him the coveted Royal Crown on a jewel-encrusted platter.

He certainly never took an interest in your frequent visits. The first time you set foot into this building, a bright-eyed attorney anxious to speak with her first client, the oaf of a man merely grunted at your carefully constructed introductions and waved you off like a pesky fly. On a typical day, your exchange of words consisted of him curtly asking you to state your business while he half-listened to your response and stabbed at his keyboard with blunt fingers. Detaching his gaze from the monitor might have required exhaustion of his half-assed energy.

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

Most of your ordinary clients got shipped to this facility and locked up with the rest of the inmates until you picked up their case. Unlike this particular client you planned on springing today, those other men lacked the say-so to determine their cell. None of them came close to his status. They didn’t have the power nor the money to hire a personal attorney, and none of their crimes could ever match those of the calculated, cunning man who controlled all New York's avenues and boulevards.

In the streets, he’s known as Deus. Depending on how close you are in his circle, he's either Parker or Pete. The name in the system is Peter Benjamin Parker. Your fiancé.

| Last Evening |

“Stop fidgeting with your collar, Peter.”

“This fucking bowtie keeps… shit… it keeps choking me.” He growled out his frustration. “I’m going to fire that damn stylist.”

You threw him an exasperated glare as he ripped off the accessory. “Maybe if you hadn’t told him to pick any old bowtie, you wouldn’t be whining so much.”

“Remind me again why you're forcing me to wear this, anyway?” He paused for effect, placing his hand under his chin like Rodin’s The Thinker, and then snapped his fingers in dramatic realization. “Oh, right! Because Stark is a pretentious asshole, who thinks tuxedos are mandatory at all events thrown in his honor.”

Peter may hate the idea of wearing a formal tuxedo for the whole night, but you were going to enjoy every last minute of him in that attire, mainly because he resembles a model who stepped right off the page of a GQ cover. The low-lighting in this limousine certainly did its best to heighten your mood, highlighting the sharp angles of Peter’s clenched jaw. You’d have to remember to send Pepper a Thank You basket for planning the event as Black Tie.

“Can you at least pretend to get along with Tony tonight?” To see if his jaw could tighten any further, you coyly add, “He is the new Governor of New York, after all.”

Mission accomplished. Peter leaned his head back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, the light that glinted off of his platinum Rolex creating a scattered array of lights against the black leather seats. You pried your eyes off the extension of his neck as he spoke. “Great,” he huffed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. A gloating Stark who’s now legally duty-bound to hound my ass. One more thing to think about.”

As the limo pulled up to a slow halt in front of the Plaza Hotel, you grabbed one of Peter’s hands and held it until his eyes met yours. You gave him a reassuring smile and said, “Everything’s going to be alright, baby.”

The driver opened the door before Peter could speak and held out his gloved hand for you. You’ve been to the Plaza Hotel on many occasions, mostly business, and yet the sight of the château-styled building at night, with its myriad of lit windows and its luxurious lobby never ceased to leave you breathless. The view effectually took your gaze away from Peter’s tux, but not for long. The moment he stepped out of the limo, bathed in the golden light of the building, you felt transfixed all over again.

Peter discreetly tipped the driver and then turned to face you, clearly not as impressed with the Plaza Hotel as you were. He placed his warm hands on the swells of your hips and pulled you in front of him. His eyes appraised you, from your stiletto heels to your tight-fitted, off the shoulder evening dress, traveling up to your chunky Senegalese twists elegantly laid over your shoulder. He let out a low whistle and said, “If looks could kill…”

You straightened his collar and opened up the top button of his gingham dress shirt for both your sakes, then swiftly leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Parker.”

He wolfishly grinned as you quickly detached yourself from his borderline caressing hold. You knew he’d want more than a short kiss, but you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked tonight.

“Behave,” you chided.

“And if I don’t, future Mrs. Parker?” he prodded, a huskiness in his tone that sent a delicious shiver through you. His steps slowly brought him closer and closer to where you stood, and you weren’t sure if you’d have the will power to move away again. One proper kiss wouldn’t hurt…

A disembodied voice groaned in your ear. “Book a room!”

Peter chuckled unabashedly. “Sorry, Ned.” Though he tried to appear unaffected, Peter made an effort to clear his throat and tugged at his collar. “You ready on your end?”

“Yeah. Mic’s clear. Computer’s up and running. I’m all set. Can’t say the same for you two.”

You glance accusingly at Peter, who waggled his eyebrows at you. “We’re ready. Sorry about that. You know how Peter gets when I wear twists.”

Ned verbally shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still refuse to sit on my couch, by the way, even after washing it four times! You owe me a new couch, dude. For my trauma.”

Peter half-heartedly grinned at the ground and said, “Dude, if we pull this off, I’ll buy you a whole new furniture set.” The one half of his grin faded away, replaced with a grim line of determination and sobriety. “Where’s he at?”

A few clicks rang through your ear-piece, then Ned replied, “Not far. About twenty minutes away, on Queens Boulevard in Elmhurst. Might be a while before he reaches the Plaza, though. There’s a jam on the bridge.”

“Cool, thanks. Keep us updated.” Peter didn’t want you to catch his expression, but you didn’t need to directly see it to realize he’s in business mode, cold and calculated, little to no warmth or playfulness left in his brown eyes.

Copying your move, he took your hand and held it until you both stared at each other. Briefly, with your eyes locked in place, he searched for any sliver of doubt, giving you one last option to ditch and save face while he executes the plan solo. You did not doubt that he and Ned could somehow pull it off without so much as a hiccup. Odds always work in Peter’s favor. For the past three years that you’ve known him, he’s never lost a gamble. Tonight, though, the gamble must include you, a new piece to his complicated game—a variable. If anything were to head south, the last thing Peter would want is to implicate you.

You understood the risks: the potential loss of your career, your squeaky clean record, and possibly your life. You wouldn’t be here, with him of all people, if you didn’t trust the plan. So you didn’t sway, letting your eyes confirm where you stood on the matter. I’m sticking with you. This exchange passed in absolute silence, ending with a small nod and a lingering kiss to your palm.

It’s always surprising to see Peter without a trace of humor or good-nature in his eyes. It took you a while to acclimate to his night and day demeanor and even longer to trust which emotions were real and which served a purpose. As he slides a cocky smile back onto his face, one that graces every part of his features, and holds out his arm for you, you knew. He’s in his element.

The game’s begun.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Not even five seconds into the Terrace Room and your jaw hit the floor. Pepper sure knows how to out-do herself.

The room displayed the same historic French charm as the outside façade, but much more grand, decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, large stone semicircular archways, and classical art adorning the ceilings. Somehow, Pepper’s touch of cream-colored table cloths, bouquets of immaculate white peonies, golden napkins, and floating candle holders added the perfect ambiance for Tony’s celebration.

True to his fashion.

The Man of the Hour is currently giving his speech at the head table as the Maître D’ checks your reservation and prompts a server to escort you and Peter to your table. It’s located not too far away from Tony's, near a stone wall and a divider separating the other tables. You weren’t entirely familiar with the three people who were already seated, but they graciously offered quiet nods of welcome. Peter grabbed your chair for you and smoothly pushed you in before taking his seat next to you while you strained to catch the last bits of Tony’s speech.

“… and I can truly say that without you, my amazing colleagues, friends, and organizers present tonight, this win would not have been possible. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And um, yeah. Thank you, all.” Tony lifted his champagne flute into the air with a flourish and a winning grin. Peter rolled his eyes. “Here’s to an awesome four years as New York’s new Governor.”

Everyone stood up to give him a round of applause, Peter’s claps more grudging than encouraging, but you were glad he put in some effort. When he looked your way, you flashed him a loving smile and mouthed Thank you. He rolled his eyes again, playfully this time, and quirked his mouth up in an amused grin.

Live music picked up as soon as Tony took his seat, soft jazz that blended well with the onslaught of muffled chatter and clinks of silverware against glass plates. Servers incrementally brought out the main course of roasted beef filet dressed in tomato tarragon sauce and a side of arugula salad. Peter stifled a chuckle as he heard your stomach growl when a server placed the plate of food in front of you.

As another server leaned in to pour you a glass of wine, you held out a hand and gave him a polite smile. “No, thank you. May I just have some water, please?”

The young man nodded, but Peter piped up before he could head off. “Got anything stronger back there? Bacardi? Whiskey? Rum?”

“We have Vodka, sir,” the server stuttered out.

“Excellent. I’ll take a whole bottle of that,” Peter grinned and pressed a couple of $100 bills into the man’s palm. Peter’s effect on people never got tiring to witness. He and the server appear to be around the same age, somewhere near the 25-year mark, yet Peter's vibe reduced the server to stutters. You’d say the tux assisted with his air of importance, but you’ve seen Peter have that same effect on businessmen while wearing a shirt that read “I lost an electron. Are you positive?” and plaid pajama bottoms.

The server vigorously nodded. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t drink too much,” you cautioned in a tone low enough for only Peter’s ears. “You know how you get, and I don’t want Tony to have an excuse to place cuffs on you.”

Peter scoffed and mumbled around a bite of salad, “If I looked at him wrong, Tony would cuff me.”

“Now that’s a little presumptuous, ain’t it, Petey?”

You jumped up from your seat and wrapped Tony up in a hug he warmly returned. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, Governor Stark.”

Tony waved a hand, yet a big smile remained plastered on his face. “Ah, come on. It was bound to happen. Policy is the new name of the game, but I’ll sure miss that courtroom. You missy, on the other hand, deserve all the praise in the world. Best and youngest attorney in the whole state. Mentored by yours truly.” He trailed off, glancing in Peter’s general direction. “Though I question why you waste your talents on the likes of him.”

Now sitting ramrod straight in his chair, Peter slanted his eyes toward yours as you silently pleaded with him to be cordial. Once he brought his eyes back to Tony, he jerked up his chin in recognition. “Stark.”

Tony nodded at Peter. “Baby-faced Criminal.”

“Hey, now!” Pepper swooped in, pulling Tony back a little so she could see you better. “Just look at you! Always a beauty in everything you wear,” she gushed, then put on a stern face for Tony and Peter. “No roughhousing, tonight, boys. I mean it.”

“I was just making a valid critique on my star pupil's decision to become the Personal Attorney to a well-known arms dealer, is all,” Tony defended. He threw up his hands and drew up an innocent expression that might have worked had it not looked so derisive.

Pepper, pursing her lips, nodded sagely. “Right. Okay. So you were being an ass?”

“Pep!” Tony protested incredulously. Peter didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smirk.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Oil and water can never mix, no matter how hard you try. No, Tony did not take the news of you becoming Peter’s PA well, and he’s made sure to rake you over the coals bout it every time the chance arises. You’ve been Peter’s attorney coming up on two years, and there’s not a sign from either of them that the grudge will ever be let go, not even for your sake, though they do try when threatened.

“I want you two to say something nice to each other and then let the rest of the night go on in peace. Go ahead,” Pepper ordered, indicating for Tony to go first.

Tony took in an excessive amount of air, then puffed it out. “Alright, Parker. Um… I like how you ostensibly don’t know the rules to a Black Tie Event.” He ended with a gesture to Peter’s lack of a bowtie. The poor thing lies in a mangled heap on the floor of the limousine.

Peter ticked up his eyebrow. “I like how the stick up your ass seems to reach new heights every time we speak, Stark.”

Pepper sighed and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. Come on, you. There are many more guests to greet.” She tugged him along, throwing you an apologetic smile over her slim shoulder as they walked away.

Almost out of earshot, you could hear Tony say, “He calls himself Deus, for Christ's sake!”

They left you two in heated silence. Peter refused to meet your glare, instead choosing to chug down the freshly set out champagne flute filled with Vodka. He immediately flushed as he poured himself another glass full.

“Peter—” you started.

“Don’t say it. I tried, alright?” He slumped against the back of his seat, then shot you a surly frown. “You didn’t even mention our engagement to him. Again.”

You looked down at your untouched food, suddenly not hungry.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Were you ever going to tell him?”

An anchor of guilt plummeted to the pit of your stomach, chasing away the desire to eat anything for the next few hours. Your answer came out sounding whittled and nearly swallowed by the music. “Pepper knows.”

“And that tells me all I need to know,” said Peter, pushing away from the table and taking the bottle of Vodka with him.

You tried to stamp down the rise of startled panic by clearing your throat and evenly asking, “Where are you going?” A high octave managed to slip in on the last word.

“To socialize. Play some cards. Place a few bets. Criminal stuff. You want in?” He didn’t wait for you to answer, moving further and further away as a wave of hot anger replaced your shame. “Oh, my bad. Sorry. I forgot you probably don’t want your mentor seeing you ruin your perfect image with, what was it? The likes of me?”

He swaggered off, not a mere hint of his hurt evident in his show of arrogance.

You gingerly sat back in your seat, careful to ignore the inquiring stares from those who caught most of the argument. Your nails came close to puncturing your palms, and if your jaw clamped any tighter, it would snap. An annoying, persistent inner voice chimed out, He’s right, you know. It was probably Ned.

You understood Peter enough to know that Tony not being clued in on your engagement wounded him. He told everyone in his life about you—told Aunt May the second you finally agreed to go on that first date with him, nearly shouted to all the rooftops in Queens “SHE SAID YES!” when he proposed three months ago. Yet here you are, dragging your heels on telling Tony, one of the most influential people in your life, that you’re marrying the love of your life. He wouldn’t understand. Or, rather, he would, and he’d abhor your decision.

You’re not sure you could ever explain to Tony how Peter is your favorite star in the night sky. A big, glowing ball of light you spend hours upon hours admiring and appreciating. One that just burns brighter than all the rest.

Your engagement ring sparkled at you, winking as you moved it side to side and marveled at the simple yet elegant details of the inlaid sapphires and diamonds. Peter told you he picked it out a week before the proposal, but you knew he carried it around in his pocket for months, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When he asked, you couldn’t say yes fast enough. At that moment, Tony and his aversion to Peter never crossed your mind, but it’s lingered ever since.

Guilt returned as a salve for your anger.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a woman sitting at your table, a slight accent in her voice. She appears to be young, almost too young to be at this function. The glimmer in her eye and the hitch in her smile denoted a wise person. Goddess braids sat on top of her head like a crown, and she’s wearing a simple black dress with pearl studs that nicely accentuates her dark brown skin.

You uncurled your hands and blew out a held-in breath, kindly smiling back. “Something like that.”

She held out a hand. “Shuri Udaku.”

That name came with an inkling of recognition, but you couldn’t quite place it. You shook hands with the young woman, giving her your name. When you momentarily looked at your clasped hands, your eyes dropped down to catch the jewelry on her wrist. They weren’t pearls like her earrings. They were onyx and emblazoned with ivory symbols on each bead: Kimoyo beads, a technological revolution currently sweeping the nation, manufactured only by one woman. The realization hit you hard. “Hold on a second. The Shuri Udaku? Founder of Vibranium Tech, Shuri Udaku?”

“The one and only,” she answered, her smile growing wider.

This confirmation launched you into a field of questions and acknowledgments. It turns out she knows of your work as New York’s youngest attorney, but you know a bit more about her line of work because Peter always voiced his interest in her growing business. On the surface, Vibranium Tech is like any other technology company, issuing out new and improved ways of communication and medical treatment. In the underground, there’s been rumors of her interest in creating weapons—technological weapons unlike any the arms dealing business has seen before.

You didn’t want to bring up that facet of knowledge just yet. The normal conversation worked wonders on you, loosening your tense muscles and clamped jaw, all of them singing sweet relief once your body naturally released the tension.

“So, did I hear Tony correctly when he said your partner is the Deus?”

You winced and found yourself searching the room for a glimpse of your fiancé. He’s commandeered a table in the back of the venue, showing off his black and gold deck of playing cards to a group of interested guests itching to play a hand.

“Yeah, that would be him.”

“That’s so badass,” Shuri mused, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is he like the mob bosses in TV shows and movies? Like does he have henchmen? Bad-temper? High-speed car chases with the police?”

You genuinely laughed. “Not exactly. Henchmen, kind of. Bad temper is rare. And he’d never shut up about having a high-speed car chase with the police. No, he’s a little more lowkey than all that.”

Long ago, back when you were innocent to the life Peter led, you assumed that that’s precisely what it entailed—an exhilarating life of high stakes, exorbitant amounts of money, strong-armed goons, and reckless shoot-outs. That might be the case for a few bosses, but not Peter. He’s too strategic, and the ins-and-outs of his trade are too complicated to pin on just one person.

“Well, I, um…” she stopped, considered her words. You unconsciously drew in closer. “I may have a business offer for him.”

You kept your smile on, but it felt more commercial-like than friendly. “What type of offer?”

Shuri gulped down a generous amount of her red wine, then darted her eyes side to side before speaking lowly. “Would he be interested in high powered weapons?”

You raised your eyebrows but kept up your cool front. “Depends. In exchange for what?”

“Protection.”

A voice in your ear announced, “He’s here.”

You ignored it, focusing on Shuri. “From who?”

Shuri peeked around again to make sure no one paid any attention to your private conversation, but her examination stopped at the entrance. “From him.”

You cautiously slid your eyes to the main entrance, heart hammering a thunderous rhythm in your chest.

Brock Rumlow. Peter's rival and leader of a group named the Scorpions. A peddler/enforcer for the East Coast's largest mob: Hydra. Of course he’d try to pressure Shuri for the weapons.

He didn’t come dressed according to the occasion, opting for his usual tight-fitted black Tee and gray tactical pants. The visible half of his tattoo, a scorpion’s tail curling out from the cuff of his shirt, stood out against his tan skin. Two other men stood behind him, wearing almost identical clothes to Rumlow and sporting the same scorpion tattoo on their right bicep, not exactly hiding that they carried concealed weapons. All the voices in the room hollowed out to stiff silence, and even the band took its cue to halt. Your eyes found Tony in time to see his jaw tick for the briefest moment, and then he slid right back into a restrained version of his good cheer.

“Hey, hey! This is still a party, people,” Tony called out, addressing the guests. “Eat, talk, have a good time.” He signaled to the band to pick up the music, then crossed the room to chat with Rumlow. You’ve never seen him so keyed up.

You touched Shuri’s hand comfortingly, not taking your eyes off Rumlow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She deflated gratefully. “Thank you.”

You nodded, already out of your seat and rushing to the back of the room, stopping short once you arrived at Peter’s table. He’s thoroughly invested in this round of poker, glancing back and forth from his cards to the nervous twitches of the five men and one woman at the table. You recognized four of them: Judge Nicholas Fury, Lieutenant Steve Rogers, Manhattan’s Chief of Police Sam Wilson, and District Attorney Natasha Romanoff. Sweat is perspiring on Steve’s forehead, Sam’s leg can’t stop bouncing up and down, and even Natasha, a woman known for keeping her cool while in the line of fire, is chewing on her lower lip. Fury's not fazed. He just seems tapped out.

From what you can estimate, about six hundred dollars lies in the middle of the table.

Sam and Steve speak at the same time. “I’m out.”

The other men followed suit, muttering their defeat. Fury dropped his cards down on the table facedown.

Peter wickedly grinned, zeroing in on Natasha. “Got any last words?”

Natasha squinted her eyes at his taunt. “Kiss my ass, Parker.” She put her cards down face up, showing her hand, and quirked up an eyebrow that dared him to top that: three Queens and a pair of twos. Full House.

Peter laid down his hand. Four 3’s and an ace. Four of a Kind.

A chorus of fucks circled the group as Peter cleared the table of the crumpled bills. Two new bottles of opened Vodka sit on the table as well, along with seven shot-glasses. Steve’s glass remains untouched, but the others look like they’ve drained two shots each.

“Bucky’s gonna kill me for losing so much money,” Steve muttered, twirling around his wedding band.

Sam sadly shook his head. “Dammit, man. I thought we had him this time, too.” He eyed Peter with suspicion. “What you got, kid? X-Ray vision?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, causing a few curls to escape its sleek style. “Nah, jus’ luck.”

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping your luck runs out,” said Fury, raising his shot glass and slamming it back.

You inched closer to Peter’s side. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes are glazed over. You wonder how he’s even capable of sitting up, let alone playing people out of their money.

“Peter,” you whispered, putting your hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t shake you off. “Rumlow’s here.”

The remaining people at the table began to disperse in a collective gripe of loss. Peter didn’t say anything, only jerked his head in acknowledgment.

Your hand itched to slap him back into reality. “Peter, baby, listen. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I should have told Tony about our engagement.” Desperation sapped into your words. “It was stupid and childish not to, and as soon as I get the chance, I’ll tell him. But for the love of God, this is not the time to—”

“Well, well, well! Look who we got here! Deus, in the flesh!” boomed a disturbingly baritone voice. Rumlow, shadowed by his two men, plopped down in one of the empty chairs, sitting right across from Peter. He glanced at Peter first, then languorously landed his gaze on you. “And who’s this pretty lady you got here?”

“My fiancée,” answered Peter monotonously. He said it as if the words synonymously meant: just some chick. A dull kind of ache slashed through your chest as you dropped your hand back down to your side and took two steps away from him.

Rumlow pretended to miss the interaction, appearing to be in deep thought, and then clapped his hands once. “Oh! The attorney. I don’t believe I ever formally introduced myself.” He offered his large hand to you, grinning with his whole teeth on display. “Name’s Brock Rumlow.”

You reluctantly let him take your outstretched hand. His skin is blazing hot, to the point where your hand nearly felt suffocated. He brought it to his lips for a small kiss that twisted your stomach in knots. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rumlow.”

Rumlow winked. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. And call me Brock.”

“Fuck do you want, Rumlow?” Peter bit out, picking the cards up off the table and shuffling them.

“Ooh,” tsked Rumlow. He made sure to lay another grin on you just to irk Peter. “Come on, Parker. Can’t a guy just enjoy some company once in a while? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.” He watched Peter’s movements, the cards haphazardly sliding back and forth from one hand to the next. “Playing cards, huh? You up for a quick game?”

You butt in with a pressed laugh. “Actually, we were just leaving.” Drunk Peter is overly confident. If Rumlow found that out, you knew he’d take Peter for everything he’s worth.

“So soon?” Rumlow glanced down at his watch. “It’s not even ten yet. What’s the rush?”

Peter cut you off. “No rush. I’m staying. You play Draw Poker?”

“ ‘Course I play Draw Poker, but that seems too simple for you, Parker. Don’t you wanna make it hard for me? A little Texas Hold ’em?”

“Draw Poker,” said Peter, splitting the deck against the table and flexing the cards enough to have them rapidly collapse into place. “Take it or leave it.”

A dark, mischievous smile brewed on Rumlow’s face as he watched Peter fumble with the deck and, at some point, entirely losing his grip. You discreetly watched him size up his opponent, dismayed to find that he likes the assessment. Hair is stubbornly falling into Peter’s eyes, eyes that anyone a mile away could point out are bleary and bloodshot. The flush from earlier deepened on his neck and flashed scarlet across his face—an easy target for a skilled player.

“Deal me in.”

The first game played out exactly as you feared it would. Rumlow and Peter agreed on a $100 ante to get the ball rolling, both pulling out a single bill from their pocket and placing it in the middle of the table, then they settled for a pot-limit. Though Peter’s shuffling skills lacked his usual finesse, he expertly dealt each of them a hand of five cards.

You leaned against the back wall with your arms crossed over your chest and watched the game unfold. Rumlow processes his hands at the speed of a bullet, snapping his eyes to his cards once he’s drawn, and immediately discards the ones he doesn’t like when it’s his turn. Other than the minutest crinkle in the corner of his left eye, you couldn’t tell when he felt confident or when he bluffed. He gave nothing away, not even an involuntary scratch to his five o’clock shadow. He was so in the zone he began to partake in the Vodka bottle close to his side of the table, swigging straight from the mouth.

On the other hand, Peter moved as if a millisecond was the equivalent length of ten years, scanning his cards more than several times with pursed lips, looking up at Rumlow, scanning his cards again, once, twice, three times, then reluctantly discarding some. He frequently shoves a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyesight, but the same unruly strands find their way back to impede his vision. He scratches the shell of his ear when he’s about to draw, and Rumlow’s picked up the tell.

Rumlow never even had to do more than call. The confident drunk in Peter always raised.

The pot increased to about $1400 before Peter folded his hand.

As Rumlow collected his winnings, he suggestively lifted his eyebrows at Peter. “Care for round 2?”

Confident drunk Peter never backs down, even when he’s the dumbass who can’t remember that he’s brought fists to a gunfight.

You step back up to the table and put a restrictive hand on Peter’s wrist to keep him from picking up the cards. “Enough, Peter. You’re done. Let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not done,” he said, snatching his arm away from your touch. “Go talk to Tony or somethin’. I’ve got this.”

Rumlow caught your bewildered stare and shrugged his broad shoulders, a gesture that didn’t match his cocky smile. He has Peter right where he wants him, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him because Peter is a willing participant running on alcohol and no critical judgment.

You should have left right then and there, but your feet stayed rooted to the floor. You couldn’t leave Peter like this. Sighing, you pulled up a chair to the table and sat beside Peter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on him,” said Rumlow, putting on a smile too sardonic to be comforting. Too artificial to be genuine.

His lie didn’t surprise you. The hole Peter dug himself did.

The second round went similarly to the first. Flash decisions from Rumlow and molasses-like contemplation from Peter. This time, though, the ante came up to $200. As far as you knew, Peter is only carrying about $2500 in his pockets.

By the time the fourth round started, Peter’s Rolex lies on the table. The ante is up to $1000. Somehow the pot-limit became no-limit.

By the fifth round, Peter made paperless bets. Ante is $10,000. Rumlow knew Peter’s pockets went deep, and he’d keep at it until he struck gold.

Nothing you said stopped him. Peter hadn’t won a single hand. He’s desperate for at least one good hand; he’s got something to prove.

Rumlow kept drinking with each win.

By the seventh round, a crowd is around the table, watching in horrified interest as Peter raises the bet to one million dollars. The most significant amount you’ve ever seen him bet. So far, he’s held this hand for three draws.

Peter’s hair lost all semblance of its previous style, hanging over his forehead in disarray. He’s hunched over in his chair, his jacket’s off, and he’s rolled up his dress shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. His group’s signature tattoo stands out stark against his inner wrist: a roughly sketched spider.

Rumlow, eyes now as bloodshot as Peter’s and face just as flushed under his tan skin, asks, “Think you got something, Parker?”

“Do you?” Peter countered.

“I just might.” Rumlow ran a finger against his bottom lip, then smiled at his hand. “Why don’t you say we make this last Showdown a little more interesting, eh?”

A terrible queasiness wrapped around your gut.

Peter listened intently, his silence Rumlow’s indication to continue.

“$10 million. And the best trading routes. Including foreign connections. I want everything you got.”

You turned to Peter, placing your hand on top of his until he finally looked at you. Your eyes begged him to listen to you for once tonight. “Please don’t do this.”

His reply sounded tortured. “But I can. I have to.”

“Is winning really worth losing everything?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rumlow chuckled ominously. “Oh, that’s not everything, sweetheart. We both know what’s left.” He gave you a meaningful stare.

Your eyes widened in disgust.

Peter snapped his gaze to Rumlow. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“No, but I want her. Imagine having New York’s best attorney in my arsenal. How many charges has she saved your sorry ass from, Parker? Five? All felonies, right? You lucky son of a bitch.” Rumlow’s smile is sinister. “Not that lucky tonight, huh?”

Peter spoke through gritted teeth. “Back off, Rumlow.”

“To have Deus wrapped around her finger, she must be pretty damn good. Is she, Parker?” goaded Rumlow, ignoring Peter’s warning. “Is she any good?”

Instinct controlled your hands as they seized Peter’s cards before he launched himself over the table and landed an ear-splitting blow to Rumlow’s jaw. Rumlow must’ve known the punch was coming. Still, he hadn’t expected the impact to be that forceful because his eyes blinked in astonishment. The two men behind Rumlow didn’t react fast enough, missing Peter as he stood above Rumlow, grabbed the handgun hidden in the waist of his pants and pressed the muzzle deep into Rumlow’s temple, finger on the trigger.

Rumlow shifted his eyes up to Peter. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Peter’s voice is lethally calm. “Say one more goddamn word about her and you’re dead.”

“Put that gun down, Parker!”

Tony. Shit.

Peter squared his jaw, never taking his eyes off of Rumlow. About six off-duty policemen and the venue’s guards have their weapons trained on Peter.

“I said put the gun down! Now!” Tony had pushed his way through the crowd, Sam and Steve right behind him. You didn’t notice until now how quiet the room became, everyone holding in a collective breath.

“Put it down, son,” Steve gently ordered. He spied Rumlow’s men, their hands tightened on their guns, and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

Peter didn’t move a muscle. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath.

Sam, holding a pair of cuffs in his hand, tried getting through to him. “It’s over. Drop the gun, kid.”

A slow grin spread across Rumlow’s face.

“Peter,” you spoke softly.

His red-rimmed eyes met yours.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Just put the gun down, okay? Please.”

Two heartbeats passed before his grip on the gun slackened, and he begrudgingly lowered his arm.

Steve and Sam seized on the opportunity. Steve disarmed Peter while Sam restrained Peter’s arms behind his back and tightened the cuffs around his wrists.

Rumlow massaged his injured jaw. “Guess that means I win, Parker.”

Sam yanked Peter back before he could charge at Rumlow. When Peter looked your way, he saw you still held his cards. “I’m still in play.”

“Wait,” you protested. Sam began to guide Peter up to the entrance. “Peter, I can’t—”

He nodded his head furiously, talking over his shoulder as Sam lead him away. “Yes, you can. You know you can, baby. Play the hand.”

You stared helplessly at Peter’s retreating form. It was all on you.

Rumlow watched, unperturbed; his cards still held tight in the hand that wasn’t nursing his jaw.

Slowly, you lowered yourself down into Peter’s chair, sitting directly across from Rumlow’s smirking face. Tony stared at you incredulously. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. The room’s chatter never recovered, either. All eyes stay glued towards the standoff.

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #mob!peter parker #peter parker au #mob!au #marvel fanfic #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #black female reader #the fall of deus #peter parker x black reader #black reader

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syn0vial · 3 years

Note

important question number 3 what do you have on boba and sintas vel 👀 - lekkui

i have... some things! honestly, i wish sintas’s portrayal had been a little more solid in the EU. it varied wildly between writers and in certain comics, she had little more characterization than “beautiful, tough bounty hunter chick.” i hope if they revisit her in new canon, they give her a more nuanced, more consistent depiction. also i’ll be ignoring said comics for the purposes of this post bc it’s my blog and i’m too sleepy for salt right now

but yes, onto the bullet points!

for those unaware, sintas vel was a female kiffar bounty hunter who boba tried to start a new life with when they were teenagers. they both got out of the bounty hunting game and settled down on concord dawn, where they got married and had a daughter, ailyn. boba was 16 and sintas was 18 at the time.

one of the things i find most interesting about the two of them, especially when they were teenagers: ailyn was consistently the more logical and level-headed of the two of them, while boba was always more emotional and impulsive. tragically, it’s this impulsivity that leads boba to fuck up so badly and, ironically, to transform into the emotionally detached asshole we know later on.

but yeah, this dichotomy is seen pretty early on in a flashback-by-proxy, in which we learn that the whole romantic run-away-together-and-get-married-and-start-a-new-life-somewhere-far-away plan? 100% BOBA’S IDEA.

in particular, we get the briefest snippet of an exchange where boba is trying his hardest to convince sintas that this would be a good idea. and, no exaggeration, it goes like:

sintas: “i mean, it’s kind of very obvious that you don’t know what you’re doing--” boba: “THINGS I KNOW: YOU’RE GOOD AT SHOOTING THINGS. YOU’RE PRETTY??? I TRUST YOU A LOT. see this is a good idea :)”

TEENAGE BOBA FETT: PURE OF HEART, DUMB OF ASS

anyway, boba fett and noted-morosexual sintas vel make their way to concord dawn. here’s some things we know about their relationship before everything went to shit:

nicknames! they referred to each other with the first syllable of each others’ names: bo and sin. very cute :)

they got married using a traditional mandalorian wedding vow. neither of them had any idea what the mando’a meant, bless their hearts.

as a marriage token, boba gave sintas a small red heart-of-fire gemstone tied on a simple leather cord. it was the best he could afford which, at the time, wasn’t much. however, it had significance to sintas as a kiffar; kiffars are near-humans whose members possess an unusually high occurrence rate of telemetry, or the ability to read memories from objects. heart-of-fire gemstones were said to be among the best for storing such memories.

SHIPPY FIC WRITERS TAKE NOTE. three words to describe boba in a committed relationship: PROTECTIVE. AS. HELL. absolutely unwilling to tolerate so much as a dirty look towards sintas. maybe even a little paranoid. kind of understandable given how much grief he’d already endured in his short life.

it didn’t save them

ok, fair warning, here’s the point where shit gets traumatic, so if you want to know nothing but the relatively happy stuff, STOP READING HERE. also, CWs for manipulation, sexual assault, murder, and imprisonment, bc nobody in this canon is allowed to be happy :(

last chance to turn back!

ok. onto the traumatic shit.

so! boba and sintas are doing fine. operation stop-being-teenaged-bounty-hunters-and-try-to-pass-for-normal is going pretty well! not only do they have their own functional little family unit, but boba has a job as a journeyman protector. basically think of them as like. mando frontier lawmen. and on top of that, boba has been taken under the wing of his superior officer and son of a local magistrate, lenovar.

we don’t know much about lenovar (like, is that his first or his last name, for example...) but we know that boba and sintas trusted him and that boba in particular looked up to him as both a friend and mentor.

however, lenovar was not what he seemed. once he had the young couple’s trust, he managed to get sintas alone and raped her.

in the aftermath, sintas performed some brutally pragmatic mental calculus: lenovar was a high-ranking journeyman protector and son of a magistrate. she and boba were two struggling teenagers with a baby, escaping checkered pasts. retaliating against lenovar would likely destroy them. which meant not only that she couldn’t retaliate against lenovar; she had to make sure boba wouldn’t, either.

so. how do you keep your extremely protective, impulsive former-bounty-hunter husband from flying off the handle and murdering your rapist?

you don’t tell him about it. you don’t tell anyone about it :(

argh just reading this i’m feeling salty that we get so little of sintas’s perspective on any of this. it’s all just “how did this make boba feel? how did it affect boba’s life?” and it’s like GOOD GOD. this woman is now maybe 20 years old, making the absolutely-gutting decision to keep her sexual assault a secret from her closest friend bc it’s the only way to protect her and him and their daughter from being steamrolled by the system. and like, nobody thought to expand on that?

nope, we just get a comic where she’s needlessly sexualized and drawn to look young enough to be boba’s daughter despite the fact that she’s older than him and ugh

OKAY. enough salt. moving on.

sintas’s plan works for all of a year, at which point boba somehow finds out the truth. and everything goes straight to hell.

boba, finding out that sintas kept her sexual assault by lenovar a secret for a whole year (and remember, boba was probably continuing to work under and look up to lenovar during this time), is utterly furious. of course, he wants nothing more than to murder the shit out of lenovar and is only further enraged when sintas tries to logically talk him out of it. in his anger, he proceeds to verbally torch ALL the bridges in their relationship, at one point even cruelly questioning if ailyn is even his daughter. he then storms off and makes good on his threats to kill lenovar

in the aftermath, boba was branded not just a murderer, but the murderer of his superior officer—an even more serious crime. yet, despite repeated interrogations, he refused to say why he had done it, fearing that doing so would drag sintas down with him. he only insisted that he felt no remorse for killing lenovar and that lenovar deserved to die.

in the end, his efforts didn’t save sintas—the courts seized all of what meager assets they had, leaving them all penniless. boba was then exiled from concord dawn and wouldn’t see his wife and daughter again for fifty years.

after everything that happened, boba was a changed person. it’s as if that spark of optimism and dare-i-say goodness that had survived his father’s death was snuffed out, leaving only a cynical, angry shell, laser-focused on violence because it was the one part of his father’s legacy he hadn’t yet failed.

sintas and ailyn, meanwhile, struggled to pull themselves out of poverty, with sintas reluctantly returning to bounty hunting to support them. ailyn never forgave her father for abandoning them, which led to its own equally-disastrous tragedy some decades down the line.

moral of the story is to listen to your wife and don’t make her sexual assault all about your stupid need for revenge. like, i get that the rapist needs to die but maybe like... work with your wife and make it look like an accident? don’t be an impulsive fucking inconsiderate idiot? maybe realize that your wife probably just endured the most hellish year of her life to protect YOUR dumb ass?

honestly, as frustrating as teenage!boba is, you can’t even be that angry at him bc like... he and sintas were both victims reacting imperfectly to absolutely shit circumstances. lenovar is the real villain here.

never going to be over how tragic it is that these two kids tried so fucking hard to derail their villainous origin stories, only to be forced onto even more brutal tracks bc the one adult they should’ve been able to trust in their situation ended up being a predator :(

#snowberry-pie #sintas vel #boba fett #lenovar #the fact that sintas was never spotlighted as a perspective character in the EU....... criminal

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aimeelouart · 3 years

Text

Wrote a bit of an alternate take on chapter one of Saving Subject C because I was daydreaming about it during work.

The kid was panicking, which didn’t make sense to Genesis given that it was panic over them not being bothered by his wanton property destruction. He couldn’t see the kid’s face directly, but he could guess well enough by the expressions on Angeal and Sephiroth’s faces. Angeal looked concerned in his muted ‘crowd control’ way—the expression he wore when something bad was happening but he didn’t want to alarm the civilians. Sephiroth was a bit harder to read, but when he met Genesis’s eyes and tilted his chin, it was clear what he was plotting.

Genesis nodded back, preparing himself as he watched the kid start to shake as if he’d been thrown out into a snowstorm without a coat. The boy’s breath hiccuped in his throat like a stifled whimper when Sephiroth reached his hand a little further toward him, heart hammering as loud as a drum in their enhanced ears.

Sephiroth smiled at the kid, the expression carefully practiced and a little strained under the circumstances⁠—not that the boy was in any state to notice. “There’s nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Come to me.”

Genesis grimaced slightly at the phrasing. Sephiroth always did fall back on hyperformality when under pressure.

As planned, the kid immediately retreated from Sephiroth, evidently forgetting that this put him closer to Genesis. Somehow, the frantic pace of his heart managed to pick up. It had to be something absurd by now, perhaps over 200 beats per minute, though no one had the attention to spare calculating it outright. Genesis felt a pang of concern that was echoed verbally by Angeal.

“His pulse is way too fast. I hate to say it, but maybe we should—”

“Not unless there's no other option, Angeal,” Genesis said, watching carefully for any sign the kid was cognizant enough to listen. There was nothing. “Earning his trust is going to be impossible if we keep putting him to sleep at the slightest inconvenience.”

Angeal frowned but nodded reluctantly, falling silent and watching as Sephiroth continued to drive the panicked little blond back inch by careful inch into Genesis’s waiting hands. Genesis waited until the boy was practically tucked under his arm to actually lay a hand on his heaving back.

Easy now, he thought, humming gently as the kid went absolutely still beneath his palm. The blond’s expression must have been something to see, based on the way Angeal inhaled sharply. “There we go, good bo⁠—”

The kid moved. Like a SOLDIER First. Like a demon. An impossibly dexterous twist that, had Genesis been even a hair less prepared for it, would have left him gripping nothing but the kid’s shirt.

But Genesis was prepared. He moved as well⁠—not quite as fluidly, but he had the size to make up for it. With both of them out from under the bed entirely, he caught the kid in a grapple and wrestled him (with no little difficulty) into a secure hold. Like a wild little cub, the boy thrashed and growled and snapped and, when he finally realized he wasn’t going to be able to force his way free, howled in anger and panic.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Genesis soothed, lifting his chin out of the way of a furious headbutt. This was, he realized, not the best way to handle this, but it was too late now. “It’s alright. Everything is alright. No one is going to hurt you, sweetheart.” Not that the boy was going to believe that any time soon⁠, considering the horrific patchwork of scars that covered his skin, but Genesis would just have to repeat it until he realized it was true.

The kid screamed outright when Sephiroth and Angeal approached, wrenching so hard that Genesis nearly lost his grip. “Shit,” he grunted. There was no way the blond hadn’t pulled something in his arm with that level of force. “No, both of you leave,” he said to the other two without looking at them. “Go out in the hall and close the door behind you.”

They didn’t argue. The boy’s heartbeat calmed marginally when the door shut, but he didn’t stop fighting. Genesis doubted anything short of full unconsciousness would have stopped him from fighting. He was giving it everything he had⁠—admirable but unsustainable, especially when Sephiroth, the source of his terror, was out of sight and nothing else was happening to fuel his adrenaline. He was going to crash soon enough. Genesis resecured his grip and settled in to wait.

The boy kept it up for a truly impressive length of time. Ten minutes at full intensity, then another ten trying to use more cunning means to squirm free, then ten more yanking ineffectually against his grip out of sheer stubbornness. Genesis felt his admiration grow by the minute. Kiddo had the kind of stubborn fire that he couldn’t help but respect, even in such a small package.

Inevitably, though, the kid’s body gave out. He finally went still, panting like he’d just finished running a marathon. Slowly, each muscle relaxed, trembling slightly from the strain. His head dipped forward, breath and heartbeat calming into something merely agitated instead of panicked.

“There we are,” Genesis said. “See? It’s alright, no one is going to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” kid said in a scratchy, exhausted voice. “Let go of me, then.”

Genesis laughed. “Cute. No, I don’t think so. I have the strangest feeling you would prefer to hurl yourself bodily through a window than sit still and talk like a grown-up, so I think we shall be sitting here for a little while longer.”

“Oh, fuck you!” the kid snapped, fighting against him briefly. “I don’t owe you a goddamn thing!”

“No?” Genesis asked thoughtfully. “Hm, I suppose you don’t. After all, you had everything handled just fine with all that wanton property destruction and complete lack of climate-appropriate gear.”

“...you think you’re being charitable, don’t you?” the kid asked, voice dripping with scorn. “I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it! Let me go!”

“Alright,” Genesis said agreeably. One of his legs was starting to go numb. “Who shall I call to come pick you up, then, hmm?”

The kid hissed in a breath. “You⁠—ugh. Gaia.” Tellingly, he fell into a disgusted silence.

“What’s that? No one? Well, what a situation this is. It would be quite irresponsible of me to send you out into the savage world without adult supervision, little arsonist. Whatever shall we do?”

“Every word out of your mouth makes me want to punch you directly in the teeth,” the kid said, which sounded very much like defeat to Genesis. He smiled.

“How about this: I let you go and stay between you and the window, my friends stay outside the door, and you can go wherever makes you most comfortable in this room while we talk like civilized adults. Is that agreeable?”

The kid was silent for a long, long moment. Finally, he exhaled sharply and the line of his shoulders relaxed. “Motherfucker. Alright, fine.”

Victory.

#Saving Subject C #fic bonus #ff7 #aimeelouwrites #my fics #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #cloud strife #angeal hewley #Tumblr exclusive writing

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 4 years

Text

I am Drunk on Wine, Drunk on You

Summary: Mammon and You share a weekend ritual of drinking together at night in his room, and every time you leave bits and pieces of your clothing, accesories, books in his room. And then you leave bits and pieces of your heart in his, letting him piece together the bits and pieces of your love for him.

A/N: Wrote this with the alcohol coursing through my veins and I love Mammon so much. This ones for the jaded adults trying hard to maintain hope in this era.

Tags: everything that entails loving mammon. Yearning, Pining,Longing, Two awkward idiots in love, rip to babylonians but we're different.

The thing about being a 20-something working adult was that there was beauty in a routine that rarely ever changes. Daily hygiene, dress up, eat and then fight the battle to get to work on time. Routine was what you clung to when you arrived in Devildom. A semi-welcome break from the muddy waters of corporate work.

And so, you started drinking with Mammon. In his room, by the pool table, trading stories while he taught you billiards and you let his warmth seep into your body. That was how it began, a weekly ritual between him and you, drinking and playing billiards, cards and drinking games. Letting worthless secrets and thoughts out in the open. A fakery of camaraderie until he asked you a question three months in Devildom. You had been closer then, close enough that you can wrap your arm on his waist and he'd welcome it.

"What's it like, up there in the human world?"

He looked so soft, leaning casually on the other end of his couch, at home, at ease, and it made your heart stir. The usual fondness that tends to erupt in your heart where Mammon is involved.

"Messy. Bright. Loud." You answered, "It's like the streets of Devildom at night but twice the crowd most of the time."

His eyes dimmed at your shitty answer and you scramble to bring back that bright look at his pretty pretty eyes that always took your breath away.

"Let me take you." You scramble to say, "Let me take you up there."

A promise of sorts.

A drunken promise of sorts you want to fulfill as his eyes turned bright and your arms are suddenly filled with a happy drunk Mammon. And you want to badly kiss him so much but you don't. Not like this, not in this way so instead you hold him tight and tell him all the things you want to do with him up there.

In the wee hours of the morning, you tuck him in. Like always since you out drank him, and like always you leave a thing of yours in his room. A small and shiny flower hair tie that caught his eye, you know with certainty it'd find itself back in your room with another thing that Mammon owns.

One among many that he owns, one among many that litter in your room and you treat as yours. Lucifer sees you leave Mammon's room and raises a brow at you,

"It's almost morning" He tells you pointedly.

"And its a weekend" You retort, alcohol coursing through your veins that makes you care a little less, gives you the courage of a leopard.

And he lets you go, like usual. Like a well practice routine that lets you not question the things you aren't ready to face. That you'd probably never want to resist.

You made it back to your room, and you make a quick work of your clothes and sink in to the covers of your bed. It smells of Mammon and it lulls you back to sleep.

Tuesday arrives and you have to defend your idea to RAD's Student Council. A field trip for entirety of RAD to see how much human society had changed ever since their access had grown limited. Solomon and your contracted demons; Mammon, Levi, and Beel agreed with you.

But you know its Lucifer and Diavolo you have to win over, and law school prepared you for this. Talking with the ruler of Devildom and his advisor is almost nothing to the panel that had to judge your oral revalida. An exchange of words, hidden barbs, and negotiation where everyone already knows the outcome.

Diavolo says yes, and Lucifer follows. You smile and thank them while ignoring their knowing looks. What is not said and asked are not the truth unless said otherwise.

You don't look at Mammon as you make your way out of the room.

The trip to human world is chaotic and fun. The brothers surround you at the start and after careful scheming, your group dwindles down until its just you and Mammon. You hold his hand, tuck it in your coat's pocket and enjoyed Japan's early spring. You squeeze it twice and wait for him to squeeze back.

You try not to think deeply at the painful lurch of your heart when he squeezes back and says nothing. You are fond of him, in his silent moments when he lets himself be soft and puts down the sharp and blunt edges he wears as a demon. You lead him here and there, buying him trinkets and unmindful of the dent it would make in your bank account.

You give him gifts and hope that, like the things you leave in his room, this would remind him of you. When the year ends and everything becomes uncertain.

The two of you end up in an upscale Izakaya, one with private rooms and discrete staff. Mammon takes pictures to brag and you indulge him, let him order to his heart's desire. And like always you share stories, you give him disconnected anecdotes of your life, let him see the person you once were as he tells you stories of bygone days.

Things from human history told from the perspective of a demon. And as you listened to his story with an unknowing gentle smile on your face, you feed him your favorite dishes. Unlike you and like most demons, Mammon doesn't get drunk on human alcohol just like how demon drinks don't affect you.

And Mammon looks at you as words tapers off his mouth, and you are still foolishly smiling at him, tender devotion in your actions and heady unmasked affection on your eyes that catches him off guard. Suddenly, the air in the room grows hot and Mammon wants and wants you this way, unguarded and so different from your usual persona. He likes this version of you that only comes out on the weekend with alcohol streaming through your veins.

'I love you' He thought.

Hands gently tucking in stray strands of hair behind your left ear. He lets his fingers gently trace the slope of your face and watches as your eyes flutter shut and Mammon cups your face with his hand. Tenderly and ever so gently rubs his thumb on your cheek.

You held his hand and kiss the palm that holds your face.

"Let's head back?"

He smiled and holds you close as both of you stumble through the crowded night streets of Shibuya. You tuck yourself close to him and for now the words left unspoken are enough. You both had all the time in the world.

So you take it slow and savor this sort of moments where only Mammon and you seemingly existed.

And then the switch happens and suddenly you are out of time. Lucifer's trust had meant so little to you, until suddenly it is the very thing that you need to succeed. And for the first time, fear grips your heart as you hold Mammon's hand and head to the castle.

'Time,' You thought 'I need more time'.

Beyond out rightly admitting that he was the best, beyond the games,beyond the well-practiced dance of push and pull you had with Mammon and his brothers, you badly want to tell him those three words stuck in your chest and hidden at the back of your mind. Three powerful words that would give him power over you, that would let him realize the depth of your regard for him.

But you had ran out of time and there is only a shaky promise of return. And the countdown happens so fast, too fast, and you want to cry and scream and break things apart.

You died and you returned.

You were a human and suddenly you were not.

You had lost your Mammon and gained a new one.

Crying felt pathetic, Screaming sounded painful, and breaking things felt like a chore so you drink. Not wine, but demon vodka that only leaves a burning line down your throat and nothing else. You drink at the Fall every Sunday.

You go to RAD the next day, routine barely changed with the tenuous addition of Belphegor. He clings to you and you let him with polite detachment. You fall back to your routine and try to not let your heart break with every differing habit this Mammon had compared to yours.

Friday nights are gone and you've stopped leaving bits and pieces of yourself at his room. Because just as he isn't your Mammon, you weren't his beloved human.

And in the cold air of your room, with alcohol coursing through your veins you dream of him.

Lucifer finds you, after the half-anniversary party. Having an after party of your own consisting of crows that you remembered as the ones Mammon commanded, he sits beside you and glances at the untouched glass of flavored vodka beside you. You hand him an unopened bottle and pat the seat on your right.

Lucifer doesn't say anything and takes your offered drink. He takes a long drink and you watch him, equal parts curious and searching. Before you would have not cared of this unmentioned and apparent disadvantage, before you'd have started a verbal battle of sorts with someone who'd match you tit for tat but in a short span of time things had changed.

So you remain silent and instead glanced at the empty space on your left.

"As you humans would say, 'A penny for your thoughts?'" Lucifer finally said as the ice on the untouched glass clinks against the side.

You don't answer immediately and Lucifer waits.

"Are you familiar with Les Misérables?" You asked, still not looking at him.

And Lucifer humors you, "I am vaguely familiar of it."

"Then are you familiar at the end of it?"

He shakes his head and you continue, " To quote Victor Hugo, 'When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit.' end quote."

You wait for him to absorb what you had just said and when ample time had passed, you asked "Do you believe that the same thing could apply between a demon who had come to love a human, a human who in turn loves them back?"

At this you looked at him in the eye, and Lucifer sees all of you in that moment. The scarred and tired soul in you, the naïve and bold soul in you that burns bright, he sees the dichotomy of your soul and feels the black tar in his veins drum loudly.

He is equal parts terrified and excited of what you might do. The implications of your words.

"If it was you...perhaps there is room for another miracle."

You blinked at him in surprised before you give him your most genuine smile in a long while. And Lucifer knew, as you walked away with your back straight, that another end had begun.

He lets you go.

The Tower of Babel was said to be humanity's downfall. A desire to build something that could reach God and pierce through the Heavens. The desire to be equals with the assumed creator.

A group of humans punished to never speak the same language and yet years later it hardly mattered to those who persevered.

In this, your actions and plan, as far as Solomon was willing to be concerned about metaphors was your own Tower of Babel. A plan to undo what his contracted demon, Barbatos, had done. It was insane in theory but as you drew upon his collected knowledge and built upon it from your own unique perspective he was convinced that you'd beat the odds.

It was insane and yet as days passed and turned to weeks and weeks into month you were proving him wrong. And Solomon had never felt much excitement until now, it had been so long since he saw such an interesting phenomena that he had ended up helping you more that he should.

For right in front of him, was a human attempting to be God.

There had always been a price to pay, the world at its core functioned as such. A well integrated ecosystem that work best when things were given and taken in the right way, with the right price, at the right moment.

You played God by recreating, with mixture of Alchemy and Necromancy, to get your real body back. The one you knew Belphegor had happily mutilated and thrown at Mammon's arms.

And as you inhabited it again, you knew what price you had to pay, and as you stared at the version of you that belonged to this reality. You let yourself exhale a shaky sigh before making a break for it. It had taken you so much effort to conceal this from Barbatos and the Celestial Realm and thus by virtue the very consciousness of this world.

You laugh at the irony of simultaneously having time and not having it as you ran through the streets of devildom and into the House of Lamentation. You were high on adrenaline, as you desperately wished for it to work.

You cared only for the end result, ignoring the looks of pedestrians and then the demons you cohabited with for 5 months. You opened Mammon's door and headed straight for the door beside his car that you went through.

You knocked thrice and opened it.

Desperate and willing the world to work itself to your favor.

You stepped in and darkness greeted you.

In your absence, Mammon had relearned the cruelty of being the one left behind. He remembered with each passing moment ,as he looked at the traces of you left in his room, the pain of heart break.

He plays with the ring you left behind, a memento of your parents' once perfect marriage, and recalls the way you had slipped it on his finger long ago. When you had caught him snooping around your room, and instead of calling Lucifer to enact punishment you had taken your mother's ring and given him your father's.

Gently holding his empty left hand and sliding it on his ring finger. The soft rays of the moon illuminating you, and giving the gold ring a soft gleam.

"Keep this," You had said "Maybe this time it would work out."

He hadn't dared to question what "it" meant. Because he hadn't been prepared for the way you had looked at him, he wasn't ready for your affection at that time. Too pure and kind, as if he was the Warrior that he once was in Heaven.

Not the fallen, broken pieces of him that was a hollow facsimile of who he used to be. So he had said nothing and decided to let nature take its place and fell in love you slowly, steadily, with each bits and pieces you had given him. In the disjointed stories of who you used to be and who you were now.

And now he laughs, broken, at the irony of it all. At his naïvety that he would get to keep you and this time no promise would have been broken. He looks at the ring on his hand, a perfect match of what he wore on his left and he lets his tears fall.

You had been gone for too long.

Barbatos and Diavolo welcomes you back and you smile at them. With all of your teeth and let your divinity leak out. The playing field had changed once more and you were no longer a pawn.

They let you leave the castle with a shaky truce and thinly veiled threats.

When Mammon wakes up his lights are off and he is on his bed. He stills when he feels the bright aura of divinity, close to God and yet not.

You see the Celestial Warrior that once was and you see the Fallen Warrior and understood why he was the second strongest.

"I'm back, Mammon."

And the lights turn on and you find yourself pinned under him as sobs wracked his frame. Your heart that had been moved by him long ago aches and all the longing, yearning, and pining you've had settles as you reached out for him and held him close to you.

"Why?" He asked.

And you knew that he knew you were no longer fully human.

"It was the only way to give everyone a happy ending" You answered even if you knew that you had change everything beyond imagination.

And Mammon lets you keep your lies because he had already pieced together the bits and pieces that made you. He had seen you and understood you and thus he had come to know you.

Because at your core, you were just as greedy of him as he was of you. Perhaps this was not the redemption Victor Hugo had spoken of, but such things matter not when you were Mammon's God, His Savior and Redemption.

#mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #obey-me-mammon-x-reader #drunk writing #mobile update #fixed #obey me

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beammetothemoon · 3 years

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for my beloveds Damien and Lou: ❤️💙💕💞💗💖💌🎁💢🍼🧸🧺👀✈️🍑💔🥀🔪💧

SO MANY!!!! Answers under the cut.

❤️ — How do they most often express their love? Verbally or through actions? Lou: Acts of service, though he's not shy to shout it from the mountain tops.

Damien: Probably also acts of service.... but physical touch is also up there. Hand holding, gentle caresses, kissing knuckles, etc.

💙— How do they say/show that they miss their partner?

Lou: If she's not around, he talks nonstop about her to anyone who will listen. If it's a situation where she's busy with work or something, he would try to make himself helpful so he can hang around.

Damien: He would do the opposite and get very quiet around others so he can think about his man and how much he misses him, would try to come up with some plans to spend more time with Perplexity.

💕— What makes them feel connected to their partner?

Lou: When Branlin involves him in things she is researching even if he doesn't understand most of it.

Damien: When Perplexity opens up to him about what he's feeling. It shows him that he's trusted, and he's able to understand his partner better.

💞— Are they a big cuddler? What is cuddling them like? Lou: BIG cuddler....buries his face into his partner.

Damien: Also enjoys cuddling, though not as much. He prefers to be far enough back so he can see his partner's face clearly. STRONG ARMS.

💗— Do they noticeably change once they’re in love? Is it easy to notice or just something their partner would pick up on?

Lou: I think Lou is so loud with his affection for people he likes that it might be difficult to notice the exact change? He was surprised by it himself. Lmao.

Damien: He would laugh and smile a lot, his eyes holding a lot of his affection as well, unable to look away from his partner, though these would probably only be obvious to Perplexity since he'd try to avoid this in public. From the outside, people would only be able to guess because he'd be spending a lot of time with his partner.

💖— Are they a showy partner? Do they make grand gestures of love or try to be subtle?

Lou: Subtle, though does love grand gestures.

Damien: Subtle.

💌— What kind of love notes/messages do they leave their partner?

Lou: Mostly notes letting his partner know about something he's made for them - treats or lunch - but with a big "I love you" and tons of bad drawings and xoxo's.

Damien: He will slip something into his pocket to find later on in the day....probably something poetic about their love that can also somehow be read as a dirty joke...Perplexity seems to like those.

🎁— What kind of gifts do they like to give? What do they like receiving?

Lou: FOOD and FOOD... or things for lawn care.

Damien: Likes to give meaningful gifts, either things he's worked hard toward or things he remembers Perplexity mentioning. Damien doesn't really have a desire for specific gifts... it's enough that he's thought of so he'll be happy for anything.

💢— What are some habits of theirs that would take some getting used to?

Lou: He is a very loud man who isn't very self-aware....so you need to get used to screaming and him going off on tangents that don't make a whole lot of sense to most people.

Damien: He fidgets quite a bit and is pretty bad at eye contact most of the time.

🍼— What are their thoughts on kids?

Lou: Yes, lets get STARTED NOW....if you want. 😳

Damien: He is unsure about kids. Because of how he was raised, he's unsure if he could be a good father and fears messing up.

🧸— What are they like as a parent?

Lou: Thinks his kids are the coolest thing ever. Carries 500 photos in his wallet, will talk your ear off about them. WILL coach t-ball.

Damien: Gentle parenting style, talks to his kids like they are adults, speaks softly.

🧺— Random domestic headcanon

Lou: Makes a chore board for himself and gives himself stickers once he completes a task.

Damien: He is a TERRIBLE cook, but once he starts living with his partner, he really makes an attempt to get better. It can't be that much harder than learning magic.

👀— What’s their favorite body part on themselves? On their partner?

Lou: He loves Branlin's smile!! On himself....probably his hair (does that count??), but he did mention that he's working on getting his abs as nice as Heiry's so maybe that'll change. lmao.

Damien: Perplexity's eyes. He wouldn't be able to say what his favorite body part is.

✈️— How far will they go in public? What’s the weirdest place they’ll do it?

Lou: This is not something that Lou thinks about so it's not likely that it will happen unless Branlin mentions it while they are out.

Damien: All the way, pretty much anywhere, if the circumstances align in a way that his excitement beats out his anxiety.

🍑— Random intimate headcanon

Lou: Loves showering together.

Damien: Loves to be undressed.

💔— What could their partner do that would absolutely break their heart?

Lou: Losing faith or doubting him. So many people dismiss him. Branlin is really the only one who doesn't.

Damien: Say any of the awful things Damien already thinks about himself.

🥀— How well would they handle a break up?

Lou: Very terribly, but the good thing about Lou is that he is easily distracted....he will just bury himself in some work or activity, probably to some unhealthy level, so I guess that's not good.

Damien: He would probably live underneath his bed sheets for however long it took to feel somewhat normal again.

🔪— How would they react to injury/misfortune befalling their partner? Do they feel at fault?

Lou: Would do anything to help their partner recover or fix whatever happened, if possible. Would feel at fault for not protecting her.

Damien: Same as Lou, HOWEVER, if someone else did something to cause it, he would definitely lash out at whoever it was, and possibly cause injury in return.

💧— Random angst headcanon

Lou: NO ANGST FOR LOU. I headcanon that there is no angst. He and Branlin deserve all the happiness!!!

Damien: I cannot say because it may become spoilers for Curse of Strahd. 😇

#asks #emoji oc ask meme #damien von hardst #luciano #my ocs #liz this was so many i am returning to your home to face you in combat #but also ty for sending

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austennerdita2533 · 3 years

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Spreading Joey Potter positivity since most people seem to hate her! I'd love to hear why she's one of your favorites. For me, I love how she's an independent introvert who distrusts most but is so fiercely loving to the few she loves. I relate to how she's unsocial in general but very, very attached to her two or three friends. I also like that she's such a great combination of courageous confidence and vulnerable insecurity. And she's so perfect with Pacey because he takes her out of her own head---she analyzes, worries, criticizes, wonders etc., and she and Dawson just ruminate endlessly, but Pacey inspires her to LIVE rather than snarkily critique life, and I love that about them. (And obviously she's great for him too--she makes him try and care and become the successful adult he hadn't believed he could be!)

Come and sit with me, anon. We will form our own LOVE AND PROTECT JOEY POTTER circle where we shan’t be disturbed by haters.

You eloquently listed a bunch of the reasons why I love her as a character already. However, I will add that I find her curiosity and inquisitiveness to be endearing as well. She wants to know as much as she can. Experience it, if she’s able. There’s something wonderful about how she gets lost in her own head, wouldn’t you agree? She’s constantly questioning everything, silently and outwardly debating, musing. She likes to pick things apart, top to bottom, bottom to top. That’s partly why it can take her so long to come to decisions about Big Life things because she’s so busy weighing all the options, looking for ways to avoid collateral hurt. I relate to that a lot because I’m the same way.

I love her intellect and quick comebacks. She’s compassionate. She’s sassy, but there’s often truth and vulnerability lurking beneath her verbal slaps. At first glance, she can appear to be wrapped in cynicism and snark, but there’s also this part of her that burns with starry-eyed dreams. Passion. For art. For academia. For love. For life. Certain characters, like Pacey, really bring that out in her, heightening it so that she is able to not only reach out for the things she imagines for herself but chase after them, grabbing ahold, tossing away her fears and inhibitions to live her life in color. I think without someone like Pacey, who comes in and shakes things up, infuses spontaneity, alters perspective, she could get lost in the black and white of the world around her. Drown in it, really. She would get so locked into expectation that she’d lose sight of all other possibilities. She simply wouldn’t see them.

Joey also can be a great listener when it comes down to it. The shoulder other people come to lean on, to rely on. She inspires the people around her to see parts of themselves they didn’t know were there—I mean, how lovely is that?

There’s something wonderful about her social circle being small as well. Yes, she’s rather introverted and antisocial on the whole, but her heart, when it is minutely focused like it is with her friends, whom she trusts, is overwhelming in its surety, in its devotion. There is nothing she wouldn’t do to build them up, to protect them from harm, and she’d drop everything if someone said they needed her. That’s a quality in a person, not merely a friend, that is much rarer than it should be.

So yeah. I don’t get why people hate on Joey because she has a lot of good qualities? Maybe it’s because of the love triangle thing?

#anonymous #replies #the loveliest of lovely people #ashlee bree talks dawson’s creek

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papers4me · 4 years

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Fruits Basket, SE02, Ep22

I was pleasantly surprised that this was one of the best balanced eps concerning tohru as of yet!! They touched upon her being mom-figure in the first half but proceeded to humanize her afterward, depicting her as normal girl!, frustrated, vulnerable & somewhat silently struggling. I was right in my prediction that the moment yuki lets go of mom-tohru image, the show will too!! I’m happy!! finally, No more angels in the sky. But only real tohru with flaws, ugliness & humanity.

-Yuki’s acceptance of past feelings & change towards new ones:

The show is aware that they’ve been using the fake love-triangle initially but it actually has an explanation within the story. Yuki is attracted to tohru, so much, but it isn’t romantic at all. his attempts in “correcting” how he perceived her didn’t set right with him & he felt weirded out more! The show brilliantly depicted these “flirty scenes” with a hint of uneasiness. Yuki’s lines/ moves felt cringey & artificial “do you like my act, princess”,”I’ll kidnap you”, being encouraged by Aya to compliment tohru as a boy should. The signs are all there except not in your face, & the writer deserves praise!! Yuki, being perceptive, was able to reach such conclusion, not only by looking into himself, but by also at looking how kyo interacted with her, differently from him. Kyo sees tohru as a woman & is attracted to her romantically & altho kyo’s words & interactions with tohru lacks princely smoothness & have a hint of awkwardness, it was natural, genuine & spontaneous. Kyo didn’t put on an act or forced himself to flirt or deliberately chose words to impress tohru. Yuki was able to notice tohru only looked romantically towards kyo. Yuki used all his observations to reach another conclusion abt himself too!!! What he wants in a relationship is sth similar to kyo/tohru!! Mutual & equal relationship. He won’t be satisfied by one-sidedly giving or taking.

-The Author’s brilliance in writing traumatic-based behavior ( Kyo/yuki’s best interaction!! ) :

-an anon cryptically warned me that I’ll be disappointed in kyo this ep cuz of a certain scene with yuki. After watching it, I can tell you without a doubt I’m not disappointed at all!! Rather I’m beyond satisfied that I’ve decided to trust the author. Ms. Takya is genius in depicting traumatic-based behavior! Any other writer, would write the scene less raw, yuki would still shine defeating his inner demos, but kyo would only grunt, or say sth mild. cuz the writer might fear that it might risk showing kyo as the stupid guy behind in his growth compared to the successful yuki ,or annoy the readers/viewers who are so eager for these boys to reach mutual ground. Only a great writer will be brave enough to write kyo as his trauma/ faulty copying mechanism logically dictates!

-We spent an entire season with yuki, saw him yell at kakeru’s insensitive hurtful remarks, cry knowing he was saved cuz a friend risked freeing him, it took a locked dark room, paint fumes, PTSD, tons of monologues before yuki finally let it all out! & you want such brilliant writer to make kyo turn around & be nice to yuki all of a sudden after episodes of fights & no perspective insight? You bet such amazing writer will give kyo’s perspective its time & his development the logical progress he needs. This writer is all abt logical & realistic progression! whether positive or even negative, the characters will come across human, raw, realistic & real during & after their journey.

- Going through kyo/yuki’s dialogue, it will tell you that furuba is NOT abt friendship saving the day, or abt successful growth. It is abt the journey these traumatized children are undergoing now that they are nearly becoming young adults. Yuki’s journey was amazing not cuz he succeeded (as amazingly as this is) but cuz it made sense from his perspective, was realistic, logical, matched his coping mechanism & character traits & it took the needed time. Now for kyo, all his reactions should match his perspective, & make sense giving his coping mechanism. He wasn’t given time yet. so, he won’t grow much yet. “Making a fool of me?” kyo didn’t see yuki’s perspective abt the hat. he thinks yuki did it on purpose to taunt him.That HE saved tohru while kyo fails as always. “Praised by others, needed by them” Kyo like everybody in school, always thought yuki is a prince, loved, & admired. Kyo is not the audience, he didn’t see yuki’s struggle.”surpass me easily while I struggle” kyo may train for years with tears & blood, but the rat will beat him always cuz he is superiors. “an idiot that never gets anything, wants an idiotic impossible thing” “if only I gave birth to the rat, I’d ve been happier” kyo’s mom wished or the impossible. So did kyo. He wished that he’d prove to her that he can be the rat’s equal. She shouldn't have died becuz of him. An impossible wish.

-I personally think that kyo’s journey will take a different path from yuki’s. Unlike yuki, kyo’s been accused & proved to harm others somehow, intentionally or unintentionally. Some not even in this world anymore. So there are things in kyo’s journey that can’t be fixed. Nothing will bring his mom or kyoko back to life. He can’t apologize to them. There is NO forgiveness here as kyoko said!. Hence, the writer will brilliantly make kyo fall so hard & reach rock bottom so bad before he stands up again!! It matches his personality too!! He’s a person who struggles in expressing himself verbally, gets overwhelmed with emotions, stubborn, hard on himself & fiery in nature. Moreover, due to his trauma, he harbors very low self-esteem & due to his guilt, he is drenched in self-loath.

-The addiction of destructive coping mechanism ( Writing Brilliancy):

Kyo has one of the most destructive coping mechanism in the show. Similarly to what his father did by illogically dumping all the blame of the mom’s suicide on 4 year old child, which resulted in hurting kyo, kyo adopted his dad’s ways & dumped it all on yuki. Illogical. wrong. but it works!! it numbs this tingling sense of guilt, it puts the voice that goes “ you’re unforgivable” temporarily to sleep. All the hate is on someone else. not me. I’m not a monster. does it work all the time? NO. cuz NO drug does! All drugs has this temporary effect, that unless you break away from, will end up destroying you. “don’t you want it that way? you wouldn’t want to have anyone to hate?“ I’m still confused if this is kyoko or his mom. It has kyoko’s hair, the words are very harsh. Kyoko from kyo’s perspective shifts between extremely kind & cruelly harsh! but regardless, the truth has been spoken. Kyo’s eyes are opened. He can’t force blind himself anymore. he does NOT hate yuki. he “ acts like hating yuki is sth you needs to do”, as shigure said! hating yuki is his way to escape from his destructive self-loath. He hasn’t been hating or fighting yuki for a long while, he tries now, one more fight, one more dose of the drug, let the pain go away! Nope. Yuki is not participating, yuki is in the light now. You are drenched in the darkness, as unforgivable as you are. Monster eyes & all. Kyo breaks the window to break away from the memory. from this point on, it escalates to rock bottom as the drug is no longer working & hating himself with no escape is all he’s left with.

-Protecting leading to hurting:

yuki brings kyo attention that while he’s been hard on himself & resisting change, he is hurting tohru. Sth kyo chose confinement in oder to NOT do. Kyo being distant from class activities “life” is his choice. Tohru suffering is a consequence to that choice. Kyo, once again, overwhelmed by tohru’s desire to include him in their activities “ life”. Helplessly & painfully looking at her & acknowledging yuki’s words. Kyo in one of his most vulnerable moments, matched only by true form hug scene, is desperate for a hug. Not only cuz he loves her, but cuz he needs her, cuz he’s so tried of himself, cuz she’s so endearingly stupid waiting for him all by herself when she could’ve easily caught him home!! Ugh! tohru! T_T. Except this time, kyo is aware of his surroundings, it’s school, no place for transformation. As kyo decides to change his position from hug to head rest, he stares so intently in her eyes. Embracing her with his presence. For a moment there I felt weird. Like I was intruding on a personal moment between two ppl. XD. This moment was this excellently weird mix of tenderly romantic, bittersweet cuz they cant be together hug, & sexually tensed! one of the most successful kyoru moment that truly depicted emotions visually without needing much dialogue!

Side Notes:

kyo/yuki interaction was their most honest, filter-free & raw moment! each said what he really felt. yuki’s directly telling kyo to complain to him, which kyo did. yuki urging kyo to see that punishing himself hurts tohru.

I appreciate that Yuki won’t tell tohru now, cuz it will ruin their progress towards a better balanced relationship. Tohru’s lid hasn’t even been touched, so she would be cautious interacting with him. But once she opens her lid, her self-worth increase & her desire to focus on herself more is ignited!, she’ll listen to him without taking his burden as hers. just like kakeru did. Equal friends.

I wanted to talk deeper abt machi & yuki, but didn’t want it to be overshadowed by kyo’s analysis. Next time for sure!

I love how the writer included the most spontaneous flirting moment between kyo & tohru right after yuki explained that he saw her non-romantically. The writer wants the comparison to be clear cutting ties to any love-triangle misunderstanding that might linger from previous scenes. Moreover, it showed yuki fully & genuinely accepting kyoru!!

I’ll never be over tohru acting like normal teenager & chasing kyo, trying to catch the script!!!! These small moments while having not much effect on the grand plot, help depict tohru with her own feisty style of stubbornness beyond the one-sided kind image we always see.

This ep has well-written & visually appealing scenes. Visual imagery were well-implemented in kyo/yuki scene & kyo/tohru last scene.

Thank you anime for drawing tohru older, pretty & more mature in the final scene. She looked like a woman in love & silently in pain. My baby is growing!

Why is kyoko holding the hat in KYO’s flashback!!!! she’s wearing the same white dress from yuki’s memory?? What the heck is the hat’s story?!!!

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #satisfied paper

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years

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Fallen Bird

Make the World Bleed Chapter 1: Fallen Bird Fandom: DC Comics/Red Robin/Batman/Young Justice Pairings/Characters: Conner/Tim/Jason, Bruce/Clark/Diana, Core Four, Cassandra & Tim, Dick & Tim, Dick & Damian, Bruce & Tim, Tim & his Assassin Trio Summary: The Core Four have a bond that will never break, will never fade. When one of their own is hurt by someone who should be family to them the other three respond in force. When Tim's line is cut and he is seriously injured Conner, Bart and Cassie are ready to declare war against anyone who stands in their way of helping Tim, even if that means making a devil with the Devil himself, Ra's Al Ghul. Author Notes: Written for the @badthingshappenbingo my prompt: falling from great heights. I love stories that deal with Damian cutting Tim’s grappling line and the fallout and aftermath that and my love of the Core Four turning into their dark selves this because one of their own is injured by someone is supposed to be family. You can also read it on AO3

There were few things Tim Drake loved more than flying through the Gotham night sky as Robin and even though he was no longer Robin, something that still left a deep ache he refused to let the loss of Robin take away his wings and he was finally finding his place soaring as Red Robin.

Gotham was once a place that Tim called home. Once he thought he had found a family but the feeling of home and family were nothing but seemed in the distant past.

No longer could he call Wayne Manor or the Penthouse home. Nor could he call the other Bat's family.

He had realized that the hard way that he no longer belonged or he had never really been a part of the Wayne family.

Tim could feel himself on the edge there was only so much more he could take from Damian, only his team, Cassandra and surprisingly Helena saw how much the abuse was getting to him and the fact that he was just to turn the other cheek was slowly breaking him.

None of them could understand why the adults in Damian's life never once thought to take him aside and explain why he can't treat Tim the way he does. Not one of them set bounders for him. They reprimanded Tim because as the older of the two he should know better. And it was getting to the point that even Raven and Gar, who Tim didn't want them to get involved due to their strong bond with Dick, were reaching their breaking point. Several times they had to stop Raven from tossing the Bat-family into a hell dimension in their underwear.

Helena, Conner and Bart had been all for that idea and it was only because Tim begged her not to did Raven back down.

"If they keep placing the blame on you for Damian's actions I will do it," Raven warned, her normally warm eyes blazing with rage. Raven's vow whispered through Tim's mind.

No, shoving those thoughts to the back of his head Tim lost himself in something he loved.

Tim loved flying between the buildings it was one of his favourite things as a hero. His grapple line gave him a sense of freedom.

Freedom from the tension in the cave.

Freedom from the feeling that he didn't belong in the cave.

Freedom that he had lost a second family.

Then he heard it, something that shouldn't be happening not with a Bat-approved grapple the snapping of his line.

Tim only had seconds to hear the snap before he was falling. "Conner!" He knew that he could count on him, his best friend who kept his promise that he would always be listening to his heartbeat.

But deep in his heart, he knew that it was going to be too late. 'Please Conner don't blame yourself.' Tim pleaded before darkness claimed him.

The pure terror in Tim's voice will haunt Conner 'Kon' Kent for the rest of his days as will his guilt for being a second too late in catching Tim. Looking at the broken boy of his best friend Conner felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

Pressing his comm to the rest of the Titans, "Guys you need to get to Gotham." Conner didn't care that his voice wobbled there was no way that he could stay strong or even pretend that everything was alright, nothing would be alright after this.

"Dude, what is wrong Conner? You are scaring me here." Bart's worried voice came over the line. It wasn't often that Conner would suggest that they break Batman's no meta in Gotham's rule. There was only one reason he would do so.

Bart's worse fears were confirmed when Conner whispered, "It's Tim, he's hurt badly."

Only the movement of his hair alerted Conner to Bart's arrival.

"Oh god." Bart felt like he was going to be sick at the sight he arrived at, he and the others had always been protective over Tim as he was the only human on their team but the one time he truly needed them and they failed him.

"I'm going to kill whoever did this." Bart snarled out, Tim was family and he would do everything in his power to keep those he loves safe.

"First we need to get Tim's help." Whoever did this will pay but getting Tim's aid comes first.

+******+

It was no secret among the Bat-family that there was a rivalry between the two youngest sons Timothy Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne.

Richard "Dick" Grayson had hoped that they would grow out of it, he couldn't understand why Tim couldn't see that as being Damian's older brother he was to not let Damian's words get to him. Damian had come from the League of Assassins and his abusive upbringing was all he knew. Of course, he was going to lash out and Tim to Damian was an easy target.

Tonight Tim had let Damian get to him once again and stormed out of the cave, Dick only hoped that when he returned he was willing to apologize to Damian.

Jason Todd was fighting the urge to slam some heads together and at the top of his list is Dickie and the smug brat Damian. He had heard from Cass and Helena that things were pretty bad when it came to Tim and Damian and how Damian was allowed to get away with everything while Tim took the blame.

Yeah, he had tried to kill the kid, something that Jason hasn't forgiven himself for. He had allowed Talia to twist him up and he took it out on the one person who didn't deserve his rage. Tim might have forgiven him but he did and Dick sure as hell didn't. So he couldn't understand why Dick was allowing the demon brat to emotionally, verbally and physically abuse Tim and stay silent when he saw it first hand or got angry when Tim defended himself.

'For someone who claims to love family, he sure has proven that he can only love one brother at a time.' Jason felt for Tim. He was trying to be there for Tim but it was a work in progress.

It just baffled him and pissed him off that Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Stephanie and Barbara never once questioned why they allowed Damian to get away with treating Tim like he was trash. Why they never spoke up when Damian time after time told Tim that he wasn't wanted, that he wasn't part of the family. Why Damian sought to kill Tim and only Tim. Jason just hoped that they would wake up before it was too late.

It turned out it was too late.

For all of his skills, Damian found he couldn't move as the speedster kept him pinned to the wall, one hand wrapped around his throat the other vibrating right above his heart, "One wrong move and I vibrate my hand through your chest and into your heart." Bart Allen hissed, his happy-go-lucky personality replaced by a hardened man with no mercy left.

Damian refused to show any fear for that was a sign of weakness and he was anything but weak.

No help was coming as Cassie Sandsmark had Stephanie wrapped up in her lasso, she looked every inch of the Amazonian warrior she is.

Richard had his hands full with an enraged Superboy who was out for pure blood and Raven along with Huntress were keeping his father and Todd busy.

'I always knew that she was not to be trusted.' Damian thought bitterly at the betrayal from someone that was supposed to be one of their own. "I have no idea what you want but I suggest that you let me go and vacate the cave as well as Gotham and I might not seek revenge."

Bart's eyes burned with untamed rage, "Of course you would threaten violence for all the claims that you have changed you still fall back on old habits and isn't hurting Tim tonight enough for you? Or do you wish to stain your hands with blood some more?" Bart hissed at him.

Dick who was close enough to hear was confused, "What happened to Timmy?"

"Don't act like you don't know! You let this happen!" Conner snarled as he felt his eyes heating up and oh how he wanted nothing more than to unleash his heat beam on those who had harmed his Tim.

"Conner, I need you to calm down. I'm sure that Damian didn't mean for this to happen." Dick pleaded he needed to make Conner as well as himself believe that was true that Damian hadn't meant to hurt Tim. "I'm sure if we could talk to Tim we can clear this all up."

"Lies!" Conner hissed out, "This isn't the first time that little demon has tried to kill Tim and because he was never told by you Bruce or Alfred that killing Tim was wrong he found it acceptable and kept trying and now he has succeeded in seriously harming Tim. You are to blame as much as he is because you never took the time to explain that Tim is very much as a family as he is and Tim has the right to feel safe in his own home! Tim is fighting for his life right now because none of you had the balls to tell that demon spawn that killing is wrong!"

Damian froze a flicker of fear as Conner's words vibrated around the cave and all moment stopped.

Dick was sure that for a second his heart had stopped beating, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that Tim screamed my name as he fell knowing that I would always be listening for him if he needed me. I found my best friend's broken body laying on the ground. Bart found the cut zip line and Helena got Vic to look at the footage and what he found proved all of our fears Damian cut Tim's line, he fell because of him!"

Cassandra Cain was torn, she loved her family but Tim, Tim was special he was her little brother, her little bird, the one who never gave up on her and the first one to trust her.

"Hurt brother. Cannot forgive. Cannot trust. " It hurt Cass to say those words but she knew deep in her heart it was true.

Nodding his head Jason crossed his arms over his chest, "I agree with princess here. I knew this family was messed up but hell letting me then the demon spawn tries and kill replacement without consciences is a new low. At least I did my best to make amends with Timmy, and for some reason, he found it in his heart to forgive me."

"You were his big brother, the first one to believe in him and you turned your back on him." It was Helena's words that cut Dick to the core.

"Don't bother looking for Tim, he is somewhere safe and you will never see him again," Conner growled. Bart and Cassie stood united with him. They had once seen a future where they turned dark, where they crossed lines and for Tim, they were willing to do that now.

If it meant taking on Batman, his family and the whole Justice League they would do so in a heartbeat to keep Tim safe.

#badthingshappenbingo #sherri writes #my fics #conner/tim/jason #hurt tim #tim centered

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azuwulastan · 3 years

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the gang gets analysed - dangerous ladies go to schema therapy

Ty Lee

Enmeshment/Undeveloped Self:

This may be experienced as intense emotional closeness and involvement with significant others (other parents); the cost of which is often forgoing healthy social development or building a sense of a personal identity. This schema often includes feelings of being smothered by or overly attached (fused) to others, while also experiencing a lack of personal direction or emptiness. This schema is often the source of co-dependency – in which a person gets their sense of self, and self-worth through other people.

Subjugation:

This involves a tendency to surrender control to others in attempts to avoid abandonment, anger, or conflict. You may identify with this schema through a pattern of subjugating your needs/emotions coupled with a perception that your own needs, feelings, wants, or beliefs are unimportant or invalid to others. The pervading feeling of this schema is fear of retaliation, conflict and other people’s anger. As a result of this EMS, your current experience may include excessive compliance to the needs/wishes of others while simultaneously feeling trapped. Often there is a build-up of unexpressed anger and resentment.

Approval-Seeking/Recognition-Seeking:

This schema is related to placing an excessive amount of importance on recognition, attention, or approval from others (at the expense of development a mature and authentic self). Self-esteem may be rigidly tied to the (actual or perceived) reactions from other people, as opposed to trusting your own intuition or inclinations. For some, this EMS manifests itself through attempting to meet these deep needs by overly emphasizing money, appearance, status, power, or prestige. The focus here is basically about the earnest need for approval and recognition, as opposed to seeking power or control.

Azula

Unrelenting Standards/Hyper-criticalness:

This is an EMS characterized by a deep belief that you must meet incredibly high standards (performance/behavior) in order to avoid criticism. You may experience feelings of pressure, notice difficulty slowing down, and hyper-criticalness /unrealistically high standards of yourself and others. This schema may present itself outwardly as perfectionism, excessive attention to detail, rigidity toward behavioral, moral, or ethical rules/standards, or a preoccupation with time and efficiency (in hopes of getting more accomplished). It is the schema that generates the most stress. Cortisol, the stress hormone, will be continuously running through the person’s system causing difficulty with relaxation and feelings of restlessness, agitation and frustration. It’s often difficult being around people with this schema as they can be quite critical, judgmental, and easily irritated.

Abandonment/Instability:

This schema develops from families where at least one parent was unpredictable, emotionally or physically absent, volatile or abusive. It generates thoughts that people will eventually leave or reject you and creates an above average amount of insecurity and anxiety in close relationships. If you have this schema you will try to avoid feeling insecurity and anxiety by either becoming clingy and needy, over-controlling and possessive or avoid intimate relationships altogether.

Defectiveness/Shame:

This involves a core feeling of a sense of defectiveness or inherent “badness.” There is often a belief that if you were actually exposed to others as your true self, you would discover that you were actually unlovable. This schema may manifest itself through heightened sensitivity to criticism and blame, intense self-consciousness, insecurity, and comparisons around others. It is often the schema that directly underpins depression and drives the schemas of approval seeking, self-sacrifice and unrelenting standards.

Punitiveness:

This schema may be experienced as a belief that people should be punished or judged harshly for their mistakes. People who identify with this schema may feel intolerant, angry, impatient, and punitive toward themselves and others who don’t meet certain high expectations or standards. There may be an accompanying difficulty in forgiveness toward oneself and others due to a general reluctance to consider the impact of external factors. Individuals with this schema may share an inner sense of reluctance to accept natural human imperfection and empathize with others.

Entitlement/Grandiosity:

This schema is related to a belief in your superiority to others or a general belief in being entitled to special privileges, rights, or exceptions. These is often a belief that “normal” rules of social interactions don’t apply to you and that you should be able to do as you please without concern for the impact on others or an exaggerated focus on/need to be the “best” in some way to achieve power/control (not primarily related to attention/approval). There may be a tendency toward exerting power over others, forcing viewpoints upon others, or generally trying to control others’ behaviors in self-serving ways

Mai

Emotional Inhibition:

This involves overly suppressing forms of spontaneous emotional expression, action, or communication out of fear that these expressions of emotion will result in shame, disapproval, rejection, or loss of impulse control. Commonly, attempts may be made to inhibit: anger/aggression, positive impulses (spontaneous expressions of joy/happiness), and vulnerability/open communication about feelings or needs. There may also be a bias toward an overemphasis on rationality with a disregard for emotions.People might view you as uptight / infexible or rigid. You may actually have difficulty identifying and expressing emotions – a treatable condition called alexithemia

Emotional Deprivation:

This schema includes a general expectation for basic emotional needs to go unmet or unnoticed. This is probably one of the most common schemas that people with psychological issues struggle with. It doesn’t have obvious direct external signs but is the driving force behind a number of other schemas. Self-sacrifice is usually driven by this schema as it is a way of feeling emotionally valuable to others as listening to other’s problems is a way of getting emotional fulfillment -Three major forms of emotional deprivation include deprivation of nurturance, protection, and empathy. People with this schema often have a sense of something missing in life, an emptiness or a void. As a result, the emptiness can cause a constant feeling of something missing, which people use food and substances to fill.

Zuko

Mistrust/Abuse:

This is a basic belief that others will inevitably hurt, take advantage, manipulate, or lie to you in some way. There is often a belief that these harmful behaviors are intentional or the result of negligence. This schema develops primarily from verbal, physical or sexual abuse or from a parent who was unpredictable in their affections. As an adult, there may be a belief of always feeling that you get the “short end of the stick” in comparison to others. People with this schema often suffer from paranoia, mistrust and anger.

Failure:

This schema is generally rooted in the sense that you have failed, will fail, or are fundamentally inadequate in comparison to others in areas of achievement. There are associated core beliefs of being stupid, ignorant, untalented, or inferior. This schema might manifest itself through excessive procrastination or relentless driving of oneself. It creates a lot of anxiety and fear. Often people with this schema have the sense that they are frauds in the workplace, or children in adult bodies

#azulas list got long..#this is basically to help me write lol

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Seventy Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

February 6th, 1987

Remy woke up from his dream with a start, looking around. He was still in his bedroom, which was a promising sign. He couldn’t go to his parents with a scary dream, seeing as last time his mother sent him back to bed with a growl and a threat, but he wanted to make sure everyone was still alive.

He crept into his parents room, and saw the steady rise and fall of his mom and dad’s chests. He tip-toed across the hallway and peered into Vanessa’s room, confirming she was breathing as well. He slipped into Toby’s room, to find Toby reading a book by flashlight. “Hey,” Toby said softly. “Bad dreams?”

Remy reluctantly nodded. He pointed at the book. “Mom and Dad told you not to stay up all night reading.”

Toby shrugged. “Don’t tell them I did? If you don’t, I won’t tell them anything you say tonight. Want to talk about your dream?”

“A little,” Remy admitted.

Toby patted his bed and Remy climbed up on it, sitting at the foot of the bed as Toby patiently listened to him.

January 5th, 2003

Remy felt the shift on the bed before he really registered anything else around him. Without thinking, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around Emile in bed, murmuring, “You okay, honey?”

He didn’t get a response, and that’s when he cracked an eye open, to find Emile struggling out from under Remy’s arm, crying. Remy retrieved his arm and pushed himself upright in bed. “Emile? Honey?”

Emile was still crying and whimpering, but his eyes were squeezed shut tight and he didn’t show any signs of being awake. Remy’s hand touched Emile’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Emile bolted upright in bed with a gasp, shaking like a leaf. “Emile? Are you awake?”

Looking over to Remy, Emile paled and Remy blinked once, twice. Remy wasn’t getting any verbal responses, and his worry was only growing. “Emile,” Remy said softly. “Are you okay?” Remy reached a hand out and Emile flinched. Remy retreated like he had been burned. “...I’m gonna give you your space, honey, okay? Whenever you’re ready to talk, come get me.”

And with that, Remy left the room. He went to his old room, which Emile had been helping Remy turn into a mini-office until they could move somewhere bigger and Remy could get “a proper office” as Emile had put it.

He laid down on the bed in the corner of the room and stared at the ceiling. Obviously, Emile had a nightmare of some kind. Something involving Remy. Remy wanted to help, but he knew that if Emile had a nightmare with him in it, it might be counterintuitive to force Emile to hang around Remy until he felt better.

Remy was drifting off to sleep, worry about Emile swirling in his head when there was shuffling in the doorway. Remy cracked an eye open to find Emile standing there, pale as a ghost. “Mm?” Remy asked.

Emile opened his mouth, before shutting it again. He looked at the floor, then up at Remy, unshed tears in his eyes. “Promise me that you won’t drink or smoke.”

Remy blinked, uncomprehending for a second before he said, “Honey, I’ve never smoked and I haven’t drank in years, and I promise I would never do either of those things in excess. What brought this on?”

“...Had a bad dream,” Emile said reluctantly. “You got high and...wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Remy said, not really sure what else to say. “And you’re...worried I might do that in real life?”

“No, no. No, I don’t think you’d ever do that in real life, inebriated or otherwise,” Emile said, sitting down on Remy’s bed. “I just worry about what would happen if you did get drunk or high, and someone else didn’t have your standards of character.”

“Wait...” Remy said, frowning. “You have...a very vivid dream of me...doing that...to you, so vivid that you flinch away from me when you first wake up, and you worry about me being violated once you’re fully awake? You’re not...mad at me for it?”

“It was a dream, Rem, I’m not going to hold you accountable for a dream,” Emile said. “But...this is a college town. You’ve been to parties, so have I. And...it’s not like we’ve never had close calls.”

“Wait...what?” Remy asked, blood running cold. “We’ve had close calls?”

“Back when you still drank at parties. Like, drank enough to actually get depressed and not remember much. You were getting hit on by a junior back when you were still in college. I had to drag you back to the dorms with the promise of Halloweentown?”

“She was...she was trying to...?” Remy stammered.

“It looked that way. I thought I told you,” Emile said with a frown.

“Oh, my God. If you did, I forgot about it entirely,” Remy said. “I mean, I know I’m dumb when I’m drunk, but...”

“Hey, this is not a matter of smart or dumb. This could happen to anyone,” Emile said. “And I’m very thankful it didn’t happen to you. But I don’t ever want it to happen to you, or have a chance of happening to you, again. So I don’t want you drinking or smoking.”

“...Honestly, that’s such a good reason to stay sober,” Remy said. “Like, if you think I’m not going to drink champagne at our wedding, you’re dead wrong, but I’m not getting drunk off it.”

“And you wouldn’t...”

Remy shook his head. “Mio amore, let’s be honest here. I couldn’t afford a cigarette habit, let alone anything heavier. I’m safe, you’re safe, neither of us are going to get into trouble over that sort of thing.”

Emile blew out a breath. “Okay...okay. You’re right. I might have gone a little overboard in the fear department.”

Remy shook his head and leaned up to kiss Emile’s temple. “You had a vivid dream. It happens. And if it will help you sleep better, I’ll keep away from the alcohol except when cooking.”

“Yeah, I think that would help...” Emile took a breath. “I know it doesn’t exactly inconvenience you, but I’m still sorry that you would have to take those extra steps.”

“I’m not,” Remy said. “If it helps you feel better, I’ll do it happily. Besides, it’s probably better to not get in the habit of drinking whenever I feel like it anyway.”

“I mean, drinking a little is not a bad thing,” Emile sighed. “I admittedly feel a bit like I’m overreacting. But not enough to tell you to not take those extra steps.”

“And like I said, I don’t mind taking them if it helps you feel at ease,” Remy said, hugging Emile. “What say you to an early morning walk when virtually no one else is awake, just because?”

“Sounds like it would be chilly, I’m not sure...” Emile said.

“Hmm...then what about we make breakfast, together, just to spend some time together?” Remy proposed.

Emile smiled. “I can definitely get behind that.”

Remy grinned. “Excellent! Come on, let’s get to work!”

Dragging a laughing Emile to the kitchen, Remy grabbed the things they needed for a small breakfast. He didn’t want to do anything too huge, just enough to get both of their minds off of Emile’s nightmare. “What do you say to an egg sandwich?” Remy offered.

“Sounds perfect,” Emile said with a little smile.

Remy nodded and started to grease up a pan, while Emile got the bread slices toasting. “You want turkey on it, too?” Remy offered.

“Oh, that sounds great,” Emile said, rubbing his hands together.

Remy grabbed sliced turkey from the refrigerator and tossed it in the pan. As it sizzled and cooked, Remy looked over to Emile, who was staring at the toaster in consternation. “You okay?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Emile said, shaking his head slightly. “I was just caught in my own thoughts. Dice said he was going to call me soon-ish.”

“Yeah?” Remy asked. Admittedly, he had forgotten that Dice was still looking for Toby. He had been swamped between working on research for Sleep Easy and still working at the other shops in the area.

“Yeah. He said that almost all his contacts had gotten back to him, and he would call me if he got something sooner than our arranged meeting, but I haven’t gotten a phone call or an email yet.”

“Ah,” Remy said, feeling a little disappointed. Dice had said they were “eighty percent done” for two months now. He didn’t know how long this whole thing would take, but he didn’t think it should be this long. Remy removed the turkey from the pan and put it on the waiting slices of toast before cracking open eggs. “Are you hopeful about the next meet-up?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Emile said. “I mean, it’s been months. Something has to give eventually. And I really trust Dice. I don’t know why, but I do. He’s not just half-heartedly searching, I’ve asked him to go more in-depth about his searches with me and he has. He’s really looking, Rem. He’ll find Toby.”

“Yeah,” Remy sighed. “I just wish that it would happen sooner, rather than later.”

Emile offered Remy a small, sad smile. “I know. It’s not easy to wait for anything, but especially something like this.”

“Tell me about it,” Remy griped. “Like, I knew if Dice was any good, he’d take his time, but it’s been literal months and we haven’t gotten any further than ‘eighty percent close’ and it’s...enough to make me want to bang my head against a wall. I’m just...frustrated.”

“Yeah,” Emile said softly.

Remy sighed and ran a hand down his face before dishing up the eggs. “I don’t want to talk about this so in-depth. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life right now. Houses. Do we have an estimate on houses?”

“A couple,” Emile said, nodding. As Remy threw a bit of spices onto the sandwiches he said, “There’s a few townhouses for sale nearby. I say nearby, it’s like a fifteen minute drive. Forty five minute commute to college by car, we’ll have to coordinate a lot more when it comes to who gets the car when.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Remy said, passing a sandwich to Emile. “I think we could make it work, though. And, we wouldn’t have to deal with my mother coming around anymore.”

“True,” Emile said with a little grin. “Should I call the realtors? See if we can get something set up?”

“Definitely,” Remy agreed. “I want to see these townhouses for myself.” Emile grinned and Remy smiled back. “It’s weird being an adult. I thought adults have everything together, always. When in actuality you’re just flying by the seat of your pants with actual lives at stake.”

That earned a snort from Emile, and Remy laughed. “It’s true!” he defended.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Emile said. “That is...painfully accurate.”

Remy sighed and shook his head. “I’m...more stressed than usual recently. I didn’t want to say anything at first, but I think you ought to know. The new shop is amazing, but it adds an extra layer of work to everything I already need to do, and it’s stressful.”

“Should we get a computer?” Emile asked. “So you don’t have to go to the library to do research?”

Remy grimaced. “A computer is a lot of money, Emile.”

“So’s gas money when you have to research stuff at the library for your shop,” Emile said with a shrug. “In the long run, it might be cheaper.”

Remy shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Maybe once the shop is doing comfortably.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Emile agreed. “I can’t wait for the day you open it up and there’s a line going out the door.”

Remy laughed. “Come on, Emile. My coffee’s good but it’s not that good.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Rem,” Emile warned.

“I don’t think I am, I’m just being honest,” Remy said. “Of course I’ll puff myself up in advertisements, but I know I’m not perfect, and I always have room to learn and improve. My coffee is good, yeah. The blends I make when the managers let me use leftover grounds are unique in a good way. But...this is going to be a lot of work, and there’s going to be a lot of room for self-doubt.”

Emile tutted. “Come on, Rem, you’ll do fine.”

“You say that now,” Remy laughed, somewhat hysterical.

Emile kissed Remy softly, and Remy melted into the kiss, letting all of his stress melt away if only for a brief moment. “I’m sure you’ll do amazing, Rem. This is you. You won’t let your business go under if you have any means of saving it. I doubt you’ll even need saving in the first place. I’ve heard people talking about your shop who I haven’t even talked to about it. All our friends are in your corner. You’ve got this.”

Remy smiled softly. “You really think so.”

“I do,” Emile said.

“Then what could possibly go wrong?” Remy asked with a grin. “I’ve got you and our friends on my side, this’ll be great!”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

Text

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!! AO3. Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

---

Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities.

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

#batman #batfam #bruce/selina #batcat #bruce wayne #selina kyle #bruce x selina

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