#and it's hard to operate in this world as a non-person who barely speaks. because i don't know what i'm supposed to say

[lwieserce]

my heart is going to explode<3

[just-jordie-things]

[part thirteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.6k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part thirteen] : “Melt My Soul” ___

How long after a traumatic incident does your body begin to process it? A minute? A day? Or was it the very moment the incident took place?

Does the soul know that this event was going to change the body forever? Or is it the body that processes the trauma the quickest, in order to protect the soul from the impending pain and grief?

It feels as though someone had drilled into (y/n’s) bones, and filled them with metal.  Quick hardening, heavy, toxic metal.  It keeps her trapped in place, stuck.

So stuck, she glances down to study the concrete of the sidewalk, just to see if there was a curse there keeping her put, or cement being poured over her feet.

But no, there was nothing holding her in place.  It was simply her own mind, processing the scene before her too slowly for any of her other bodily functions to operate.

She’s standing outside of a KFC, of all places, close to Shoko’s side, and just barely hiding behind Satoru.  She doesn’t exactly mean to be hiding, but again, she can’t bring herself to move.  Her hands are curled into fists so tight that they’re shaking- or was that just me? She wondered, and hoped at least no one could notice.

Shoko did.  She hadn’t taken her eyes off of (y/n’s) trembling hands since she’d arrived.

Neither of them had said a word, but even if they weren’t frozen in shock, there wouldn’t have been a chance to.  Satoru hadn’t offered even a moment for someone to cut in with their own piece of mind.

“What’re you getting at!?” He snarled loudly, not caring about the non-curse users passing by, just trying to go about their days.

(y/n’s) eyes landed on a particular disgruntled couple, who hastened their steps upon seeing the public display.  How she wished to be them, at this moment.  What a luxury, to find this scene annoying, maybe mildly entertaining.

To think the world as she knew it was crashing down around her, burning up into a crisp.  If only she could walk away and roll her eyes.

“If I could be you…” Suguru speaks and it sounds rehearsed, calculated, as if he’d had this conversation before.  “Wouldn’t my impossible ideal become possible?”

“You can’t be serious” Satoru’s voice finally drops in volume, and (y/n’s) eyes dart from one friend to the other.

She stares at Satoru hard, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind.  It’s useless, because she already knows.  She already knows exactly what he’s thinking, because she’s thinking the same thing.

Satoru’s hand curls into a fist, and when (y/n) notices it, she relaxes her own hands, which suddenly feel sore from how long she’s kept them tensed.  Her palms feel raw as the cool breeze hits them.

For the first time since she’d arrived, she opens her mouth.

“Don’t do this, Suguru,”

All eyes are on her now as she steps forward.  Her entire body is aching, maybe from the intense workout she’d done before warping here, maybe from the way the heartbreak is killing her soul.

But then again, what was one more heartbreak?

“Just- just come back, okay? Come back home and we can- we can talk this out”

Satoru and Shoko stare at her, surprised by the offer, wondering if she meant it, that she’d forgive him for his heinous crimes against non-sorcerers, against his own family.

What they don’t know is she’s speaking without thinking.  The words that fall from her take a piece of her heart with them, making them sound like the most sincere thing she’s ever spoken, but truthfully, she just doesn’t want to accept that this is who Geto Suguru was now.  She wanted to give him a chance to prove it all wrong.  She wanted to give them all a chance to forget the last few months and go back to normal.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head and plastering on a smile.

“Ever the hypocrite, (y/n),” He says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Her posture stiffens, and her features harden too.  Forgiveness was only Plan A.  Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she fights the urge to curl them back into fists.

“Your exhaustion becomes you,” Suguru continues, with a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are pointed at her with a venom (y/n) can recognize even from the distance she’s at.  “I see you’ve made your choice”

It’s a comment that doesn’t make sense to the others, but (y/n) knows fully well what Suguru was getting at.  Her teeth grit together.

“Don’t you speak to me about choices!”

On it’s own angered accord, her arm shoots over her shoulder, fingers wrapping firmly around the hilt of one of her swords.  Before she can unsheath it, Satoru’s hand is around her wrist, halting her.

Her head whips towards him so fast she hears a joint pop in her neck, but she’s not bothered by the unsettling crack, consumed enough by her rage to glare at him, silently demanding to know why he was stopping her.  Satoru doesn’t say a word, but when he slowly releases his hold on her, she doesn’t try to draw her weapon again.  The fire in her eyes doesn’t die as he holds her glare.

Suguru laughs to himself, shrugging his shoulders.

“I suppose this is goodbye, to all of you”

Satoru and (y/n) look back over to him, neither of them knowing what to say.  Shoko is wilting behind them both, not having said a word since Satoru and (y/n) had shown up.

Suguru raises his hand, giving what appeared to be a friendly wave.  It feels like a finishing blow.  With that, he turns around, and walks away.  He doesn’t run, he doesn’t summon one of the many curses he could have used to carry him away at high speed.  He simply strolls away.

Satoru raises his arm, and (y/n) watches with baited breath as he positions his middle and forefinger to his palm, tucked there by his thumb, and keeps it aimed directly at Suguru.

It’s only for a few seconds, but with her breath caught in her throat, it felt like ages.

Did she want him to do it? Her heart pounded in her chest, getting quicker with every beat.  Did she want to stop him, just as he had stopped her? Did she want to beg him not to kill him?

The question hits her, and her breath is finally released, a heavy, shaky exhale that makes her entire body deflate.  

Did she want Suguru to die?

Satoru lowers his arm, although his eyes are still trained on the spot his best friend once stood.  He was gone now, lost in the crowd of people.  Leaving the three of them to stand together, staring at that spot, at a loss for words.

What was there to say? Their best friend had defected, he wasn’t the person they knew, he was a murderer.

(y/n’s) the first to move, although it’s staggered, she takes a step back, putting distance between herself and the others.  Satoru and Shoko look at her with worry, and Shoko even reaches out a hand, as though to help stabilize her.  (y/n) takes another step backwards.

“(y/n/n)...” The girl whispers, but (y/n) can’t even meet her eyes.  Her own eyes are glazed over, locked in a fixed position on the ground.

I can’t dwell on this, she thinks to herself rationally.  Her heart begs her to let go, to sit down, to breathe, but she ignores it.  I need to move on.  I need to focus on Megumi and Tsumiki.  I can’t let this distract me.

“(y/n), slow down,” Shoko’s voice is closer to her now, and (y/n) barely registers how her hands set on her shoulders with a feather-light weight.  “Breathe”

She doesn’t notice her breathing has gone ragged, uneven.  She’s panicking.  This is a panic attack.

Move on, she wills herself to get over the incident like it wasn’t her present situation.  Think about the kids, and move on, she tries anyway, because she has to.

The funny thing about trauma was that you couldn’t bend it to your will.  It hits her now that her chest is heaving, her mouth is dropped open as she gasps for air.

Shoko’s trying to get her to focus, something about matching her breathing, and looking at her, but (y/n’s) vision was blurry, and she couldn’t hear a thing over her pounding heart and her own thoughts.

You only have two days left to prepare, she reminds herself.  In two days, the Zen’in Clan is going to come for Megumi, she repeats it like a mantra, a toxic coping mechanism to combat the panic threatening her body.  

She had no time for things like panic and fear.

If you don’t get it together, you’ll lose them.  And if you lose them, what will you have left? You’ve pushed everything away to protect them, you put your life on pause, and you’re about to risk what’s left of it by challenging one of the most prominent families in Jujutsu Society.

Finally, her head snaps up, wide eyes meeting Shoko’s, who flinches upon the contact, and then she turns to Satoru, who was now also standing before her.  (y/n) doesn’t say anything as she looks between them both, and neither do they, at first, but their concern is evident.

“Are you alright?” Satoru asks, leaning in closer as he speaks.  She holds his eye contact, but it doesn’t look to him like she’s processing a word he’s saying.  “(y/n),” He says her name, catching a flicker of recognition in her eyes.  “Can you breathe?”

You don’t have time for panic, the voice in her head reminds her ruthlessly.  You don’t have time for any of this.

She looks back to Shoko, whose tears are spilling onto her cheeks, after too long of holding back her emotions.  Her lip quivers, and her hands tighten on (y/n’s) shoulders, gripping the fabric of her uniform shirt.

You need to leave, the voice commands, and she doesn’t give it a second thought.

She draws her hand upwards, not noticing the violent tremble of her entire arm, she brings her middle and pointer finger to her forehead, closing the rest of her hand.  Satoru recognizes this motion instantly, and jumps forward to rip her hand away from her head.

Using Hexing Eye so recklessly couldn’t be good for her right now.  She hadn’t perfected it, hadn’t learned to use it as a means for teleportation, and without a hex in place, she was bound to lose consciousness as soon as she warped.

(y/n’s) faster, throwing herself backwards just as she closes her eyes and focuses her mind on her dorm room.

“Don’t-!” She barely hears Satoru’s voice before she’s warped away.  It’s distant, almost an echo, almost dream-like.

Her body lands hard on the floor of her room before she even has the time to open her eyes again.  With a groan of pain, she tries stretching her already aching limbs.

I guess that’s why you don’t teleport while mid-fall, she thinks bitterly, pushing herself off the floor on a shaky arm.  Her legs aren’t any better, wobbling like jello as she half-drags herself onto her bed.

She’s going to be bombarded by Satoru and Shoko later, for this defiant act, she knows.  And even as her strength is giving out and her vision is blurring in focus, she thinks it was what she had to do.

She tries to plan on what she’s going to do tomorrow when she sees the Fushiguro kids, but she loses consciousness just as their faces flicker in her mind.

Using Hexing Eye without a hex on the place she was warping to still wasn’t a viable form of transportation.

A tear slips down her cheek as she passes out, still in her uniform, mind still swarming with half-baked strategy plans, and fear.

Despite finally getting a few hours of sleep after two days, it wasn’t a night of rest. ___

When (y/n) picks up the Fushiguro kids from school the following afternoon, they can see her weariness right away.  Even though she smiles, and excitedly asks about how their last couple days had been, they can see through it all.

The bags under her eyes are dark and heavy, and she’s moving slower, almost stumbling over her own feet.  Tsumiki and Megumi share a look of concern, neither of them knowing how to approach the subject.  As involved as (y/n) was in their lives, she hadn’t been very open about her own life outside of them.

Tsumiki takes her hand as they walk home together.  She knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to catch her if she fell, but she hoped that it was enough to bring her some sense of comfort.

Megumi tangles his fingers together, picking at his skin nervously.  He’s reminded of the day in the park, when he’d seen her talking to a supposed friend from her school.  He remembers how she’d looked when she’d told him that a fellow peer of hers had passed away.

She has that same look in her eye now, he notices.

(y/n) feels him staring at her, and when she looks down at him, she gives him a smile.

It looks genuine enough, but he knows it isn’t.  It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Once they get back to the Fushiguro house, (y/n) is quick to whip them up an afternoon snack while they get started on their homework.  Tsumiki and Megumi get right to work, quietly focused on their assignments.

(y/n) sets down the plate of snacks between them, quietly praising them for working so hard.

As she takes a seat next to Tsumiki, Megumi notices the way her body seems to slump into the chair, as though melting into it.  He quickly lowers his gaze back to his homework, but the sight troubles him.

She looked like she was going to drop and pass out any moment.

He tries not to worry about it, because she might not be a real grown up, but she was older than he was, and she was always put together like a real grown up.  Megumi knew that he looked up to her like a grown up, and grown ups didn’t look like this.

He didn’t know what he was looking at, really.

Both kids finish up their homework quickly, and are quick to gather on the sofa to watch tv and relax for the evening.

(y/n’s) slower, still sat at the kitchen table while they dove into their program.  She was still mulling over her options, trying to figure out if it was wrong to hide the letter from them, or if it would be more wrong to tell them about such an adult matter.

Which wasn’t fair, she cursed herself, hanging her head in her hands.  She wasn’t an adult either, she shouldn’t have to deal with all of these decisions either.

Despite her better judgment, she decides to put it off for just a little longer.

She gets up from her seat, and slowly makes her way over to the living room sofa, plopping herself in the space between both kids.

“So, what are we watching? Catch me up” She tells them with a smile, and Tsumiki happily fills her in on the drama in her favorite characters’ lives.

(y/n) tries to sink back into that familiar, domestic feeling she’d grown accustomed to when she’d first joined their lives.  That sense of normalcy that she’d tethered herself to.  But even as she engages with Tsumiki, asks her silly questions about the show, she can’t help but fear this may very well be the last normal night she spends with them.  Tomorrow was Friday, so she wouldn’t see them, and the next day… well, the next day she’d have to face the Zen’in Clan.

Before her mind can derail further, (y/n) feels eyes burning in the back of her head, and she turns to see Megumi staring up at her, completely turned away from the tv.

His expression is neutral, but his eyes are hard as he holds his stare on her.  She almost feels uncomfortable, but she covers it with a small chuckle and a quirked brow.

“Somethin’ wrong, Megumi?” She asks.

His eyes shift to his sister, who gives a small shake of her head, warning him not to say anything about (y/n’s) troubling demeanor.  Megumi sighs, and sinks back into the couch, focused on the tv again.

“No” he mumbles back to her.

He’s not a good liar, but he’s eight, so (y/n) lets it go.  He seems to relax as he watches the show, anyway, so she figured whatever it was, couldn’t be too big of a deal.

The rest of the night continues in the same way. ��Until eventually she’s bringing them both upstairs to put them to bed, just like she always does on nights she spends with them.  Except tonight, Tsumiki hugs her for a little longer than usual, and Megumi lingers in front of his bed, unwilling to get it.

“Megumi,” (y/n) calls softly from his doorway.  “Are you alright?”

He turns around to face her, revealing the book in his hands.  Charlotte’s Web.

He hesitates before speaking.

“I’m not tired…” He says, but his voice sounds slow and sleepy.  “Will you read to me for a bit?”

(y/n) smiles, nodding her head back at him.

“Yeah,” She agrees, not thinking twice about the time, or how she should be getting back to Jujutsu Tech soon.  “Yeah, of course”

“Can we go back to the couch?” He asks.

(y/n) wants to ask why she can’t read to him while he’s tucked into bed like she usually did, but she quickly assumes he’s just being a kid that wants to fight sleep, so she nods her head.

“Sure” She agrees with a smile, and steps out of the doorway so he could lead the way down the stairs.

Megumi climbs onto the couch with his book in one hand, his other hand reaching for the ratty old throw blanket on the cushion beside him.  (y/n) takes a seat beside him, taking the book and flipping to the page that he’d last marked.

“How many times have you read this now, anyways?” She asks.

Megumi ducks his head shyly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I dunno,” He admits.  “It’s my favorite”

She smiles as she looks back at the page before her.

“It’s becoming my favorite too” She says, before she starts at the top, and begins reciting the story she’s told him many times before.

She gets through about a chapter and a half, with Megumi curled up in his blanket beside her, his eyes following along as she reads.  He’d had most of the story memorized by now, it really was his favorite, but he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

His voice is quiet when he cuts her off mid sentence, but (y/n) stops speaking instantly, turning to give him her attention.

“What is it?” She hums, her finger holding her place in the book.

“Tsumiki said it was rude to ask,” He began, his eyes focused on his lap.  “Are you okay?”

(y/n’s) brow furrows in concern, but Megumi doesn’t look up, too busy playing with his fingers.

“It’s not rude…” She says slowly, trying to find the right thing to say.  “And I’m okay”

It’s not very convincing.

Megumi looks up at her, blinking his wide eyes as he stares at her in disbelief.

“You don’t look okay,” He says, and it’s blunt, but it’s the truth, and he doesn’t know how else to make her be truthful with him, too.  “You look tired.  And sick”

(y/n) chuckles at how intuitive he is.

“I appreciate the concern, honey,” She says, trying to play it off.  “But don’t worry about it, I’m just fine”

“Did you have another mission?” He asks.

(y/n) winces, shaking her head.

“No, not exactly,” She says honestly.  “I’ve just been… busy… that’s all”

Megumi frowns, not caring for the bullshit answer.  It wasn’t like her to lie like most adults did, when they thought they were being smart and misdirecting.  (y/n) almost laughs at how such a young boy can tell when she’s beating around the bush.

“Megumi, you don’t need to worry about me-”

“But you worry about us all the time,” He mumbles defeatedly.  “And you don’t look very good so… so we’re worried about you,”

He blinks, and (y/n) swears she even sees tears in his eyes.  Fretting over him, she closes the book, and brings one leg onto the couch so she could face him properly.

“Can you just tell me the truth?” He asks quietly.

(y/n) sighs, but nods her head.  When he asks her so sincerely, she can’t bear to lie to him again.

“Of course,” She says, because if he’s telling her it’s what he needs, then it must be the right thing to do.  “Megumi…” She starts, but the words fail her as soon as she tries.

How does she explain her situation to an eight year old?

“I… I had a friend.  A close friend,” She begins.  

Megumi’s eyes widened.

“A boyfriend?”

“No,” (y/n) scoffs, pushing his shoulder gently.  “I’m too busy raising kids, I don’t have time for a boyfriend.  But this was my best friend.  And he… well he recently left the school”

“The one from the park?” Megumi tilts his head.

(y/n) frowns, before turning her face away to quickly hide the sadness of the whole situation she’d been trying to bury.  It appeared she had quite a friends that weren’t around anymore, for whatever their reason.  Megumi also frowns at this.

“No… no this is a different friend,” (y/n) says quietly.  “Do you remember when I told you about the sorcerers who… who don’t want to follow the rules?”

“That they defect?” Megumi asks.

If it didn’t break her heart, (y/n) would praise him for his sharp memory.

“That’s right,” She murmurs.  “Well… that’s what’s happened to my friend,” She tells him.  “He didn’t want to follow the rules anymore, so… he left”

“Oh…” Megumi looks back down at his lap.  “Did he die?” He asks quietly.

“No, no he didn’t die,” (y/n) said.

She lays her palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back comfortingly.  Even as she censors some of the truth from him, she feels like her words are still putting a weight on his shoulders.

“I’ve been sad because he left,” She tells him.  “I probably won’t ever see him again”

I hope I don’t see him again, she thinks.

“That’s worse,” Megumi says sadly.  “I’d rather know that they’re gone forever for a reason”

(y/n) feels her heart leap into her throat, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about his dad.  She’s surprised a child so young could understand how she feels.  It hurts her more, knowing he’s experienced this same heartache.

“I think I’d have to agree,” (y/n) hums, raising her hand to mess up his hair.  Megumi looks up at her with a frown.  “It’s not easy being a Jujutsu Sorcerer,” She tells him.  “I never said it was easy, never thought it’d be easy…”

Megumi pulls her hand out of his hair before she could mess it up further, before he fixes the messy locks himself.

(y/n) looks at him, and swallows the lump in her throat that makes her want to cry.  If only he were older and she could explain all of this to him.

“But listen, Megumi,” She leans forward, and hopes he can take her seriously, even for just a minute.  “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll be just fine,” She gives him a smile.  “I’m sorry I made you worry, but you don’t have to worry that little head of yours about me anymore, alright?”

Megumi isn’t sure if he should believe her, but she ruffles his hair again with a laugh just to mess with him, and when he swats her hand away she only laughs more, so he thinks she’s okay, for now.

“You know you don’t have to raise us, right?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes widen at him, stunned to silence.

“It’s okay, if… if you have to go.  You have a lot to do, don’t you?” Megumi drops his head again.  “We would understand.  We would be okay”

Her heart breaks, and before thinking, she reaches out and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Megumi, I’ve told you before,” She has to focus on keeping her voice even.  “I’m sticking around whether you want me to or not”

His hands cling to the back of her shirt.

“There’s nothing that would make me leave you guys.  I knew what I was getting into when I met you both.  I knew what I was getting into when I started looking for you.  And I’m still not going anywhere”

She rubs his back and keeps hugging him until he pulls away.  Her focus remains on him, and she frowns when she sees tears on his face.  Her fingers gently reach out to brush them away.

“I know you won’t just leave” Megumi sniffles.

(y/n) takes his little hands, smiling at him fondly.

“I won’t ever leave,” She whispers.  “I’ve put a lot of trouble into watching out for you two.  You’re important to me.  And I’m going to make sure you guys can have everything you want”

Megumi musters up a small smile.

“Okay,” He mumbles, pulling his hands away to wipe the rest of the wetness off of his face.  “Can you read a little more?”

(y/n) smiles warmly, and nods her head.

“Of course,” She says, picking the book up again, flipping through the pages to find the spot she lost.  

Megumi gathers himself up in the blanket once more, and when she finally finds their place and begins reading again, he leans against her arm.  He might have an eight year old’s willpower to stay up late, but the tiredness had finally caught up to him.

It didn’t take long before he fell asleep against her.  (y/n) stayed still for a while, marking her place in the book and setting it aside while she sat quietly with the sleeping boy.

She petted his head gently, untangling the knots in his hair with careful fingers, and making his body relax more as he drifted deeper into his slumber.  Even long after he’d fallen asleep there, she remained by his side.

I hope you believe me, Megumi, she thinks as she lays her own head against the back of the couch cushion, suddenly finding the old thing the most comfortable place she’s ever rested.  And I hope you forgive me.

She drifts off to sleep with her hand on his head, and hopeful thoughts that she can do right by him. ___

With a jolt, (y/n’s) body is thrown forward in bed, tears streaming down her face and her hand outstretched, reaching for an imaginary figure, one that had been suffering before her in her dreams, but now was nowhere to be seen.

Panting to catch her breath, she tries to tell herself it was just that, a dream.  Well, a nightmare.  It was over now.

“(y/n)?” A tired, raspy voice rang out, before a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder.  “You alright, sweetheart?”

“Satoru,” She breathes out his name as she turns to face him, a relief spreading through her chest upon seeing him there.  “You’re here”

Her breathing steadies as she looks at him, his sleepy eyes and disheveled hair a sign that he’d actually been sleeping comfortably.  She was surprised, considering he’d spent most of his nights in her room to dote on her, to ensure she was the one that slept well.  Since Yu’s death, she’d been plagued with nightmares, the reminder that even jujutsu sorcerers face their mortality had been brutal.

“Well ‘course I am,” Satoru mumbles, giving her a small smile.  “Where else would I be?”

She’s not sure why, but when she’d first laid eyes on him, his presence had shocked her before it had relaxed her.  Her brows furrow as she wonders why that is, but she quickly brushes it off and lets herself relax.

The nightmare was over.  She was here now, and so was he.

With languid movements, Satoru props himself up on his elbows, his eyes flickering over her curiously.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, pulling his hand from her shoulder to rub the tiredness out of his eyes.  “Your nightmare?”

(y/n) pulls her knees to her chest, keeping her arms wrapped around them so she could comfortably rest her chin there.  The longer she was awake, the more the horrors of her dream seemed to fade away, until it was just a few flashes of images that barely made sense.

“I think I’ll be alright,” She replies, laying her cheek against her folded arms so she could look over at him.  “Satoru,” She hums his name softly.  “Thank you, for staying with me,”

He gave her a look, displaying his confusion with her sudden sentiment.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” She says.  “And I should have, a long time ago.  So, thank you.  For everything”

Satoru sits up, mimicking her position as he rests his arms on his legs, staring at her with an intensity behind his cerulean eyes that only she seemed to be able to take on directly.

“You want to thank me…” He says slowly, before his brows furrow.  “When all of this… has been your doing?”

The chill that shoots down her spine seems to spread over her heart.  The relaxation that had settled into her bones now replaced with freezing cold fear.  (y/n) lifts her head up, unblinking as she stared at him.

“What?” She mumbles, her voice barely audible.

“You couldn’t track down Toji, and I almost died” Satoru spits out.

“No…” (y/n) shook her head in a small but trembling motion.  “No, I… I followed him for days I- I did everything I could to-”

“Tch,” Satoru scoffs, the disgust evident in his face now as he glares at her.  “And then you don’t even have the guts to fess up,” He mutters.  “You sneak around and lie and cheat.  What makes you think it will be any different?”

As he snarls at her he shoots forward, and she flinches, hard enough she had to steady herself so she didn’t tumble out of her bed.

“You think that you can protect them? You?”

She’s still shaking her head, unable to find her voice, or any words to defend herself.  Where was this coming from? Why was he doing this?

“You can barely operate your own cursed technique, you have the ability of a first year, and you’re spineless, (y/n).  It’s pathetic that you consider yourself a jujutsu sorcerer”

“‘I- I’m doing everything I-” She tries to speak, but it’s useless.  Her breath had gone ragged and the panic inside of her was bubbling up too much for her to focus on speaking.

Satoru leans closer, and even though they’re both sitting, he towers over her as his glare hardens.  She’s never seen him so filled with hate, and the fact that it’s directed at her makes her heart drop to her stomach.

“Your ‘everything’ isn’t good enough,” His voice is a low growl.

Tears burn in her eyes.

“How can you be the only one that doesn’t see that?” He laughs bitterly.  “How are you the only one left that can’t see how weak you are?”

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Even your apologies mean nothing!” He yells now, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him any more.  “You’re destined to fail, you’re weak, just like the rest of them.  You can barely protect yourself, you think you can protect Megumi? Tsumiki?”

“I have to try!” She wails, but it’s drowned out by his vicious laughter.

“And when you fail, their blood will be on your hands!” He’s practically roaring over her.

She’s cowering, sobbing into her hands as she desperately attempts to wipe the tears from her face, but it’s no use.  They won’t stop.  Satoru scoffs at the sight, disgusted by what she’d been reduced to.

“Face it,” He mutters.  “You could have stopped Toji, and you failed.  You could have stopped Suguru, and you failed.  Now you think you can take on the Zen’in Clan?” He scoffs and shakes his head.  “You’ll die in vain” ___

“Stop it!”

(y/n) shot outwards, her strained voice leaving her throat in a pained cry, but as the blur in her vision clears away, and she gains her bearings, she realizes she’d just awoken.

A dream? She thought distantly, looking around herself, finding she was still in the Fushiguro’s living room.

That’s right… I fell asleep here… reading…

But she finds that Megumi is no longer sleeping at her side, and the blanket he’d had was now thrown over her lap.  He must have woken up and gone back to his room.  The realization that he’d given her the blanket to keep her warm brings her a moment of peace.  Picking up the ratty material that was barely enough to keep her legs covered, (y/n) begins to calm down.

Her breathing calms, and she closes her eyes to focus on bringing herself back to the present.  It was all just a cruel dream.

However it’s not as easy when she’s alone, she realizes.  There was a time, although short, where when the nightmares would rob her of her sleep, there was always a comforting presence right there, ready to lull her back to sleep with a warm embrace.

And sometimes he’d read to me, she recalls.

Although the plaguing images of her nightmare had worn away from her mind now, she still feels a wetness pool in her eyes.

She missed him.  Dearly so.

A tear drops to her cheek against her will, and soon she was quietly weeping into her hands.

Deciding to lay back on the couch, she gives in to staying the rest of the night at the Fushiguro house.  She’d never stayed the entire night, but she was long past curfew now, and she was in no position to walk or warp back to Jujutsu Tech.  She carefully pulls the small blanket over herself as she settles into the cushions.  Her tears wet the place where she lays her head.

If she survived this, she’d have to thank him, for all the nights he stayed by her side, she recalls the short period of warmth that her dream had brought her.  She hopes she can drift back into it’s sweetness.  And then she’ll have to get on her knees and apologize for the rest of her life.

She knows she won’t earn Satoru’s forgiveness.

If I survive. ___

(a/n): wow that kfc breakup do be hurtin but it hurts so goood.  reblog to dry ur tears <3 taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru​ @kamikokii​ @nerdiel-has-no-braincells​ @googlesheetshoe​ @vzleria​

xoxo ~ jordie

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll wait and i’ll listen

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of deafness/hearing loss, cursing, i think that’s it

recommended listening: new song | maggie rogers & del water gap

a/n: hi! first and foremost, i want to say that this is based off my own personal experiences with a deaf father, and it is in no way a reflection of how other people or families with hearing issues operate. this is just how we live and how my dad goes about life. with that out of the way, enjoy some soft nolan content i threw together in 45 minutes. pretty sure i made this gender neutral, but please point out any mistakes!

There’s no legitimate reason for you to be so apprehensive about Nolan meeting your parents.

He’s a great person who is all you could ever ask for in a partner. The two of you get along like peas in a pod, and honestly most of the time your relationship feels like two friends hanging out. Of course there’s a bit more romance involved – but being with Nolan is so easy you barely have to think about it. 

Your parents aren’t the issue either. They’re both incredibly supportive of your relationship, and anything else you do. If it weren’t for them, you never would have left home – they’re the ones who packed the car and drove you all the way to Philadelphia. You never would have met Nolan if they hadn’t practically forced you out of the house and into the world. 

Truthfully, both parties would probably get along great. Your mother is kind and welcoming, and your father has interests similar to Nolan’s. Your younger siblings adore him – they came to visit one weekend and you took them to an afternoon game at Wells Fargo Centre, and afterwards the four of you went out for burgers. Since then they talk to him regularly, and have been begging for you to return home with Nolan. You can tell your parents are getting antsy too – after all, you’ve been with Nolan for nearly two years. 

Yes, Nolan has a busy schedule that doesn’t allow for much travel, but there have been plenty of opportunities over the years for everyone to get together. You’re the one who always comes up with a reason for him not to meet your parents. One time you were ‘sick’, another you were too busy with work to make the trip home. It isn’t that you’re worried they won’t approve or that Nolan will resent them. You’re apprehensive about bringing Nolan around because you’re worried there will be a communication barrier. 

Your dad is deaf, and Nolan doesn’t exactly enunciate his words well. His voice is also exceptionally deep, which doesn’t help much. It isn’t a secret, your father’s hearing issues, and you’ve spoken to Nolan about them numerous times. Most of the time it’s you fretting about it getting worse and he listens intently while you sob into his chest. Since the hearing loss came from years of working around loud machines, it was gradual, which was frustrating for him. You were in high school when he got hearing aides, but eventually they lost their desired effect. Now your dad relies on reading lips and other non-aural markers like hand gestures to fill in the gaps. 

“Babe, I have to meet them at some point,” Nolan says through a mouthful of pasta. “Especially since I plan on sticking around.”

Your mom had called earlier in the afternoon to ask when you were coming home next. The upcoming weekend is free in your schedule, and when you told her she insisted you bring Nolan. He’s out for the season with the migraine related issues so you couldn’t exactly lie and say he was going to be out of town. Instead, you fed her some bullshit excuse and said you’d check to see if he could move some stuff around. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I just don’t want you or my dad getting frustrated if talking doesn’t go smoothly.”

Nolan pushes his chair back from the table and walks to stand behind you. He rubs your shoulders soothingly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “There are a million and ten other ways I can communicate with him Sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.”

Deep down, you know he’s right. There’s no reason the two of them can’t communicate, even if they can’t do it verbally. After discussing it more and ironing out all your doubts, you call your mom back to let her know both you and Nolan will be coming. A small weight lifts from your chest, knowing that you’ll get the first meeting over with, but dread slowly creeps in. There are so many ways it could go wrong. 

☼☼☼☼

You and Nolan stand on the doorstep of your childhood home hand in hand. As if he can sense how nervous you are, Nolan squeezes gently, reminding you of his unwavering presence. 

“Whatever happens isn’t going to change the fact that I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

To steady yourself from the negative thought swirling in your brain you lean closer to Nolan. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and uses his free hand to knock on the door. Less than two seconds your sister is bounding towards the door and flinging it open. 

“Mom! Y/N and Nolan are here!”

She steps to the side and lets the pair of you in. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the rack behind the door – Nolan copies. As soon as you’re inside the entryway your mother is wrapping you in a massive hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re home darling,” she says, arms tight around you. “Was the drive okay?”

You go to answer her question but her attention is turned to your very tall boyfriend who is standing beside you like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You must be Nolan. It’s so nice we could finally meet. Y/N has told me a lot about you.”

Nolan clears his throat before speaking, his deep voice echoing slightly off the ceiling. “All good things I hope,” he laughs, looking to you for reassurance. 

Nodding your head, you join in his laughter. You travel farther into the house, giving your brother a fistbump when you pass him in the hall. When you moved out your parents converted your room into a sophisticated guest bedroom, so there aren’t any embarrassing posters from your teenage years on the walls for Nolan to make fun of. You quickly unpack your suitcase, wanting to get back downstairs and spend time with your family. It’s been a while since you’ve been home, and you missed them more than you thought. 

“Is your dad here?” Nolan asks, hanging the couple of sweaters you guys brought up in the closet. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, you shake your head. “He’ll be home from work just before dinner.” 

The two of you head downstairs to chill with your siblings, but not without sharing a few kisses that make your spine tingle. At your brother’s insistence the four of you head to the basement to partake in an air hockey tournament. Though Nolan can hold his own in the NHL, he’s rather miserable at this iteration of the game. Your sister eliminates him in under five minutes, and after a hard fought battle you defeat your brother. 

Nolan tries to coach you before the gold medal game but you laugh him off. “Nol, you were terrible. I think I can hold my own.”

He breathes out harshly through his nose, but you know he isn’t upset with your teasing. “Fine,” he mumbles, “See if you can win without my all-star advice.”

Your sister manages to win in a shootout. It was a close game, and you challenge her to a rematch after dinner. She accepts, insisting you’ll lose again. Nolan bets he can race her around the property, so you move outside. Your mom lets you know dinner will be ready soon, and you throw her a thumbs up. 

Though your sister is a fast runner, she’s got nothing on Nolan’s six foot frame. He passes her with ease, cheekily throwing her the finger as he rushes by. You’re the finish line and instead of stopping when he reaches you, Nolan throws you over his shoulder and continues running through the yard. 

Your laugh rings out as you kick your feet. “Put me down!” you shriek. When he makes no attempt to prove he listened to your cries, you try again. “Nol, come on, put me down. If you fall it’ll be really bad.”

Knowing you’re right, Nolan stops moving and gingerly places you on the ground. His hands move to cup your face and he plants a warm kiss on your lips. You refuse to let it get too far, but you lean into him slightly and sigh when he pulls away. 

In the distance you hear your mom calling for dinner. “Kids, it’s time to eat,” she says. “Your father just got home.”

Your heart beat rises exponentially, and your steps drag slightly as you get closer to the door. Nolan notices, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he flashes you a smile that’s reserved just for you and makes your heart melt. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure I don’t mumble.”

In the dining room, you guide Nolan to sit beside your dad. You figure it’s the spot where he has the best chance of hearing your boyfriend, and no one seems to protest. They give each other a polite nod while the rest of you rush to place everything on the table and serve the food. 

Once everyone is sitting, Nolan takes the initiative to introduce himself. “It’s nice to meet you Sir,” he says a bit slower than his normal speaking voice, making sure to clearly enunciate his words. 

There’s no response from your father, and you suck in a breath. You watched him focus on Nolan’s lips while he spoke, but you fear he still couldn’t quite understand what your boyfriend said. It takes a few more beats for him to process what was spoken, but then your dad is cracking a smile and holding his hand out for Nolan to shake. 

“Glad Y/N isn’t hiding you from us anymore. I thought the first time I’d meet you was at the engagement party.” His voice is a few decibels louder than everyone else’s, due to not being able to hear himself, but Nolan doesn’t seem to mind. 

They slip into an easy conversation about work and hunting, asking each other a million questions. There’s barely room for any one else to contribute but the rest of you don’t mind – it’s been a long time since your dad has been able to go this long without asking someone for assistance. Of course there’s a few bumps in the road – Nolan not speaking clearly or looking elsewhere while telling a story, but that was to be expected. You step in when needed, repeating phrases and recreating scenes with hand actions. Overall, the meal goes swimmingly, and the two men leave the table eagerly to swap stories. 

You spend the time catching up with your mother, and she gushes over how Nolan is handling everything. “He’s doing so well,” she exclaims. “He’s so patient with your dad, waiting to make he understood what was said before continuing, and he doesn’t have an issue repeating himself a few times. You really lucked out Y/N.”

“I know,” you say honestly. “He’s simply the best.”

It’s a few hours later that Nolan finds his way back to you. You arch your brow, wondering what he got up to, and he explains that your dad took him for a walk in the forest to show him the deer he’d been tracking the past couple of weeks. It’s heartwarming that they get along so well, and you feel a little silly for fretting over what would happen. 

☼☼☼☼

“Your dad is nice,” Nolan shrugs as you crawl into bed beside him. “I could hardly tell he was deaf most of the time.”

You tuck yourself into his side and hum. “He does a great job of not letting it define him,” you agree. “But thank you for being so patient with him.”

A small peck is placed to your shoulder blade and you sigh at the contact of Nolan’s lips on your skin. “He did grumble about how my voice is too deep,” he laughs. “Said he could barely hear me. Once I knew that I made sure to speak clearly and let him read my lips.”

You’re speechless. None of your friends or past romantic partners had made that much of an effort to treat your dad like he was a person. They got short with him for needing them to slow down or repeat themselves, and often would refuse to see him again. It’s part of the reason you were so hesitant to introduce Nolan – you wanted to protect him from another person who might treat him differently because he can’t hear.

“I really fucking love you,” you whisper into the darkness. 

You can practically hear the grin in Nolan’s voice as he speaks. “I really fucking love you too.”

The rest of your stay will go just fine, you think as you drift to sleep. There was nothing to worry about, and you can’t wait to watch a friendship blossom between your dad and boyfriend. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[allsassnoclass]

The Inherent Domesticity of Target’s Home Decor Section

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood Rating: Teen Word Count: 2076 Read on AO3

Michael has mixed feelings about Target.  On one hand, Target is better than Walmart, and he appreciates that they get to design different album covers and sell special editions there.  On the other hand, walking into Target makes him feel like he should have his life together more.  That’s not to say that his life is a disaster; his life is actually pretty great, and he feels like a fully functioning adult.  However, the store still gives him the niggling feeling that he should buy a planner and some post-it notes and turn into a suburban mom.

“Do you think I should buy a planner?” he asks.  Calum hums, reading the back of a DVD that’s on sale for $5.  When he shifts to put it back on the shelf, Michael shifts right with him, arms around his stomach and cheek plastered against his shoulder.  It’s earlier in the morning than Michael would like, so Calum gets the privilege of holding him up as punishment for dragging him out into the world at this time of day.

“Why do you need a planner?  Ashton takes care of that stuff for the band,” Calum says.  He picks up another DVD and flips it over.

“Yeah, but maybe I should put down everyone’s birthday or something,” he says.  Calum snorts and Michael pinches his side, because he’s apologized for forgetting his birthday that one time sincerely and profusely and gave Calum a pretty spectacular blowjob to make up for it.

“Would you even use it?” Calum asks.  Michael considers and has to concede his point.

They look at DVDs for a few more minutes because Calum gets a kick out of what a place like Target choses to stock in their meger selection.  Michael lets him slip some animated thing he thinks he watched once as a kid into the basket, content to stand there while Calum takes his time and just breathe him in.  He loves being close to Calum, letting his familiar smell fill his nostrils and leeching body heat.  He lets their breathing sync up and imagines that he can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and almost putting him to sleep standing up.

Nowhere feels like home quite like Calum does.  Even in the middle of Target, Michael feels better than he ever has alone in his house.  It makes him wonder why he’s even living alone, and why Calum pulled away and they stopped messing around when neither of them have girlfriends.

The bottom line is that he misses Calum nearly every moment they’re apart, but he doesn’t know how to articulate this without the crushing fear of rejection.  Calum loves him, and he knows that a significant part of Calum’s world revolves around Michael, but that doesn’t mean they necessarily love each other in the same way.  Michael wants grocery shopping and kisses and late night cuddles regardless of if they have somewhere to be in the morning and lazy sex and laughing at each other’s ridiculousness so hard that he can’t breathe.  Calum wants a platonic best friend.

“What else do we still need to get?” Calum asks, shaking Michael out of his reverie.

“Toothpaste, I think.  And vitamins.”

“Look at you, being healthy and shit.”

Michael pokes his side and Calum tries to wriggle away, giggling because Michael knows exactly which spot tickles the most.

“Just because I don’t let Ashton drag me to yoga like you do doesn’t mean I’m unhealthy.  I get the most sleep out of any of us and I drink a fuckton of water.”

“I know, I know,” Calum says.  “Want to check the CDs?”

It’s a distraction tactic, because Michael will always check the one-shelf CD selection, especially so soon after one of their own releases.  Michael makes the conscious decision to allow himself to be distracted.

“Okay.  CDs, then toothpaste, then vitamins, then I want to look at the home decor.”

“What do you want to look at the home decor for?”

Michael shrugs, knowing that Calum can feel it.  There’s just no non-incriminating way to say I like to see your reactions and pretend that we’re picking out stuff for our house because I might be fully in love with you and I want you in every single crevice of my life.

That’s the issue with Target: it makes him feel domestic and long for things he can’t have.

“Excuse me?” a new voice says, and Michael first feels a twinge of annoyance at someone interrupting his moment and then a twinge of panic that it could be a fan when he definitely doesn’t have the emotional or physical energy to put on a public persona.  One look at the owner of the voice dispels that notion.  The woman is on the later side of middle-aged and looks pretty much exactly like the kind of woman who cooks meatloaf and has 3 cats and actually does go to Target to buy planners.  As inclusive as the band tries to make their music, Michael can admit that she’s not exactly in their immediate wheelhouse for fans.  Nevertheless, he straightens up a bit, but the woman is smiling so he thinks he can maybe get away with still locking his arms around Calum’s waist.

“Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say that you boys make such a cute couple!  It’s so nice to see young people in love.”

Michael stiffens, but Calum puts a hand on his arm, effectively anchoring him in place before he can pull away.

“Thank you.  It’s nice to be in love,” Calum says, and Michael’s breath stutters in his throat.

The woman beams and for a moment Michael thinks she’s going to reach out and pinch Calum’s cheeks, but she just bids them a good day and continues towards the books.

“CDs?” Calum asks, casual as anything.  Michael nods and fully pulls away, not trusting himself to speak or to touch.

It was just a nice thing to say to a romantic woman, but it’s nice to be in love plays on repeat in his head like a broken record.  He knows, he knows that it doesn’t mean anything, but Michael would give almost anything to have it be the truth.

There are five copies of the Target exclusive edition of CALM on the shelf.  There’s also a Neil Diamond greatest hits collection and a few random soundtracks that Calum points out, but Michael can barely focus.  He kind of wants to skip the toothpaste and go straight home, but he also doesn’t want Calum to question why that small interaction with the woman threw him so off kilter.  By the time they make it through the checkout and back to Michael’s car, he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

Calum waits until they’re out of the parking lot to start talking.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable earlier.  That wasn’t my intention.  I just figured that was the easiest response.  I know we’re not--I know we don’t do that anymore.”

In a different world where Michael hasn’t kept a very tight lid on his feelings for his best friend for the past eight years, he would have crashed the car.

“I know,” he says instead.  Silence fills the space, heavy and uncomfortable.  Michael keeps his eyes resolutely on the road and tries not to read too much into how Calum keeps taking a breath as if he wants to talk before cutting himself off.

“And I understand,” Calum says suddenly, almost causing Michael to swerve.  “I understand why we’re not together anymore.”

“What,” Michael says.

“I’m not trying to get you back, or whatever.  I know you don’t think of me like that.”

“That I don’t--” Michael chokes.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Come on, don’t make me say it,” Calum says, shifting in his seat.

“No, hang on.  I don’t understand what you’re saying to me right now.”

“Mike, stop it.  Now you’re just being mean.”

“Calum, you’re the one who pulled away from me.  Personally, I don’t understand why we’re not together anymore.  I didn’t even know that we were!”

“That’s bullshit!  What did you think we were, if not together?”

“I don’t know, fucking around?  I thought we stopped because you got bored of me.”

“Michael, we stopped because we got asked about ships in an interview and you got really weird about it.”

“Yeah, because I’ve been in love with you for half my life!”

Silence descends, and Michael absolutely cannot look at Calum right now.  The only things that exist are the steering wheel in his grip and the strip of road in front of him.  There’s still a good ten minutes until he reaches his house, and Michael is very content to spend those ten minutes pretending like he is alone and has not just revealed his biggest secret during an argument that he still doesn’t quite understand.

“Pull over.”

No such luck, apparently.

“Michael, pull over right now.”

He eases over and puts the car in park, letting his hands fall into his lap.

“You’re in love with me?” Calum asks.  Michael nods.  “We’re so stupid.”

“What?” Michael asks, finally looking over at Calum.  He doesn’t look uncomfortable or sad, he looks exasperated.  Michael isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean.

“We’re idiots.  We could’ve been happily dating this whole time.  Hell, we probably could’ve been married by now,” Calum says.  “I’m in love with you, too.”

Michael blinks at him and really wishes his brain was operating a bit faster.

“Calum,” he says, for lack of anything else.

“Michael,” Calum grins right back.

“Are you serious?” he asks.  Calum rolls his eyes.

“Why would I joke about this?”

Michael shrugs helplessly.

“Michael,” Calum says seriously.  “I made you park the car.  We just had a conversation that obviously made you uncomfortable.  Why the fuck would I be joking right now?”

Michael shrugs helplessly again.

“You love me?” he asks.  Calum reaches over and grabs one of his hands.

“I’m head over heels, crazy in love with you.  It’s pathetic.  It’s ridiculous.  I want to jump you in this car right now.”

Michael laughs.

“Not in broad daylight,” he says.  Calum smiles in a way that makes something settle in Michael’s stomach, something that he hadn’t realized had been unsettled ever since they stopped seeing each other.

Fuck.  He’s so lucky.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he says.  Calum’s smile widens.

“I know,” he says.  “You just told me that.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you again.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too.”

They’re talking in circles now--wonderful, love-sick circles--and Michael is thankful for multiple reasons when Calum breaks it by leaning over the center console to kiss him.  Calum’s lips are familiar under his, and even after months without feeling them Michael has them memorized.  This kiss feels different, though.  There’s a surety to it that they haven’t had before, a question and agreement that thrills him.

“You’re sure you don’t want to roll around in the back seat right now?” Calum asks softly when they part.  Michael grins and knocks their foreheads together.

“You’re funny,” he says.  “Ha, ha.”

Calum kisses him again.  Michael could definitely get used to this.  If their previous conversation is any indication, he’ll have plenty of time and opportunity to get used to this.

This time when the kiss breaks, Calum fully leans back rather than keep breathing his air.

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home, Michael.  We’ve got years of a honeymoon phase to catch up on.”

Michael puts the car in drive and eases back onto the road.  They’ll have time to drive around again later, because Michael definitely wants to do another circuit of the Target home decor section with this new revelation.  Maybe he’ll try to find a card for the woman who confused them for a couple, just in case they happen to run into her by the post-it notes or planners.

Either way, Michael thinks that Target might be his favorite store now.  He glances at Calum to find him already looking at him and his chest warms.

Yeah, Target is definitely his favorite store, but he’d be okay with never setting foot in it again if it meant he could keep spending time with his favorite person.

Thankfully, the way that Calum leans over to kiss him at a red light seems to mean that he agrees.

[sherrybaby14]

Welcome Home

Summary:  You couldn’t take your controlling boyfriend, so you ran away.  He found you and hopes to change your mind, with the help of some friends.  

Warnings:  Smut, lost and found, very brief suicidal thought, I would not label this dub-con, but some might.  (I have not warned for every possible trigger.  Please read at your own risk).

Pairing:  Steve Rogers x reader

Words:   4200

A/N:  This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ challenge!  My prompt was “Safe in Hell”.  

   “There’s a real hottie in your section.”  Your coworker reached above you for the coffee pot.  “If he asks for your number you should give it to him.”  

   Your nerves went off.  Was this the day?  Did he find you?  You shook them down, trying to act normal.  

   “Right.”  You were trying to balance the tray of drinks for the rare family of four who walked into the diner. “Because I give it out to all the other truckers who stop in here.”  

   “Other truckers?”  She laughed. “You won’t even give it to me!  When are we going to get together for after work drinks?”  

   Another thing to worry about, people getting too chummy.  A sign to leave.  

   “Soon.”  You gave a nervous laugh as you rounded, hoisting the orange juices in the air as you went back into the crowded eating area.  

   Soon you would be gone.  Never stay in a place for longer than three months, never use your real name, cash under the table, save whatever possible.   No relationships, no attachments.  That was the advice handed to you.  It worked well the last eighteen months.  Were you getting sloppy?  Was the strange man finally him?  The tray wobbled, thinking about dropping it and running out the backdoor.  

   It wasn’t the life you had planned for yourself, but you were more free in your time on the road than you had been the two years before.  

   You spotted the “hottie” your friend talked about.  His back was to you, short dark hair, smaller shoulders, shorter.  Any sense of worry you had faded.  Wasn’t him.  

A lot of the men who stopped in here were good looking.  Ninety percent of them drove trucks back and forth across the country.  They would forget your face as soon as they left, stomachs filled with greasy food and an insane amount of coffee. He was just another.  It was the blondes that worried you.  

   Nobody questioned your secrecy until just now, most were in the same boat.  Part of you was sure one of the cooks was wanted for murder.  Your co-workers last names were Smith, Johnson, Washington, Jefferson.  A lot of presidents.  Made it hard to google Sarah Adams and get any pointed results.  

   “There we go.”  You handed out the orange juice to the road-tripping family.  “Gimme a minute and I’ll be back to take your order.”  

   Your coworker walked by, coffee pot in hand.   You handed her the tray and took the hot beverage without even asking. The solo man’s cup was spun upright and you began to fill it when you approached the table.  

   “Room for cream?”  You watched the dark liquid rise.  

   “I’d prefer a double whipped non-fat late, but I suppose cream will do.”  The voice struck a nerve in your cord and you dropped the coffee pot.  

   Everything was moving in slow motion.   You swore you saw the liquid following out, but the guest grabbed the pot in one hand while reaching out with his other and grabbing your wrist.  

   “Hi there.”  He smiled up at you.  “Have a seat.”  

   You were too numb to respond as he dragged your arm, pulling you into the booth behind him.   You started to hyperventilate, the noise of the crowd fading as your world started to spin.  How was this happening?  Was this real?  

   “Don’t forget to breathe.”  Tony let go of your wrist and took a sip of his coffee.  “Not bad.”  

   You couldn’t react.  You didn’t know how to.

   “Really, I thought this was going to taste like dirt, but there’s something so basic about it, I can’t put my finger on it.”  The billionaire took another sip.  “Did you make it?”  

   You grabbed on to the table, a shake in your body as you looked up.  Tony’s warm eyes had a hint of sympathy, but he smiled and it vanished.  Had you lost your mind?  

   “Don’t have a lot of time so speak up Princess.”  Tony flicked your arm.  

   A million questions ran through your head, but you spit out the first one.  Your main fear.  

   “Is he….here?”  There was a lump in your throat, could you outrun Ironman?  Were you insane?  

   “Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer to.”  Tony’s eyes dropped to the table as he grabbed a packet of sugar.  

   Escape.  You had to escape.   All the ways out you had planned in your head didn’t involve a visit from Tony Stark.  How was that even possible?  They were the good guys.  Maybe they didn’t know?  Maybe you could reason with his friend, get them to see.  Put an end to this madness, get your life back.  

   “Listen to me.”  You grabbed Tony’s hand, not wanting to understand how you were capable of touching him.  “He is insane.  He is controlling and demanding and you need to help me.”

   “I know.”  Tony nodded.  “Trust me, I know.”  

   Your shoulders relaxed.  Tony knew he was insane.

“When you were in his life, you made him better.”  Tony laughed.  “SInce you’ve been gone.  Well, everyone else has had to deal with that side.”  

You recoiled.  

“He has saved a lot of lives.  He’s a good man.”  Tony let out a huge breath.  

“HE RUINED MY LIFE!”  You slammed the table.  “He...he picked out my clothes,  he made me quit my job,  he nit picked everything I did, he followed me everywhere, he destroyed my friendships, he controlled everything.”

“Did he ever hit you?”  Tony ran his hand over his hair.  

“What?”  You glanced over his face.

“Did he tell you what you could and couldn’t do?”  Tony leaned back in the booth.   “What was he holding over you? That you couldn’t leave?  That you ran away in the middle of the night?”

“I tried to break up with him.”  Your lip quivered.  “But he sabotaged everything, every job application, apartment,  bills.  He forced it so he was my only option.”  

That was how Steve operated.  He didn’t give ultimatums, he didn’t hit you.  He just twisted your life so you were dependent on him.  A master of emotional manipulation.  

“Well, when he had you to look after.”  Tony reached down next to him and pulled out some electronic device.  “He wasn’t so difficult to deal with, but since you left of your own free will, he has been a bit of a horror.”  

“Own free will?”  You were seething.  “I tried to leave at least ten times!  He always found a way to make me come back.  We were only together for a year,  I realized he was tricking me, messing with my mind.  I called it off then, it took me another year of forgiving and coming back before I had to vanish.”  

“Vanish?”  Tony raised an eyebrow.  “Hardly.”

He tapped a button on his device.  This place barely got cell service but a screen seemed to appear out of nowhere.  Your jaw dropped as you scanned what was in front of you.  Pictures, notes, dollar amounts.  Every place you’d been the last eighteen months.  

“I...I need to get back to work.”  You started to stand, planning to sprint out the back and run until you died.  

Tony let out a whistle.  All noise in the diner stopped.  The people got up from their seats, the staff stopped in place.  All of them left the building in a neat and practiced order.  

“Sit back down.”  Tony slid the screen over, but didn’t close it.  “Don’t make this difficult.”  

“I am leaving.”  Your chest was heavy.  “You can’t stop me.”  

“No, but I can call the police.”  Tony scratched his head.  “They will be here faster than you can get outside, ready with a pair of handcuffs.”  

“I didn’t do anything.”  Your legs started to shake.  

“In the last year and a half you have committed a staggering amount of crimes.”  Tony hit his screen and they changed.  “Identity theft, tax evasion, moving stolen property over state lines, not to mention the civil liabilities from the landlords you ran out on.”  

“Bullshit!”  You hit the table.  “I used fake names, I worked under the table, I was trying to hide.”  

“Well, there’s an admission to the tax evasion.”  Tony crossed his arms and leaned back.  “My personal attorneys have studied this and found every little thing you have done wrong.  It’s all here.  Those fake names, turns out some real people have them.”  

You knew how powerful the Avengers were, but you thought the only evil one was Steve.  Besides, there was the one other nagging thought.

“How?”  Your mind was so focused on Steve, you couldn’t focus on anything else.  

“With a good federal prosecutor and several amazing state’s attorneys, you will be bouncing from prison-to-prison for the rest of your life.  Would you like to have a seat now?”  Tony’s sympathy vanished.  

Yes.  You thought about life in prison.  Could you handle it?  Take it?  Would it be better than this?  

“I promise you it would not.”  Tony glared up at you.  “Now sit.”  

You crumbled back into the booth.  

“What does he want?”  You knew Tony was just the middle man. “Were any of the people here ever real?  Were you just waiting until you had enough on me?”

“Of course we were.”  Tony rolled his eyes.  “Steve found you a day after you left.  He has been trailing you nonstop.  I saw the bigger picture.  He’d convince you to come back and you would run again.  We tempted you with some major crimes by the way, kudos to you for not robbing that guy in Portland.  Those were marked bills.  Would’ve had you ten months ago.”  

“I’m going to be sick.”  You leaned over and clutched your stomach, all the precautions you’d been taking, your life.  It meant nothing.  

“Here’s what he wants.”  Tony slammed a little black box on the table.  “Not the most romantic proposal, but you know Steve.  He doesn’t want any of the dirty stuff on his hands.”  

“Oh God.”  You clutched your stomach, trying to ignore the sound of Tony opening the box.

“He loves you.”  Tony reached over the table and set it on your knee. “He will take care of you.  Your life will be better than this.”  

“He’s obsessed with me.”  You glared at him.  “That’s not love!”

“Sure it is.”  There was no humor on Tony’s face.  “Maybe not your definition.  But to him, it’s love.”

“He...he could have anyone, why me?”  Your reality began to set in and tears started to fall.

“If I had to guess,  your mind.”  

“I’m not a genius.”  You looked up at him with red shot eyes.  “I thought I was free and he, he never left me.”  

You thought back to all the good looking single guys in here asking for your number, the way your coworkers were in the same boat as you.  It wasn’t dumb luck.  It was a controlled experiment.

“You need to ask him these questions.”  Tony’s sympathy showed again.  “He is waiting for your answer.  Take a look at the ring.  Put it on your finger, or else except some less-than-pleasant jewelry on your wrists.”

The sound of Tony’s footsteps and the ding of the diner bell made you sob.  There was no doubt the building was surrounded.  You had a third option, but that wasn’t in the cards for you.  

Your life with Steve flashed in your brain.  The way he looked at you, the way he sent a tingle down your spine, the way he got you to try new things, and when you didn’t like them he would stop.  He was kind, to you, but any life outside of him, that’s when he showed his true colors.  

Without opening your eyes you knew what the ring would look like.  Large and heavy, a single giant stone that people could see from yards away.  Ownership.  That was Steve.  

Which prison did you want?  

You gulped down, and looked at the box.  Your heart raced as you brought your hand to your mouth.  It was small.  It was ugly even, a single pear cut diamond in a bronze band, but your heart filled with warmth.

Different memories came forward, pretending to be a bride with a pillowcase, talking with your father about walking down the aisle, watching your mother cheers at your graduation.  The ring on her finger.  

“How?”  Your parents were dead, a tragic accident, nothing was recovered.  It happened a year before you met Steve.  

The initial wave of comfort he had brought came over you again.  The way he listened, tried to help you.

“Photos.”  Nat’s voice made you jerk your head up.  “He had it recreated down to exact specifics.”  

“It's not hers?”  Your heart didn’t sink at the realization, in fact it panged with comfort.  

“He’s not a miracle worker.”  Nat slid into the booth.  “But he tries.”  

The strangeness of the last five minutes dawned on you again.  You wouldn’t go back, you slammed the ring box shut.  

“Please, we were friends.  Get Steve to let me go.”  You bit back a sob.  “Women-to-women, you saw how bad it got and…”

“I saw a devoted man, who might not have chosen a woman who understood all his traits, but awoke something in him.”  Nat leaned forward.  “He wants you.  Only you.  I sent a few incredibly good looking guys to hit on you, and you shut them all down.  Are you sure you want anyone else?”

“I didn’t...I couldn’t...settle down.”  You took a heavy breath.  “He could find me if I built a life.  I needed to keep moving.”  

“He’s always known where you were.”  Nat smiled.  “Now make the right choice.  He’s waiting.”  

“Wait, help me?”  You looked up at her with glassy eyes as she left the booth.  

“I already have.”  The sadness on her face was too much, you started to cry again.  “We both have.”  

You didn’t take your eyes off of her as she left the diner.   The door moved in slow motion, slammed shut.  

You tried to bite back the scream, but it came out.  The vision faded, the diner was filled again.  Ghosts vanished.    

The tray of orange juice hit the ground with a smash and a spill.  Everyone in the diner turned to stare at you.  Including the “hottie” your coworker warned you about.  

Tall, blonde, beautiful, controlling, manipulative, but also protective, caring, pushing, and instead of crying and running away you burst out into tears and ran toward him.  Not registering that everyone in the diner was watching.  

“I...I missed you so much.”  Steve scooped you up in his arms.  “I was wrong.  I was wrong on so many levels,  after we lost Tony and Natasha, I couldn’t lose you.  And I shouldn’t have tried to keep you the way I did.”  

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.  Warmth, home,  everything negative flushed away.  

“Hey, you gonna clean this up?”  Your coworker held the coffee pot, looking pissed off.

You looked back at Steve, who was just as stunned from the kiss as the rest of the restaurant was from the sound of you dropping your tray.  

“I’ll change.  I miss you so much.”  Steve wrapped his arms around your waist.   “I’ve been changing.  Working on myself.  I can’t believe I pushed you that hard.  I wanted to keep you safe.”  

“I’m safe when I am with you.”  There was a fullness in your heart, one you didn’t realize you were missing.  “I didn’t do anything bad.”

“What?”  Steve laughed.  “You?  This was not the conversation I was expecting. The night you left,  I just, I realized my trying to protect you was overriding everything else. My trauma was creating trauma for you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me.”  

“Please?”  You didn’t wait for a response when you put your lips to his.

Steve let out a grunt and held you tighter, your bodies pressed together as hard as they could be, your mouth devouring each other in the middle of the restaurant.  

He pulled away first, slowing down the kiss until he could press his forehead to yours.  

“Let’s get out of here.”  His gaze made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest.

You nodded and undid the tie on your apron, throwing it on the table along with the orders and cash you’d received on your shift so far.  

Everyone’s eyes were on you as Steve took your hand and led you out of the place.  Nobody spoke a word.  It was like they weren’t even there.  

Steve walked you to the side of a pick up truck.  He opened the door and boosted you inside.

“You don’t understand how unprepared I was for this.”  Steve grinned as he buckled your seatbelt.  “I was ready to plead and beg, we were meant for each other.”  

As the belt clicked you grabbed his cheeks and kissed him again, moaning into his mouth.   The time apart now felt like a wasted lifetime.  This was right.  He was right.  Why did it take unearthly visitors to show you what was in front of your face the whole time.  

“We have to stop, or I won’t be able to control myself.”  Steve wiped his lips as he backed away, slamming the door shut.  

He rounded the front of the truck and climbed in the driver’s seat.  Buckling in and turning over the engine he whipped out of the parking lot.   You wasted no time sliding your hand up his thigh.  

“I missed you.  God, I missed you.”  He gripped the wheel.  “I can’t believe I let you get away.”  

“Well I’m back now.”  You let your hand climb father up his jeans, cupping the bulge of his pants.  “And I’m never leaving again.”  

You glanced at him, his eyes were fixed on the deserted road.   You went for the button on his pants.

“What are you doing?”  Steve looked to you with concern.  

“I can’t wait any longer.”  You yanked down the zipper and pulled his cock out.  “I need you, as much of you as I can get.”  

Steve let out a moan, approving.  You dropped your head and wrapped your lips around his cock.  Trying to drool as much as possible, wanting to take him deep.  

He shifted, and moved as close to you as possible without stopping.  His hand found the skirt of your waitress uniform and pushed it up.  He cupped your pussy, making you squeak with the realization of how wet you were, rubbing down hard.  

“I guess you did miss me.”   He dragged his fingers up and over the top of your panties.  

You lifted your hips and pulled them down, trying to concentrate on getting his dick as wet as possible, but eager for your own pleasure too.  

“I love you.”  His finger found your slit and gathered your juices.  “I’ll love you forever.”  

Your eyes popped open as he slid a digit inside you with ease.  You turned your body so that you were able to press your clit to the base of his palm as he flexed his finger inside of you.  

A moan left your mouth and his cock slid deeper.  

“You are my forever.  I need you.  I was a wreck without you.”  Steve grunted and his cock slid further into your mouth.  “I’ll never let you leave.  Never again.  I can’t...I can’t be without you.”  

You flicked your tongue and sucked harder, sliding down.  His knee popped up to touch the steering wheel and his other hand found the back of your head.  

“You’re like no other.”  He guided you further, his fingers working you into a frenzy as you humped against him, your clit coming to life.  “The only soul in existence who fits with mine.”  

His words made your heart flutter, but his hands were bringing you closer to the edge.  

“And you lied.  You did do something bad.”  Steve groaned.  “You left.  I never gave up.  I gave you your space,  but that’s over.  You’re my home.”  

You tried to nod as best you could, but you were more interested in controlling your gag reflex.  Your body was on fire, nipples tightening, hot and cold alternated all over you.   Why did you ever leave him?  None of that mattered now.  

“Now, be a good girl.”  Steve slid another finger inside and began working faster, sliding in and out, flexing against your inside while his palm ground into your clit.  “Show me how much you missed me.”  

Your body knew what he wanted before you mind caught up and you started to convulse around his hand.  Shots of pleasure firing off your entire being.  You fell forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat, but the orgasm made you unaware of anything but ecstasy.  

His hands vanished and you moved your mouth back, still unsteady from your release.  You needed to return the favor, but before you could get to work two hands were on your shoulders, pushing you up to sitting.  

You looked out the window and saw you were pulled over on the side of the road in broad daylight.  Steve went between your legs and yanked your panties off.  

“I need to have all of you.”  He grabbed your thigh and guided you to his lap.  

You nodded, straddling him as he guided his cock to your entrance.  

“Mmm.” You bit your lip as he stretched your quaking pussy.   “I missed you.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I never should have left.”  

“Shhh.”  Steve pulled you down as he flexed up.  The burn it caused was beautiful.  “Our future is forever.  Welcome home.”  

You winced when you took him to the hilt.   Home.  That was the feeling in your heart.  

Tears stung at the corner of your eyes as you dropped your head, Steve grabbed your cheek and guided your lips to his. His other hand dug into your hip and guided your body as he fucked you.

You need him to take the lead, incapable of knowing what to do without his skill.   His tongue worked yours while his cock brought your pussy to life, rocking you while he slid in and out, short fast movements.  

“Oh God.”  You broke the kiss, unable to concentrate on it as he picked up the pace.  

Steve pulled you against him, his mouth finding your neck, he bit and teased at the skin as you turned into a mewling shaking mess.  

“You’re ready to cum.”  Steve nipped at your skin.

“No.”  You weren’t close, it was the after effects of the first one.

“Yes.”  Steve’s hands ran up your back and pulled your down harder.  “Don’t fight it.  Don’t fight me.  Give over.”  

“I’m…” You didn’t understand your own body.  

“Cum, cum for me.”  Steve tugged you down with so much strength you gasped.  “NOW!”

Your body responded.  The orgasm ripping through you out of what felt like nowhere.  The tears flowed as an inhuman noise left your body.   You were nothing, just a ball of pleasure, pure euphoria.  

Steve growled and joined you in finishing, coating your insides with his white foam.  You collapsed against him, wishing the clothes were gone.  

Consciousness was sneaking away, your eyes drifting shut.  Before you slipped into sleep you swore you saw Tony and Nat, both smiling at you.  You were home.  

~~

“Hey.”  Steve was shaking your shoulder.  

“Huh?”  Your eyes opened to see a dark sky.  

“We have to stop for the night.”  He lifted you out of the truck.  “You’ve been sleeping all day, but now I need some rest.”  

“Sorry.”  You wrapped your arms around his neck as he cradled you to his chest.  

“Something tells me you haven’t slept that well in a long time.”  Steve kissed your forehead as he carried you into the motel room.   “You needed it.”

“I needed you.”  You smiled as he set you down on the bed.  

“Always.”  Steve tossed a large bag he’d been carrying onto the floor.  “I’m going to take a quick shower.  You want to join me?”

“No.”  You turned on your side and cuddle the pillow.  “Too tired.”  

“Alright.”  He laughed.  “I’ll be right out.”  

Steve kissed your forehead again before going into the bathroom.   The second he was gone your eyes popped open.  You ran for the bag, unzipping it.  

It didn’t take long for you to find two things.   One was a Manila folder.  You opened it and saw everything Tony had shown you, just the old fashioned paper way.  Then you saw the little black box.  The ring on the inside was the one Nat forced you to look at.  

“Thank you.”  You looked up at the ceiling, hoping they could hear you.  

Steve was going to have you either way, but at least your visitors let you do it on your own terms.  You closed up the bag and stood up from the floor.

You glanced to the exit, seeing the keys to the truck sitting there.  Instead you smiled, and went to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes in the process.  You were home.  

[herrashmoo]

secondly, im not a tumblr teen. ive been on this website for god knows how long and ive been well versed in queer history. me calling them a pedophile, after a conversation with them resulted in them refusing to admit sexual imagery is not for children, them calling me a bootlicker and several other names, before getting wildly upset and blocking me, had nothing to do with their sexuality and everything to do with the fact that they couldnt tell me sexual imagery is not a thing for minors to consume period end of story. this is AFTER the fact i had been a bit more educated about pride and had ALREADY agreed where i went wrong. now about the sanitization of pride- thats wrong as well. dont get me wrong. but you cant seriously look me in the face and tell me that sexual imagery is not for minors. like- just that statement alone, right? so how is this such a controversy?

ugh okay I guess I’m gonna write A Thing. I’ll get into a proper response to your final questions but first, let’s do some context work.

first thing to make clear is that I know Jux irl, and I also want to make it pretty clear that they and I have pretty similar opinions here, I’m just slightly more likely to put my anger aside to reply to stuff. Do not get it twisted, rhetoric like the kind you were/are using is like, a big red flag for me, it’s the kind of shit reactionaries have been using for eons and like, were I in a less chill mood, I would’ve also likely written you off as a bootlicker troll. Their response was pretty aggressive but not completely misplaced, so I just want to make it clear that like, as another queer dude who is tired of seeing this shit every fucking May for the better part of a decade, I’m also exhausted and pissed off.

As for my claim of teenagerdom, I apologize if that offended, but you have to understand that, generally speaking, the loudest groups having this conversation on the regular are (1) right-wing reactionaries, TERFs, and their ilk trying to stir shit up (see: Operation Pridefall) and (2) young people who don’t have any context for Pride, often haven’t been, and only really have queer politic and history from tumblr and twitter threads featuring reactionary revisionism from the first group. When I see people engage in this conversation, I generally assume they’re in the latter group, as it helps me try to frame my responses in the best faith I can given how tired I am of this shit.

But that aside, sure. Kink isn’t for children. But provided there’s a parent accompanying this hypothetical child at Pride, their job is to explain and provide context for the things they can, and give a solid “you’ll learn more when you’re older” for the things they can’t. The Village People are all each in different kink gear, and as a kid I was told “they like to dress up, and there’s some costumes specifically for adults,” and I was good. I saw bare titties at festivals, smelled weed at concerts, saw bulge at the beach — these are normal human things that happen in the world, and having a responsible adult nearby to explain or provide context for them made them non-issues for me. I don’t think a kid seeing a pup hood is thinking anything more than “oh cool, that dude is dressed up as a dog.” Kids understand fantasy and make-believe. And especially as they age into their teenage years, withholding or sheltering them from knowledge about sex and sexuality can do real damage — hell, we’ve been having that conversation for over a century at least.

(Spring’s Awakening was first published in 1891 and was deeply censored in productions for the better part of a century, due to the content of the work, which is about how sheltering young teens (both straight and queer) from sexual content (and also mental health resources) leads them to try to figure shit out on their own and make catastrophic decisions that they don’t understand the consequences of until it’s too late. Great play, pretty great musical adaptation, wild that we keep rehashing its points like clockwork over a century after publication.)

But I am also of the opinion that Pride isn’t for children, as, while two decades of assimilationist politic would desperately try to argue otherwise, I am queer because I am sexually attracted to, and have sex with, other men. Pride is a response to the criminalization of queer sex acts, and so it is, in turn, a celebration of queer sex acts. So if someone wants to walk around in chaps and a jock, great! If someone wants to wear their pup gear or a harness or a rope tie or a vest, fuck yeah! It’s a space specially carved out for celebrating the queer experience — the original Pride flag (before it was simplified to make it easier to mass produce for profit, which, again, love seeing our culture made into product) had a pink stripe at the very top, specifically representing sexuality. It is, ostensibly, the thing that defines our community (at least the L G and B parts of it) as an outgroup against the mainstream society.

I think that, if you are uncomfortable with kink displays, or you’re uncomfortable with children seeing kink displays, then Pride is not for you or your children! Don’t go! There’s kid-friendly and sanitized versions of Pride in most major cities, do some research into your local/state Stonewall organizations and you can find more about them. But I’m already sick of having actual cops at Pride, I don’t need people who are uncomfortable with displays of sexuality also policing myself or any other queer person in a space they have spent decades carving out for themselves.

A final note — if you don’t understand why a queer person would blow up and completely write off your bullshit after calling them a pedophile, I urge you to do more reading, more listening. I know that in this brave new world of same-sex marriage equality and PrEP access that it’s hard to remember the collective trauma that the community has experienced, but this shit is inflammatory, you’re straight up spewing fightin’ words. The dude wearing a leather harness at Pride isn’t trying to corrupt any youth or fuck any kids, they’re just trying to live their shit, and I’m sorry that you and so many others have somehow decided that that’s an attack on a demographic of people who aren’t the audience for a celebration of sexuality. We’re not fucking pedophiles, and this “think about the kids” nonsense is some Reagan-era bullshit.

[cannibalisticapple]

Okay, so I have some thoughts on Kurikuri’s decision to delete a large number of her fan fics, and on fan fiction as a whole.

For those who don’t know, Kurikuri (@letaizawarest) is a popular fan fiction author with numerous popular Erasermic fics, along with other fandoms. Around the end of May/start of June she deleted a large number of her stories, specifically those that featured either police, or those set in the My Hero Academia universe where they work as Pro Heroes.

To quote her post:

as you may have noticed, roughly half of the fics on my ao3 have been deleted.

i’ve deleted all my fics about police officers. also, after some thought, i also deleted my non-AU bnha fics, because although they might not be “cops” in name, they are law enforcement. i do not want to be a part of the system that glorifies the police. 


at the moment i haven’t deleted other profession AUs and high school era fics, but i will continue to reflect on their relation to the source material. even if you enjoyed the deleted fics, please do not circulate them in other formats (PDFs, EPUBs, etc). 


i also encourage other writers to think about cop fic they’ve written. while it may be fun and escapist for you, it still encourages the idea that antiblack and killer cops are just “bad apples” and that good cops exist. let’s dismantle that system of thought.

I have some very, very mixed feelings on this.

To start: I respect her reasoning, but I don’t agree with it. I fully agree that it’s not just a bunch of “bad apples”, there’s a serious issue with the system and how the police operate in the United States. I’ve always been bothered by how the police let other officers get away with horrible BS, even as a kid, and that rage has only grown as I’ve grown older and found out more about how screwed up it is on every single level.

But the way that last paragraph is written rubs me the wrong way because you can’t paint every single person in an entire career field as unequivocally corrupt, bigoted and all around callous murderers. Good cops DO exist. Plenty of people go into the career hoping to fix things, or just genuinely want to help their community in whatever way they can. But the thing is, they’re fighting a losing battle because the system is working against them. When they DO speak up against the corruption, bigotry, violence and other issues, they tend to get fired and blacklisted from the field. Or sometimes, they get outright murdered and it’s treated as a “suicide.”

A shitty fact of life: sometimes, the people who are more willing to resort to underhanded tactics and willing to turn a blind eye to corruption are the ones who climb up the career ladder furthest. And in the case of the police, it’s deep-rooted enough that it can’t be fixed internally anymore. But that doesn’t make literally every police officer corrupt.

I’m not posting this to make some political point or argument though. I obviously disagree with Kurikuri’s opinion, but I respect it. I can even respect her decision to remove the stories featuring the police, or even the ones heavily focusing on the characters’ jobs as pro heroes. I can see how heroes are just another version of law enforcement, because honestly, they are.

As a writer and a reader, I fully respect that it’s ultimately her choice to delete her stories. It’s not my place to make demands. She’s the one who created it, and as a writer I know the hard work and time that goes into crafting stories, so I believe she has a right in how it’s used and shared. The fact she shared it in the first place was something she didn’t have to do.

But the thing is, she DID share it, which is why I have this conflict.

As a writer, I’ve always believed that fiction can be more powerful than fact.

Fiction can give readers a window into mindsets you’d never imagine before, because you can connect more easily with fictional characters than real people on the news. That’s why Uncle Tom’s Cabin was so critical in the battle against slavery: it didn’t just gave a face to slavery, it let readers experience the characters’ lives directly. People got to see the struggles and suffering firsthand, feel the rising crescendo of hope each time freedom is in reach, and the soul-crushing despair every time that hope gets dashed by outside forces.

Fiction may not always be “true” or even “accurate,” but it can help us understand other people, see them as fellow humans, in ways that nonfiction just can’t. It can evoke emotions, empathy and familiarity in a reader that a news story or biography can’t capture because it draws you directly into their world.

And it’s that part—the part where readers enter this fictional world to connect to characters they’ll never meet—that leads to the other power of fiction that many people overlook:

Fiction has the ability to help readers persevere.

How many people reading this have used books to get away from trouble in their lives? To take a breather from all their anxieties and stress, and dive head-first into this other world for just a moment, where nothing else matters? How many people reading this had their whole lives changed by reading a story where a character’s words resonated with them? Where it helped them come to an epiphany about how to do better, how to be better.

Sometimes, the world is too overwhelming and we need to escape it. That’s the beauty of fiction. It lets us go to a world where our problems just don’t matter. Even if the world in question is worse than our own, it can still be a relief and give us hope because hey, at least we’re not living in 1984 or the Hunger Games, right? Stories are what keeps many people going through the hardest time, what gives them hope that life isn’t utterly hopeless.

And even after a story is finished, whether it’s fan fiction, a book, a show, or any other medium, that story will have a special place in people’s hearts. Many people will go back to those stories years later when they’re faced with immense stress and need a break from the real world, so that they can dive into the world that helped them persevere the last time they felt so bad. Just having a copy of it on hand can be a source of comfort even if you never read it again.

I want to highlight one phrase Kurikuri used in her post to describe how people feel writing stories about police and heroes: "fun and escapist”. That’s honestly so accurate, those stories are escapist, and that is why I’m so conflicted.

Stories about superheroes, while technically revolving around themes of law enforcement, are a form of escapism FROM police corruption.

There’s a reason that superhero comics are so popular in America. Superheroes appeal to a natural desire for justice because as so aptly pointed out, the real world doesn’t always HAVE that justice. It gives an ideal for people to aspire to, a glimpse of what could be, what should be. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I hate the DC cinematic universe so much, it’s skewed way too much to favor the villains/antagonists and maximize suffering for the good guys.)

Right now, the world is full of more injustice than ever before. I can’t turn on the news without feeling my rage and stress boil over. Every day it gets worse and worse somehow, and I (and many others) genuinely fear that the United States may be heading towards a civil war this November. Donald Trump’s voice alone is enough to make my blood boil at this point.

I, and many others, turn to fan fiction so I can break away from reality because that amount of rage and fear just isn’t healthy.

I don’t have depression, or anxiety, or an abusive family, or a chronic illness. I’m not at risk of being made homeless anytime soon, nor do I need to worry about bills right now or going hungry. I’m a privileged white girl who has barely anything to worry about. What I’m saying is I’m fucking lucky and I know it, but I STILL can’t stand thinking about the state of the world and need to get the fuck away from it to take a breather for my own mental health.

And I also know that many people don’t have that option because their situation is so bad, they NEED to be aware of it at all times.

In the past when writing for other fandoms, I’ve had people tell me my fan fiction was the reason they did not commit suicide.

In my early college years I fell into the creepypasta community and was pretty active in it, especially on deviantArt. I don’t know if that particular fandom’s subject and focus makes it more appealing to teenagers going through rough times or what, but I swear, more than half the people I spoke to suffered from some form of mental illness, abusive or broken family and home situations, bullying, and every other way the world can screw someone over through means beyond their control.

During that time, a few readers left comments that waiting for my stories to update were what kept them going. They didn’t explicitly say that it was the only reason they didn’t kill themselves. It was more just remarks like, “Your writing is the only thing keeping me going.”

I’m not vain enough to believe my stories are so good, it made people decide to continue living JUST to see what happens next. Suicidal thoughts and urges are much more complex than that. But it’s still not something you expect to hear on something you write for fun.

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t because my stories were "just that good.” I think it was because they needed something to cling to in bleak times. That sometimes at the lowest point where all seems lost, people need just one little thought, just the smallest thing to push away those dark urges before they could fully overwhelm them. Something like, “If I die now, I won’t get to see how that story ends.” It’s such a small thing, but having something to look forward to can be so powerful in fighting off impulsive decisions.

It’s made me hyper-aware of just how powerful writing is.

To me, I see writing as a way of helping others. I give people that option for escape. It’s a large part of why I update on a regular, weekly schedule, and why I published extra chapters when the pandemic got announced and when the riots started. People need that comfort, that little break from reality to just sit and breathe so they can get through the rest of the day. I can’t do much to fix the world, but I can at least give people that.

Right now, people need that escape more than ever.

And deleting the stories is taking that escape away and causing MORE stress.

In times like this, people often turn to the stories they know will help most, and plenty of people in fandoms will first search up their favorite ships. They look for fluff, smut, angst... It helps people feel better to focus on these two people who are obviously in love as they work through their troubles.

Many times, readers will be more drawn to stories in the canon universe than radical AUs set in other universes. That’s how they were introduced to those characters. I myself can enjoy no-power and fantasy AUs sometimes, but what I really crave are how they interact in the canon world because that’s the world and versions of them I want to see the most. By deleting EVERY SINGLE STORY IN THE CANON UNIVERSE, that option was removed.

In many of the stories that were deleted, the characters’ careers were honestly a minor facet of the story. Some used it to establish the setting, such as treating injuries after a patrol. Some just simply used it to explain they work at UA, a school for teaching kids with superpowers. Some just had them work as heroes because it’s set in the canon universe, and never directly show ANTTHING about the work.

I’m not always looking for a story about how being a hero shapes and impacts their lives, and most of those stories that got deleted AREN’T about being a hero. That’s just one piece of their character, it’s far from the focal point. It could honestly be removed from several of them without changing the rest of the story.

I can get wanting to make a political point and I respect that, but by deleting those stories, you’ve taken away a key source of comfort from hundreds, thousands of people. By deleting the stories, you’re making the stress worse.

On Saturday night, I realized several of my favorite stories are suddenly gone. I knew Kurikuri had deleted a bunch of her stories, but I hadn’t realized just how many of them I liked. Some of them I’ve specifically sought out to reread multiple times in the past, never really paying attention to the author. Realizing they’re just gone caused me heavy stress because it made me paranoid about all these other stories I like to reread. I don’t expect those stories to be around forever, but I still didn’t expect them to vanish so suddenly. I never thought I’d need to download them to make sure I’d still be able to read them while the site is still up.

I spent hours searching out specific stories to see if they were written by her, and make sure they’re not gone forever. I have no way of knowing which ones she’d written and deleted because there’s not exactly a list out there anymore. My desperate search for those stories and one in particular (which I still haven’t found) contributed to the lack of sleep I got that night.

And I need to reiterate: I am mentally healthy and have no major stresses in my immediate life. And that’s why I’m hyper-aware of how this stress will affect people who AREN’T as lucky as I am.

If an author decides to delete their stories because they feel the stories themselves push harmful values or themes, fine. If they’re getting harassed, or it reminds them of a bad time in the lives, or they just don’t like that story anymore, okay. I can respect that and accept it.

But these stories were deleted for the EXACT reasons that people will be looking for them now more than ever, and that’s where I draw the line.

This applies to ALL fandoms.

If you as a fan fiction writer have more than, say, 100 kudos on a completed story or one-shot, there’s a good chance people will read and reread your story in stressful times. If you have a reasonably popular story that updates on a regular or even semi-regular basis, there is a chance that someone is using it as a lifeline to have something to look forward to while the rest of their lives go to hell. Maybe not because they specifically love it, but because it gives them something routine.

I want to make it clear that it’s not our job to care for other people’s mental health. Fan fiction writers don’t have an obligation to people, we’re doing it for fun first and foremost. We’re not some sort of saviors, and we shouldn’t think of ourselves that way or we can honestly screw people up worse. We’re not obligated to write these stories JUST for our fans.

At most, our stories are sources of support and comfort for readers. A little break from reality. If writing a story is causing you more stress than enjoyment, stop. Fan fiction, and all other fan media and stories in general, is ultimately created for the creator’s enjoyment more than anything.

Your own mental health comes first. Don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

But with how utterly fucked and unfair the world is right now, people need those stories now more than ever. So if you’ve got a story out there that’s fairly popular, please, please, PLEASE be mindful of your readers before deciding to delete it. Now is the absolute last time people need more stress trying to find a single story. And if you’re going to delete it, maybe give readers a heads up so that those who need it or have some powerful attachment to it for all the reasons I’ve discussed here can download a copy for their own personal use.

Don’t hurt your readers to make a point.

[adl-reborn]

I just realized I forgot to post this here...

Tales of Metroville: Thought Experiments

Aston hadn't slept in 3 days. He had been researching non-stop to discover the ailment from which his friend, Phoenix, was currently suffering. You see, they both were invited to dinner by the president. In theory they both were to be debriefed about current affairs and of any unusual goings on that the two most powerful known mutants on the planet might be needed for. Aston, however, had no need of it - his clairvoyance had alerted him both to the topics of discussion and of all such events including many not on the agenda. Meanwhile, the normally quite outgoing Phoenix barely ate and didn't speak at all, and when they both returned home he locked himself in the master bedroom to do who knows what.

If ever there was a good time for Aston's comprehensive ability to read peoples' minds, this would be a good one, but it isn't so simple with Phoenix. Try as he might, Aston could never do this with Phoenix. Even after years of trying, Aston could only ever manage to read vague emotional states, but that only told him the obvious. Distracted by this, so too was he unable to clearly see the path ahead. And so his research continued. Depression, Anxiety, MPD, and many others. He read through the DSM5 until he reached the chapter on autism.

At this point he paused as his sleep deprived mind called back to his childhood. His odd behavior as a preteen had prompted a visit to the psychiatrist - a visit which he left with a diagnosis of "Asperger's Syndrome". It was described as a milder form of Autism - one which could lie undetected in many. Needless to say he was familiar with it and had recognized much of himself deep within Phoenix's personality, but ultimately the DSM did not help beyond providing a starting point...

Luckily Aston did not need to look far to find his answers. Where official medical documentation failed actually autistic people filled the void, and crucially the true nature of a meltdown and a new concept - burnout, were introduced to him. Additionally, Aston found himself unable to read many of the individuals presenting their point - a correlation which Aston surmised was due to a radically different mind, but finding that out for sure wouldn't be easy...

The only way Aston knew to read minds of a type he had never read before was through a technique he dubbed a "mental fusion". It's theory of operation was similar in principle to what many Trekkies call a mind meld. This was a technique Aston had only ever done once - by accident, he did this to his father on the day he ran away - a fight had broken out between the two and they had inadvertently fused for but a few seconds. In that time they could feel each other's thoughts as one, and Aston gained a roadmap of the human mind, but Aston was overwhelmed by this and ran off into the forest. It was an ability he had sworn to never use again...but his friend was in danger and he knew it.

Slowly Aston opened the door - inside was Phoenix, sitting in the fetal position rocking to soothe his frayed nerves. He held his legs tight against his belly and did not speak to greet Aston. Where Phoenix once stood a timid child remained. As Aston approached Phoenix turned and looked apprehensively in his direction. Aston could see in Phoenix's eyes that his distress was great. As Aston sat down close to Phoenix he was apprehensive at first, but a calming touch from Aston soothed him enough to stay. They sat like this for a while - Aston holding an obviously distressed Phoenix, but he knew what he must do and that it would be uncomfortable.

Slowly Aston moved his right hand to Phoenix's right temple. Phoenix became agitated for a moment and started shaking his arms but Aston calmed him with the left. Once positioned, he waited for Phoenix to calm down and gently positioned his left hand. With his hands in position a faint blue glow began to appear, glowing brighter with every second. Phoenix let out a yell..."I'm sorry..." Said Aston. They both yelled in unison as their minds became one. In an instant they both found themselves unconscious

One hour later...

Aston awoke but not in reality. His fusion was more complete than he had anticipated - he surmised he must be in a shared dream as they both were extremely exhausted. Aston, being a proficient lucid dreamer realized this straight away, but he knew if he could recognize this that the dream is important in some way. In the distance he hears a cry.

It is Phoenix - crying out for help. Alone in the distance. In this dark void he can see nothing, and conjuring a flashlight nor a vehicle has no effect. He continues to run in the direction of the yelling but to no avail - Phoenix remains out of reach. Aston calls out to Phoenix but there was no response........

2 hours later

Aston awakens once again - this time in the house but in his bedroom. Objects are not in their designated places so here too this is a dream. Aston proceeds to navigate to Phoenix's room. He lies on the bed staring at the ceiling unresponsive. As Aston approaches Phoenix apparates into a standing position and then runs up to Aston crying to which they both share embraces...

2 hours later

The sound of screaming pierces in Aaron's ear once again waking him. Again he is in Phoenix's dream - the same one as the first time. Aston remembered well how he failed to handle this dream the last time so he tries a different tactic. He calms his mind and senses Phoenix's precise location. Though they can not see each other, Aston knows he and him are now together. Aston sits down next to Phoenix.

"It's alright...I am here to comfort you." Stated Aston. What was once a cry became a whimper, and the once dark void is now illuminated by a dim yellow radiance. "I am here for you Phoenix, no matter your darkest hour nor your worst fears." The yellow radiance grows in illumination from Phoenix's chest. The two mutants once again embrace one another, and the once dark void is now pierced by a blinding light. "Do you mean it?" Replied Phoenix. "I'll let the actions do the talking..." Aston returned...

2 hours later

"So you finally found it"

Aston awoke once again - this time in a peaceful garden surrounded by a lake with small gentle waves. A fog obscures any view beyond.

"Welcome to my world" stated Phoenix to the now slowly arousing Aston. "I never thought I would see you here, but I figured one day you might show up." "What...is this place?" replied Aston, "it seems peaceful, relaxing even."

"This is my comfort zone" replied Phoenix, "I come here to escape the demands of the world when they become too much to bear." "I couldn't come here for far too long - we were too busy saving the world." continued Phoenix, "I thought I had lost it forever - in its place I only found darkness."

"That was your first dream, and the third. What about the second?" Replied Aston. "The house is where we always go when we're done for the day." Phoenix stated, "I thought maybe I could relax there." "It didn't work out as I had hoped...but at least you were there." Phoenix continued, "If I had been alone in there I don't think it would have done anything. I was just laying there, worrying about all of the drone strikes, supervillains, contingencies, space nukes. You know, all that crazy stuff they brought up at the meeting."

"It's all so stressful you know! And, it's kind of hard to explain, but the lights...they felt blinding, and the klinking of so much silverware on porcelain didn't help either. It felt like I was expending every last drop of my being to not explode from all of the stress!" "I...had no idea." Replied Aston, "I was just sitting next to you. I already knew everything they had to say but since you had said nothing I didn't know what to expect! Even now after fusing I still struggle to comprehend the sheer depth of your thoughts. To be honest the buzz from the busted TV was starting to get on my nerves though...you don't think..."

"I know what you're going to say - I was diagnosed with ADHD, not Asperger's." quipped Phoenix. "Since when have I ever lied to anyone let alone you?" Replied Aston. "I just spent 72 hours straight tearing the internet apart to figure out why you locked yourself in a room. Not because I wanted to get back to saving the world - we both know it doesn't need saving right now. I did that because I knew you were deeply distressed...but I couldn't understand why until now." "This is not a place for argument." Aston continued, "This is a place to escape to when the going gets tough. Just as I can sort of read your thoughts now you should be able to read mine. Look, and see I am not wrong. All you need to do is look at me, focus, and visualize my mind inside yours."

Phoenix was skeptical, but did as asked. To his surprise it worked - all of the research Aston had done up until the point of fusion was laid plain to see. Every disorder in the DSM5. All of the documentaries, YouTube videos, and articles read. So too was Aston's past - all of the struggle he had to endure. He had a fake ID in high school - not so he could drink, but to rent an apartment of his own away from his father's prying eyes in Metroville - far from anywhere he would think to look. His Asperger's was plain to see - a similar but less intense mirror of Phoenix's own past.

As he came out of the vision Phoenix embraced Aston. "Thank you, Aston..." He finally said, "I think you saved me...from my own mind." "It's no sweat, that's what friends do am I right? Sometimes the heroes of the story need saving too." They both stood up, and the dream ended.

Aston awoke holding Phoenix in his embrace. So too did Phoenix not long after. Aston now could see some of Phoenix's thoughts, but Phoenix still remained an enigma - further refinement would be needed to fully understand his mind. "Did you sleep well?" Aston inquired? "Yes...or at least better than I have in the past few months." Replied Phoenix. "I'm glad...seems you needed it." Aston stated. "No kidding...I guess I needed to not feel completely alone for once." Said Phoenix, "Say...that technique you used to get inside my head...I thought you couldn't get inside my head." "That's what I thought too...until I figured out just how different your mind is wired compared to the norm." Replied Aston, "I took an educated guess that you were Autistic - that led me to find out that your brain is almost 100x more complicated than a normal human, and I daresay probably more complicated than mine." "Does that mean I have the same abilities you do then?" Phoenix inquired, now intrigued. "Maybe..." Replied Aston, "You want to find out?" "Sure, but I bought pizza the last time we trained so it's on you this time." Stated Phoenix. "Gladly!" Replied Aston, "I think this will be fun!"

[letters-from-eros]

Request by: @wolfkid22

A/N: This took longer than I wanted to because I loss writing motivation for a minute lmao but I really enjoyed this request, I'm eager to get to it. I really hope it does it justice! I pretty much wrote the entire USJ experience down for immersion and I really wanted to do this right since you entrusted me with writing something you relate to your OC.

Pairing: No romantic pairing, but this one-shot revolves around Aizawa and the reader in a non-romantic sense (I ain't with that teacher x student shit 🤩)

Form: One-shot

Genre: Angst

Warning: Mentions of blood, depictions of anxiety

It was strange to say that you were, at one point, excited to go to USJ with your classmates. Excited to see how your quirk would work in emergency situations, excited to make progress. Take another step into making you idol– and teacher, proud.

Thirteen was going on some long winded rant about why everyone was here and how thing's are gonna go. The moment you heard that the class of 1A was attending this place you did a short bout of research to see what you were stepping into. That being said, you knew what Thirteen was going on about and had completely zoned out because of the lack of reason to actually pay attention.

Your eyes stayed glued to the ground below you as your own thoughts overlapped with Thirteen's words. Something minute snapped you out of your thoughts and had you look up, small footsteps that turned out just to be Aizawa shifting his weight a side to side a little. He stood beside Thirteen, his tired and disinterested expression ever present. He looked like he didn't want to be here at all but to be fair he did look like that all the time.

You eyes unconsciously linger on your teacher for a moment, you could feel yourself slowly slip back into a state of unawareness and zoning out again. Right before your eyes drifted away from Aizawa you pick up on how his eyes snapped quickly towards the right, and you couldn't help but follow his gaze, shifting your head to the right as well.

In the main plaza, right in the middle of the facility there was a strange void slowly growing bigger and bigger. A hand stretches out of it and you quickly came to the understanding that the "strange void" was some sort of portal.

After the hand, a masked face shows itself, contrasting the dark gateway behind it. The only part of- what you assumed was a man's- face that could be seen against the hand-shaped mask was one of his eyes. Red and beady, seemingly looking directly at you. Veins pricked out of the corners. You knew this couldn't be apart of the facility, with that knowledge came an overwhelming sense of panic.

More people started appearing out of the black hole-like gateway and your body moved on its on, taking a small step backwards and away from the main plaza where the intruders were emerging. Just.. More and more and more people came pouring out of the portal, each one with their own threatening appearance and aura surrounding them. You were too awe-struck at the group to break your eyes away, or pick up on the words of chatter that started to drift around.

'Shit, I should be listening,' You thought, this should be treated as an emergency. Hell, this is an emergency if you weren't overreacting.

"What's going on Aizawa-Sensei?! Thirteen?" Mina was the first to speak out, all the mutters and whispers went silent. "Is this apart of the rescue training?"

"This isn't apart of the rescue training. These must be villains," Your teacher only confirmed your fears, but there was no form of panic in his voice, rather, there was a sense of urgency. "Thirteen, get the kids to the exit."

You watched as Aizawa brought his goggles that hung around his neck to his face and Thirteen started to turn and usher us to the exit. It wasn't far, but couldn't be described as close, either. Bakugo barked about how we should be with Aizawa who began to fight the intruders. The villains were out of our league, as much as we wished we could be helping, we would end up being tossed around like rag dolls, including the likes of Bakugo himself (although you had to admit he'd probably put up and damn good fight)

You glanced back at the main plaza, watching how Aizawa easily took out about 5 villains in a matter of seconds. Maybe there was no need to worry after all, you thought– hoped, rather.

Hope, that's the feeling that was swelling up within you as the doors that lead to the exit/entrance neared but that feeling was quickly shut down.

You almost walked straight into the black and purple nothingness that seemed to be the portal that the villains came out of, you quickly halt and look around only to see that everyone was fully surrounded, including thirteen.

"Oh god..." A panicked whisper is all the could escape your lips as a voice started talking. Apparently the void-portal-thing was actually a... Person? Why do quirks have to be so complicated sometimes...

"We are the League Of Villains," The portal-man started, his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine. "If you're wondering why we're here, our goal is to kill All Might-"

It didn't seem as though he was done talking but as soon as the voice said their goal was to kill the #1 hero Bakugo and Kirishima were quite quick to attack, but how do you attack someone that barely has (or is showing) and physical form.

They both fall into the portal and and the parts of it that surrounded your class quickly closed in around all of you.

For a split second, it was dark. All you could feel was the way your hero suit hugged your body.

For a split second, you thought you died.

That is, until your body collided with the unforgiving ground as grass pricked the back of your neck. You sat back up and tried to ignore the lightheaded feeling that took over your body after have such a hard impact with the ground.

"Anyone?!" You called out, loud enough so those in your vicinity could hear you but not too loud to attract any unwanted attention. Chills scattered across the entirety of your body as there wasn't a response.. You were completely alone..

It didn't take that much looking to figure out where you were, you ended up landing in the forest area that surrounded most sides of the main plaza, where your teacher was still fighting. The low-level villains seemed to never stop bombarding Aizawa, but Aizawa didn't waver no matter how many hits he had to take. You wonder how much fighting and hero experience it required for him to doing what he was so... Effortlessly.

You sat there starstruck for god knows how long, hidden behind a forest of trees no one ever bothered to look in the direction of. From what you managed to see out of your peripheral, Tenya was the only student who has made an escape out of this facility, undoubtedly to go get help, though.

More of your classmates started to slowly pool into the forest area you've been residing in, panic whispers filled your ears.

"It's only a matter of time Tenya comes back with pro-heroes... Right?"

"Relax, Bakugo!! Aizawa can handle it!"

"Let me GO, Shitty-Hair! Before I blast you to bits!"

You glance at Katsuki for a moment to see him struggling in the arms of Kirishima, holding him back from leading a charge into the plaza. Everyone knew if one person dared going to where the villains were, the majority of the class would follow along with. It wouldn't be good..

"I-I don't want to mess him up.." Midoriya's voiced seemingly strained to get the sentence out, fear took over his tone. He said what you've been thinking for the entirety of watching Aizawa fight.

That was up until the point of the... Thing that sprouted from the portal appeared.

As soon as its presence emerged your heart started to pick up its pace. Jet black skin and muscles seemingly bigger than the #1 hero's, the monster towered over your teacher's figure. Unconsciously, you slowly took a few steps forward..

Who you've dubbed as who seemed to be the ringleader of this operation called the thing a Nomu.. A strange name for such a crude monster.

You wipe the moisture that accumulated in the palm of your hands due to anxiety as you watched the Nomu prepare to take on Aizawa. Something in the back of your mind tells you this is about to go horribly wrong, yet you refuse to listen to it.

Maybe you should've, watching as Aizawa's head gets smashed into the solid ground by the Nomu. As everyone else couldm't bring themself to move a muscle, a surge of adrenaline rushed into your veins as though it was a drug.

You refused to lose your teacher. Your inspiration, your hope.

The Nomu held Aizawa's face up and he slowly drooped his eyes open, he was going to lose consciousness any second as blood started to drain from the side of his head.

You held your hands up, it was time to use your quirk. The few seconds it took to create a dense sphere of air you took steps large steps further until you were dangerously close to where everything was going on. No one reacted to you fast enough to stop you from hurling the sphere at the beast. Although it was air, what you threw was more similar to a boulder than a nice breeze of wind. The Nomu went flying backwards with Aizawa released from his grasp.

Thank everything good in the world that as you started to make your way towards Aizawa's limp body, the doors came crashing open, All Might, and at least 5 other A-List pro-heroes appear in the lobby.

Although you just (temporarily) took down the Nomu, all attention was quickly shifted to the heroes long enough to scoop Aizawa into your arms and make towards the exit. One of his long arms was wrapped around your neck and your left arm encircled his waist with a tight grip.

Up close, Aizawa looked a hell of a lot more roughed up and pummeled than he did before, even getting rid of the injury he just got from the Nomu. Your stomach does backflips as you felt some of Aizawa's blood drip onto your cheek.

"What were you thinking?!" The man reprimanded, his voice lacked urgency since he was 5 minutes from passing out, by it was scolding nonetheless.

You take a few labored breaths before answering him, each word that left your mouth was stressed and genuine, I can't lose you, Aizawa-Sensei, you're the whole damn reason I came to this school!" Your tone sounded as though you were even offended that he dared asked you what were you thinking. "I can't have my inspiration to be a hero die right before my eyes when I could've stopped it!"

His body seemed much more tense that it did before in your arms, and he had no response to the words that left your mouth. He's gotten used to the lazy, tired, cat-obsessed, vigilante stigma far too much. To imagine that he's someone's inspiration to be a hero? Its mindboggling.. Although that, the fogginess and shrouded his mind was being no help to solve to problem of formulating a response.

"Aizawa-" You began before getting swiftly cut off. You were at the doors of the exit and Aizawa's body was swiftly taken from you by some paramedic.

Cop and ambulance sirens is all you can hear as you take your first steps outside. Your knees almost buckle under your own weight as the absence of the adrenaline rush you had gotten finally hits you.

Two hands steady hands of another paramedic keep you on your feet and lead you to an open ambulance where they got you to take a seat.

"Are you okay?" Concern laced their voice, but they still managed to talk slowly and clearly.

"Oh, um, yeah, this isn't my own blood," You reference to the small amount of blood that managed to get on your cheek from Aizawa before breaking eye contact, looking at the ambulance that was parked beside the one you were sitting in. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Who? Eraser? Yeah! I saw his vitals and they're looking as strong as they could be for someone in his condition. You're a real hero for saving him, kid."

Before the words of praise even resonated in you, you took a sigh of relief knowing that your teacher was going to be safe. "Thank you."

You watched as the medic scurried off elsewhere in search of anyone else who could be in need of serious medical attention as you began thinking about the events that just took place.. You just survived your first encounter with villains, and managed to save someone so important to you while doing so..

'I did good' you thought, a tired smiling playing on your lips.. You truly felt like the best hero you could be and worthy of any praise Aizawa could give.

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts - pt 8

A/N: thank you to everyone still reading. thank you so much to my bestie for do the thing always @chloes-yellow-cup 

08. Bad Beat

“Cassidy will you grab the rest of the breads and take them into the pantry? Thanks.”

Stacie hefted a study cardboard box full of frozen chicken cutlets and hamburger patties. She placed it on top of a stack of boxes similarly filled on the waiting dolly before the tall brunette glanced at her clipboard to confirm the last of the supplies had been accounted for. She tossed the plastic board on top of the box and tipped back the over laden hand truck to get it rolling.  She navigated through the heavy steel back door and down the hall to the storeroom, content in the work she was doing.

It wasn’t by any means heroic or anything. It was just the daily business of running the shelter, errands, chores, stocking the pantry…the usual. But it made her feel good to have such a hands-on approach to her community work. The shelter hadn’t just been a home for women that had to leave dangerous situations. It had been her own safe haven from the world her husband and parents lived in. Despite the fact that work was hard, the hours long, and the circumstances almost always heartbreaking, this place brought her peace.

Voices down the hall rose and she frowned slightly, easing the dolly down before following the commotion to its source. It wasn’t normal to hear people arguing, the shelter was a sanctuary and shouting just didn’t happen that often. A familiar strident tone threaded through the sound and her eyes narrowed. She could tell it was a man, of course by the deepness of the voice but she didn’t know him personally. She didn’t really have to. It was a husband or boyfriend or even sometimes a pimp. She knew it by the entitled bluster that loudly demanded entry.

There was a time when just the tone of that kind of aggression from any man, made her tremble in reflexive anxiety. Although those days were gone, they weren’t that far past and she could feel that sliver of fear want to take over. The ugly reminder of it made her push forward with anger of her own that quickly drowned out the scared echo in the back of her mind.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re trespa-“

“I KNOW she’s in there! You bring me my wife and my boy or I swear I’ll call the cops.”

Emotion slid off her face as she opened the inner door to the reception area and let it click closed behind her. Cassidy turned and gave her a relieved look that she smiled understandingly at. It wasn’t the girl’s fault and she knew that. A thick meaty fist banged on the thick plexi glass wall that separated them making her young friend jump.

“Why don’t you go grab a coffee and a quick snack, I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure? Should I call…someone?”

Cassidy had lowered her voice to barely a whisper but Stacie gave her credit for trying to back her up even though she was clearly uncomfortable. Though she was sure the someone Cassidy was referring to was Aubrey. She gave the girl a slight shake of her head squeezed her shoulder gently.

“It’s okay Cass, go on.”

Cassidy didn’t question it further, she just escaped out the door without a backward glance. Stacie didn’t blame her one bit. She took a calming breath before turning and offering a bland, mechanical smile to the man pacing with agitation in front of her window. He was big in that he was heavy but not that tall. Certainly not taller than her. And she could tell by the way he stretched his spine and neck that he didn’t like it one bit.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“And who the hell are you supposed to be? I want to talk to someone in charge not some fucking desk bunny.”

Usually Stacie didn’t mind when people thought of her as hot and dumb. She’d played to it often enough when it suited her needs. This time, however, it irritated her rather than just mildly amusing her. The glass front doors opened behind him as someone came in, the bright sunlight slicing through what she was realizing now was kind of a dim and dreary interior. She made a mental note to have some improvements overall and offered him a smile. First things first.

“If you’re looking for someone in charge you found her. Is there something wrong?”

“Lady you got some fucking balls. Is there something wrong? I’ve only been screaming about it for twenty fucking minutes!” His fist came up again to bang on the plexi in exclamation of his point. “I know my wife and son are in there and you better go get them now. Olivia! OLIVIA, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE YOU BITCH!”

Movement behind him drew her eye and she saw Happy peek around the side of the man, her brow raised in silent question. Did Stacie want her to deal with him? The corner of her lips twitched and she had to fight to keep her face from betraying her thoughts. A shake of her head was enough for Happy to ease back silently to let her handle things. It was still nice knowing there was backup at hand just in case. She wasn’t even surprised to see the woman. Life with Aubrey had come with the perk of personal security.

“Okay that’s about enough of that. I don’t know who your wife is or why you think she’s here but I suggest you lower your voice and you leave.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch! I’m not leaving here without them. If you don’t bring them out, I swear I’ll call-“

“The cops? Sure. Let’s do that.” Stacie picked up the phone and started to dial the non-emergency phone line for the West L.A. Police Department. He banged on the glass again but she didn’t flinch, she had expected it the second she’d called his bluff. The line clicked open with a dispatcher as he stared at her furiously. He wanted to hurt her; she could tell. She’d faced that same black look a thousand times before but she wasn’t afraid of it. Not because Happy stood a few feet behind him, or the fact that there were two inches of impact glass between them. Something had shifted in her when Weston had died. Something profound that she hadn’t yet come to understand but was learning to appreciate. “Hi yes this is Stacie Conrad down at New Hope on Sepulveda…”

“Fuck you! Stupid bitch.”

He turned on a heel, practically pushing Happy and the slender woman in line behind her out of the way. Stacie let out a breath she didn’t realize that she was holding and thanked the dispatch operator before hanging up. He could be as mad as he wanted to be, as long as it was somewhere else. She shook her head and smiled at Happy who bounced a little with her thumbs up. The encouragement was appreciated, especially when the curly blonde-haired woman shifted slightly to the side and Stacie really took in the woman behind her observing everything with a keen and critical eye.

“Mother.”

It was unexpected, taking the wind out of her sails and she wondered how her mother had even found the place. She certainly had never been inclined to visit before. Helene waited a moment, carefully smoothing the skirt of her latest Dior suit set to buy her some time before speaking. Happy glanced back and forth between the two of them giving Stacie a questioning look before easing back out the front door to give them some privacy. Her mother offered a blank smile and took one step forward as if she were a bit afraid that poverty was contagious.

“Well, things are certainly livelier south of the country club, aren’t they?”

It was just this side of bitchy, her mother unable to keep herself from reminding Stacie that she was bred above this place and these people. Of course, Helene would never consider it a slight, just a gentle reminder. In a way, she supposed, her mother was attempting to meet her in the middle. A soft, tired smile tugged at her lips and she gestured for the older woman to wait.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew her mother was there because Aubrey had visited her parents. Not that her fiancée had said anything about it, but she didn’t have to. Stacie had known something had happened the second she’d gotten a text from Aubrey letting her know that they were having a family dinner. It wasn’t uncommon really, she had learned that when Aubrey wanted to show love she cooked, and she cooked a lot. But the timing was so random and spontaneous, so weighted by whatever knowledge Aubrey had learned that afternoon.

Stacie had suspected that it had to do with her parents when Aubrey had caught her in the kitchen and pulled her into a hug, strong arms wrapping around her protectively. It was the type of love she hadn’t known really existed before. So, she hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t thought harder on it because it didn’t really matter what her life was like before the blonde or what Aubrey had found out. All that mattered was how deeply loved she felt now.

Her footsteps brought her through the office and around to the heavy steel door that separated her from the lobby. Stacie took a breath to center herself but pushed back against the urge to close herself off and wall up her emotions so she could present a camera-ready visage at any moment. She rested her palm flat on the door and pushed it open wide enough to admit her mother to the back.

“I wasn’t sure you knew the map extended past the country club, mother.”

They could trade politely smiled barbs at each other all day but she was getting really tired of that song and dance. Maybe they both were. They eyed each other for a long second before she jerked her head in invitation. Helene seemed to think it good enough and stepped past the threshold to the rest of the shelter. Stacie let the door shut and gave it push to be sure it was locked shut before gesturing for her mother to walk with her.

“I’m surprised to see you, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I just…to be quite honest Anastacia, I don’t know. I just.” She stopped short unable to articulate what had brought her. “I found myself needing to see…”

The tall brunette dipped her head in a nod of acknowledgement, absolving her mother of further explanation. Stacie stopped at the pantry and waved a hand to gesture Helene into the room. She picked up her clipboard and hung it on the hook on the wall before starting to dig through the boxes still patiently stacked on the dolly awaiting attention. Her mother watched it all with curiosity bubbling behind her hazel green eyes. She was sure she knew what her mother was trying to say, or at least she  hoped she did.

“Just give me a second to get this sorted out, maybe we could…have lunch?”

It was tentatively asked because it wouldn’t be the first time her lunch invitation had been declined. She almost expected to hear that there weren’t any decent places to eat in that part of town or some other snobby slight. Stacie was so sure her mother would decline that she looked away from the older woman and started stacking the frozen items in the big commercial freezer the shelter had just purchased at a significant discount from one of Aubrey’s suppliers.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

A box of cube steaks slipped between her fingers and clattered to the ground. She blinked and looked back at her mother before grabbing the box and stacking it neatly in the freezer. Okay. It was unexpected but it was a start. Maybe.

“Great. Let me just finish putting these away and we can go.”

Helene shifted her weight and Stacie could feel the tension under the surface. She raised a brow in question and her mother gestured to the boxes with a graceful wave of her hand.

“Don’t you have people to do the grunt work?”

Stacie chuckled softly as she finished emptying one box and started on another with canned goods. She moved around the pantry, stocking the shelves, and taking note of what was needed still. Her mother hadn’t meant an insult by it, she was a woman used to giving orders and expecting them to be followed. It was the type of life that led to soft hands and hard hearts and it was exactly what Stacie never wanted to be.

“Well. The shelter budget only includes 3 full time employees, so we maintain the ship on the kindness of volunteers and we all lend a hand where we can.”

“Three??? That is insanity. You can’t run a business on three solid employees!” She smiled in mild amusement and shook her head. Her mother’s outrage and disbelief seemed so out of place when she’d been running the place on less for almost a decade. Stacie emptied the last box and pulled a bag of fresh grapes from the fridge to wash off in the large stainless sink along one wall. “That’s not a sustainable model.”

“Well, most of our funding covers the overhead of the building. Insurance of course, and the electricity bill here is ridiculous. But…we’ve been managing. Like I said, we have a lot of volunteers staffed and I’m grateful for each and every one of them.”

She dried the grapes, depositing them in a bowl and grabbed her clipboard before gesturing for Helene to follow her. They had only made it about 4 steps down the hall when Cass called out from her spot back at the front desk.

“Stace, the plumber emailed over the quote. It’s on your desk and you’re not gonna like it!”

“Thanks, Cass! I’ll call them back today!”

Shouting down the hall would been frowned upon at home when she was growing but she didn’t have the time to walk to the front just for that bit of info. Stacie pushed open the double doors to room they had recently designated as the playroom. It was large and brightly painted with books and games stacked neatly on shelves along the walls and thick spongey mats on the floor. Nearly a dozen kids made a beeline straight for her making her laugh in delight.

“Okay okay, easy guys. More than enough grapes for everyone. Hey Tanner.” A teenaged boy pushed off from the wall and waded through the kids to grab a some of the sweet fruit. She smiled at him and he blushed, glancing away nervously. It was adorable. Stacie turned back to her mother and gestured to the teen at her side as she handed him the bowl of grapes. “Tanner is one of our superstars, he helps out in the afternoons with the kids while the AA meeting convenes in the multipurpose room. We’re pretty self sufficient here, we look after our own.”

“We’re a family. Like a real one.”

Both women turned to look at the shy young man that looked like he wished he’d never spoken. Stacie winked at him and patted his shoulder as she stepped back toward the door. Tanner and his mother Linda had been some of the first families to stay at New Hope and she was glad to see them doing well.

“Do all the guests do work here?”

“It’s not required but some do, yes. Tanner doesn’t live here anymore but he and his mom make it a point to help out as often as they can.”

“Yo! Stacie, we need you to review that grant proposal before we submit it. The deadline is tonight, it’s on your desk!”

Stacie and her mom parted as a small determined body buzzed down the hall. Her mother looked a little flustered at the abruptness of the comment even as the speaker disappeared back up the hall and into a small office.

“Don’t mind Elena. She’s ‘eh’ on people skills but she’s a whiz at writing grants.”

They had finally made it to the smallest office at the back of the building. It was windowless and dark but she’d worked hard to make it cozy and comfortable. Her wide worktable took up most of one side and she settled behind it with a gesture to the seat across from her.

“I hadn’t realized how busy you were here…”

There was something in her tone that made Stacie look up from her computer screen with a frown. It was thoughtful and quiet, more like Helene was speaking to herself rather than to her daughter. The silence between them stretched, neither party sure what to say or how to close the gap that had been growing since as far back as Stacie could remember. Despite the fact that they were family, mother and daughter, they were really just two strangers to each other.

She opened her mouth to say anything to break the odd tableau when a casual knock on the door drew their attention and saved her from an inarticulate flounder. The tiny woman leaned against the frame with a grin and a plastic container full of food she could smell from there. Her stomach gave a growl of anticipation and Stacie beamed. Happy’s girlfriend laughed at the entirely scandalized look on her mother’s face and stepped into the office.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Not at all, come in. Flo this is my mom Helene Conrad, mother this is Florencia Fuentes. She has a local catering business in town and donates a lot of prepared food to us. She’s a saint. Wha’cha got in the box?”

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Conrad.” The small woman offered Helene a smile and placed the container in front of Stacie. “I was just dropping off something for tonight. And Happy told me you skipped lunch again. So, I brought your favorite to tempt you into eating.”

Stacie’s eyes went right to the container, her mouth watering already. Over the last six months she and Florencia had gotten close, bonding over the amazing food the caterer had been donating almost weekly. And in that time she’d grown more than a little fond of Cuban cuisine.

“Tempt me? You couldn’t convince me to eat anything else.” Well. Almost anything else. Stacie kept her face perfectly schooled as the errant thought ran through her head. She reminded herself that her mother was marginally fine with sitting in a cramped closet of an office in a less than great part of town, scandalizing her now wouldn’t do their relationship any favors. The thought of her mother just sitting there staring at her salivating over the as yet unopened container brought Stacie back to herself. “Oh…mom…I promised lunch…”

“That’s quite alright, Anastacia. It would be a shame to let such a thoughtful gesture go to waste. It smells delicious.”

Flo beamed at the praise, and she should have. Helene didn’t give outright compliments unless she felt they were deserved. Stacie glanced at her mother, her mind quickly processing every twitch of muscle and softly sighed breath. Her mom’s eyes dipped to the container the curiosity and hunger obvious only to Stacie who knew her mother better than anyone else on the planet. Flo gestured to the hallway just outside the open door and tipped her head to the side as she watched the delicate dance between Stacie and her mother.

“I can get plates and silverware from the kitchen for you guys…”

Stacie nodded even though her mother was wavering on the edge of accepting the offer. She was sure that she would have declined with a sneer if her friends had been around. The younger Conrad woman lifted the lid to let the aroma waft up and out. Her mother’s eyes closed briefly as she inhaled the exotic combination of savory and sweet scents.

“Oh, my goodness…”

“Mouthwatering isn’t it?”

Helene nodded dazedly, not even noticing Flo come back with dishes. Her friend gave her a grin as she handed the plates and forks over and Stacie mouthed a thank you before starting to divvy up the rice and beans and seasoned meat.

“I’d better go, I have pastor’s 85th birthday event to cater in South Gate. Buen provecho and it was really nice to meet you Mrs. Conrad.”

“You too, dear. Thank you for the food if it tastes as delicious as it smells I’ll be in heaven.”

Stacie got up and gave Flo a tight hug before she could leave. Most of her adult life she’d only ever had one true friend in Cynthia Rose. But now things were different and she counted herself lucky to have found other amazing women that she could trust and that understood the life she had. It was helping she find who the real Stacie Conrad was under the carefully held up façade she was forced to build for herself.

“Thank you and hey, you, me, Ashley and the Doc for a girl’s day, yeah?”

“Count me in. Besos.”

“Bye.” Stacie watched Flo leave before settling back into her chair. She had been aware of her mother watching her carefully as she said her goodbyes. It was probably the first time that Helene had ever seen a real friendship up close in her life. “Sorry, okay. We’ve got a little of everything here.”

“Sizeable portions, nice presentation, it doesn’t even have to be good and she could make a decent living with a small café style store front in the art district.”

“Give it a try.” Stacie grinned and slid a plate across the desk to her mother. Helene gave her a dubious look and speared some of the steak on the end of her fork. The older woman gave an exasperated sigh before popping it in her mouth. She knew the moment Helene actually tasted the food she’d be hooked and she wasn’t surprised by the approving hum from the older woman. “It’s good right?”

“This is amazing. Oh, she could make a killing. What is this dish? I simply must know.”

“It’s called ropa vieja.” She waited a beat for her mom to take another, bigger bite of the food before continuing. “It literally means old clothes.”

Helene stopped chewing and looked at her fork then Stacie. The look on her face was too much for her and Stacie tipped her head back in a laugh.

“Oh God, your face. It’s fine, it’s just flank steak in a tomato sauce with white rice and black beans. And those are maduros. Um. Fried plantains.”

The other woman looked at the plate as her daughter pointed out all the components of the meal. She looked up and smiled in soft amusement at Stacie and for the life of her she couldn’t remember when that had happened before. Stacie’s own lips curled in a smile to match and for the first time felt like maybe there really was common ground between them. Maybe they just had to try a little harder to reach out to each other.

“This is…this is really nice, Stacie. I’m glad I came.”

She opened her mouth to comment that it was the first time her mother had used her nickname but her phone gave a petulant sounding buzz from somewhere under the stack of papers on her desk. She shifted the plate and files over until she found it and answered with a brief smile of apology for her mom.

“This is Stacie Conrad.”

“Hey mom.”

The voice was unmistakably Detective Mitchell but the greeting was strange. Stacie frowned slightly and looked at the clock on the wall. It was late afternoon and she was reasonably certain that the cop hadn’t yet started drinking but Beca was unpredictable and could be three sheets to the wind already. She lowered her voice and sat back in her chair, a knot already twisting her gut as she pondered all the reasons that Beca would be trying to reach her.

“Should I be worried you’re calling me?”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t call enough. I figure no news is good news, right?”

“Does that mean you have news and it’s not good?”

“Listen, how’s Daddy doing? Last time I saw him he had his hands tied.”

Stacie froze. A part of her was amused that Beca was referring to Aubrey as Daddy but that was quickly swallowed by the sick feeling of realization that Detective Mitchell was trying to tell her that Aubrey had been arrested. At least that was what she assumed based on what was said.

“Jesus Christ. They arrested her, didn’t they?”

“You’re always right, Mom. Listen I just wanted to check in. I got a big fish on the hook and I have to check some things out. I’ll see you and Daddy later, okay?”

“You know she’s going to murder you if you call her Daddy to her face, right?”

The line clicked abruptly on Beca’s amused and utterly unconcerned laughter. Stacie looked at her phone then dragged her eyes up to meet her mother’s bright-eyed stare. Disapproval etched a deep furrow in her brow and the very thin, shaky ground between them crumbled away with each word she spoke.

“I have to go downtown.”

[halfway-happyyy]

Come Away With Me

AN: This a slow burn y’all! Will be writing a part 2 so keep your eyes peeled. 

Basically you had the misfortune of marrying one of Hawkins sleaziest men, but when Jim Hopper enters your life, you realize that everything really does happen for a reason, and every choice has a consequence. 

Much anticipated smut at the end of the rainbow.

Word count: 4k+

You were brought into this world with a fire burning in your soul, or so the story goes.

Your mother swore until the day she died that she could feel it in you before she had even known she was pregnant. “It’s going to propel you towards magnificent things my girl,” She had whispered to you as a child. “But you must do everything in your power to keep it going as strong and bright as ever.” She had tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s going to keep you alive.”

You noticed him almost immediately upon arrival at Hawkins city hall; a hulking, foreboding figure leant against the far wall of the building. One foot was propped up behind him for support, and you watched in awe as he reached into the pocket of his shirt, produced a cigarette and lighter, and lit it. You followed your husband of ten years to your assigned table and reached for the water glass above your empty plate. “And who might that be?”

Larry Kline glanced up from the program in his hand and followed your gaze to the man across the room. He guffawed loudly, shaking his head and returning to the pamphlet in his hand. “That is who the Hawkins Police department saw fit to make their chief.” He scoffed again and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Stay away from him if you can help it… That man is a parasite on the name of law enforcement. An absolute animal of a human being, if you will.”

The dinner, like almost all the ones you were expected to attend, was drawn out and excruciatingly dull. You eyed the watch on the underside of your wrist and sighed heavily when the clock still read 8:07 P. You expected to be here another hour at least, making face and telling stories. All of it was exhausting if you were honest with yourself. And it wasn’t like you weren’t aware of what you were getting yourself into when you married Larry- you had met him on the campaign trail, after all. But you were starting to think that there was something more to life than the one you were currently living.

“Larry!”

You were thrown from your thoughts at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and a large hand reached out to clasp your husbands shoulder. Larry startled in his seat and turned to eye the man behind him. You watched, mildly amused, as Larry stood up to greet the chief of police, a broad beam in place on his face. “Jim! What a nice surprise!”

Jim Hopper towered over your husband in every way imaginable. Where Larry was in relatively good shape for his age, Jim was paunchy, his biceps bulged from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He was bearded, and even in the low light of the room, you could see the glint of something else in the depths of his blue eyes. You ignored the way it caused the breath the catch in your throat. “Yeah, yeah… Figured I’d come out and keep an eye on the party. You know how some of these folks can get after a few choice cocktails…” He scratched absentmindedly at the back of his head.

Larry laughed loudly at this; a shrill and utterly bogus sound that made you cringe inwardly. “Ah but surely the chief of police has better things to be doing this evening, no?” You knew your husband well enough to know that he wanted that one to sting but if it did, Jim never let it show. “Have you met my wife?” Larry offered quite suddenly.

Jim’s gaze travelled to yours and he smiled warmly at you. This simple act alone caused goosebumps to rise in patterns along your arms. “Nope, I have not yet had the pleasure.” You held your hand out for him to shake, which he accepted graciously. You were struck silly by the size and the warmth of it, and it caused you to shiver involuntarily into the touch. When Jim pulled away from you, it was to grab another cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips and bent his heads towards your husband. “I will leave you two be… Take it easy Lar,” You couldn’t help but notice Larry’s wilted smile. Jim turned back to you as he lit the cigarette. “Lovely to meet you Mrs. Kline.”

“And you as well,” You murmured almost inaudibly.

You watched his figure disappear from the room as Larry turned back in his seat and deposited the rest of the wine into his open mouth. “What a goddamn creep.”

How ironic, you thought with a smirk and smoothed the front of your skirt down.

You were young when you first crossed paths with Larry Kline, and there wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t wish things could have been different in any way. He had been an entirely other person then; sweet, and soft-spoken... had had possessed an innocence that simply made it difficult to see him running for mayor of a town. But then life changes, and people change too, and Larry had been no different.

“I am going to be home late tonight, darling.” Larry announced a week later, over coffee at breakfast. He held the newspaper up to his face, unwilling to meet your gaze. “Don’t wait up for me. There’s quite a lot going on at the office and such, and I will have Candice grab some food for me there.” You physically recoiled at the mere mention of her name, and the audacity that this man possessed was simply beyond your comprehension. She was ten years Larry’s junior and having any semblance of a conversation with her was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. You could see the attraction Larry felt for her; she was young, pretty, fit, and she couldn’t string together a comprehensive sentence. She was barely out of high school.

“That sounds fine Larry. Thanks for letting me know.”

On the rare days when you didn’t have to spend ninety percent of your energy pretending to be someone you weren’t, you painted. It had started out as a hobby when you were young; you watched your mother do it and you simply glommed onto it for dear life. It had been something of a reprieve for you, and whenever you had time to pick it back up, you did so with immense happiness. You had just left the store, bags of gorgeous new oil paints and clean canvasses tucked away in your trunk. You hummed along contentedly to the song on the radio, visions of what you were about to create danced around your mind. The sound of a distant siren floated in on the wind through your open window. You glanced uneasily through the rearview mirror, the red and blue lights from the cop’s truck behind you were almost blinding. “What the…” You frowned down at your speedometer, signaled right and pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. The truck stopped a few yards behind you, and you watched with wide eyes as Jim Hopper exited the vehicle and made his way over to you.

He was clad in his beige uniform; the stifling July sun beat down on him hard as you took note of the sweat stains spreading steadily beneath his arms. “Well, well, well…” He clicked his tongue as he bent his head down to speak to you. Subtle scents of cologne and cigarette smoke caused an unfamiliar sensation to bloom in the pit of your stomach. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Kline.” He lifted the aviators from his eyes and pulled a pad of paper from his back pocket. “Can I have your license and registration please?”

It was extremely bright out and you shielded your hand over your eyes as you peered up at him. This man had to have better things to be doing than pulling you over. “Can I ask what this is about? I don’t think I was speeding…”

“You weren’t.” He confirmed. “I need your documents.” You reached into the glove compartment and handed the paperwork to him wordlessly. “Mrs. Kline you were pulled over this afternoon because you have a broken left taillight.” 

Silence hung heavy in the air before you, the only other sounds were the whoosh of the cars speeding past. “I’m sorry?” You asked again, as if you hadn’t heard him right.

Jim sighed and gestured to the back of your car. “Your taillight is broken. Here in Hawkins, it’s illegal to operate a vehicle when a taillight isn’t working.” He scrubbed a large hand down the length of his bearded face and continued. “This will fall under what’s called a non-moving violation. It carries with it a fine and you will have up to one month to get taillight seen to- do you comply?”

You rolled your eyes despite yourself and nodded your head. “I guess I have to.”

Jim tilted his head back and elicited a hearty guffaw. “It ain’t so bad. I have it on good authority that your husband makes pretty good money… I’m sure he’ll help you out.”

You were taken aback at this, your cheeks burned red as you thought of what to say in reply. “You don’t know anything about us and you sure as hell don’t know anything about me. I will pay this asinine ticket, and I will pay it myself thank you very much.”

Jim pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes and nodded his head in finality, a small smirk in place on his features. “Well alright then, Mrs. Kline. I’ll be seeing you around.” He handed you the ticket through the window which you accepted rather begrudgingly.

“Not bloody likely.” You murmured under your breath as you watched him saunter back to his truck. You allowed yourself one last look at the broad plains of his back and shoulders and of the rounded curves of his ass, and shoved your car back into drive.

Normally you made a habit of saying no when you were invited out to spend time with friends, but when Elaine Green called you up and asked if you wanted to have a few drinks at the local bar that evening, you were more than happy to oblige her. You already knew that Larry wasn’t coming home, you could vent to her about your preposterous ticket and the man who issued it to you, and then you could go back home and continue painting.

“A double gin and tonic please,” You told the bartender and turned to Elaine, whose eyes were wide and glittering in the dank light of the bar.

“A double hey? Rough day?” She asked sympathetically. Elaine was the wife of one of Larry’s closest friends in the city, and you and she had acquired a special bond of sorts over the years.

You thanked the bartender and squeezed the lime into the drink, sucking the rest of the overly tart juice from your thumb and forefinger. “Uh yep… You could say that.” You had just begun to go into detail, when suddenly Elaine’s gaze travelled to the person standing behind you and lit right up. 

“Hello chief!” She beamed up brightly at him, lifting her glass of Malbec in greeting.

Your stomach sank as you turned on your barstool to see him. “Evening Mrs. Green,” He turned to you and winked. “Evening Mrs. Kline.”

Elaine excused herself from the counter to use the washroom, as you slugged back the rest of your drink. You slapped the glossy wooden top twice to signal another and turned to eye Jim suspiciously. “I do believe you are following me.”

Jim scoffed and took a sip of his beer. “Hawkins is small. We’re bound to run into each other. Say,” He murmured. “How did you get here tonight?”

“I hitchhiked.” You offered listlessly. It was a moment before Jim got the joke and began to laugh loud and hard. It was contagious, the alcohol had started to seep into your veins, and you found yourself laughing along too. “I didn’t hitchhike,” You offered after you had contained yourself. “And I didn’t drive my car with the broken taillight either, because I know that’s why you asked in the first place.”

Jim milled this over and shrugged complacently. “Sounds good. Can I buy you a drink?”

Elaine had returned from the washroom just before you were about to say no. “Well,” She sighed and clocked the watch on her wrist. “I should get going… Janey will be up with the rising sun in no time.” She fished into her purse and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter for the bartender. She turned to you, car keys dangling from the tip of a manicured finger. “You ready to go? You want a ride?”

“I’ll take her home, Mrs. Green.” Jim suddenly offered up. He drained the last of the amber liquid into his open mouth and turned to you. “If that’s alright?”

Elaine eyed you to gauge your reaction. 

“Yeah, that sounds fine. You go on home Elaine, and I’ll catch up with you later in the week.” Elaine smiled graciously at the both of you and left.

Jim immediately took the stool to your right and sat down. When the bartender asked if he wanted another one, he simply smiled and shook his head politely. “That’s awfully nice of you to offer to take me home.” You picked absentmindedly at a chipped patch of paint on your nail.

Jim shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing on the go this evening.” The bartender approached you again and Jim simply said, “Anything the lady wants.” You ordered another gin and tonic. Best not to mix it up too much. You found yourself happy in the haze of your alcohol induced buzz; you were warm, and comfortable, and talking with Jim was as effortless as breathing. “What are you doing with the rest of your night?” He asked after a while.

You traced your fingertip around the rim of the glass, reveling in the feel of his gaze on you. It was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol flowing through you… almost. “I am painting tonight.”

“Painting?” Hopper quirked an eyebrow in question.

“Mhm… painting. I like to do it in my spare time.”

Jim cleared his throat. “And what kind of painting do you like to do?”

You closed your eyes and smiled; images of the canvases you’d created swam past your eyes like a blurry movie. “All kinds. Still lifes, models, nature landscapes, you name it. I’ve been going for a while.”

You sat in silence for a few minutes, you felt lightheaded and content. “So, if I were to drive by your house, and it was late in the evening, but your light is on… I should assume you’re painting?” He asked.

You grinned at him. It was a silly sort of look that made him beam right back at you. “Yeah, I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet.”

Jim could tell you were growing ever more inebriated- perhaps it was the glassy look to your eyes or the way that your words fell from your lips jumbled and quick, and set down forty dollars. “Shall I take you home now?”

Though you had wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment for an indefinite amount of time, you knew that it was getting late. But more than that, you knew that you lived in small enough town, and that if you weren’t careful people would talk. “Yes, please Jim.”

The ride back your house was mostly silent, save for the muted sound of the radio in the background and Jim’s intermittent tapping on the steering wheel. The crescent moon hung low in the sky and cast an opalescent glow over the street in front of your home. “This is it,” You murmured when Jim had rolled up in front of it.

He shifted the gear into park and squinted up at the house. “No one’s home?”

You cleared your throat and shook your head. “Larry had to work late… probably be home in a couple of hours or so.” You sensed that Jim had about as good a time believing that as you did.

“Well then,” He stopped and fixed his gaze directly on you. It caused the breath to catch in your throat, and you were shocked when something deep inside you stirred. “It was an absolute pleasure to see you this evening, Mrs. Kline.” He unbuckled his seat belt, got out of the car, and made his way around to your side of the door. He walked you up to your porch and leaned in so close to you that you could practically taste the cologne he had on. It made your head spin even more than it already currently was, and for an entirely different reason.

“The uh… The pleasure was all mine.” You offered up easily.

He turned to leave and smiled back at you. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again… Happy painting.”

The effect with which Jim Hopper had on you was all-consuming and quite frankly astounding. You had gone to sleep that night, entirely unable to focus on painting, but extremely able to focus on almost every aspect of him. It was his warmth, the inflect in his voice when he spoke to you and the feeling that came along with being in his presence; like basking under the last few golden rays of a late summer day.

About a week later, and over coffee and croissants like usual, Larry informed you that he would be late again that evening. “That’s fine… I have taken to painting again in the spare room.”

“Sounds great honey.” He had offered up rather mindlessly.

You had cooked yourself a nice little dinner; roasted chicken, fresh garden vegetables with herbs and butter and some mashed potatoes to finish it off. There were currently three new bottles of wine on your wine rack that friends had dropped off for Larry that he was never around to drink anyway, so you uncorked them called them yours. You tied your hair back and threw on one of Larry’s old plaid shirts that he wouldn’t miss and set to work in front of your easel. You were two glasses of wine in when the doorbell rang rather unexpectedly. You set your flat brush down and frowned up at the clock on the wall which read 8:17 pm. You stood from your stool and padded down the hallway, taking tentative steps down your spiral staircase. You stood on tiptoes and peered uneasily through the peephole in your door. You gasped in surprise when you saw that it was Jim on the other side. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you smoothed down your ponytail, straightened your paint-encrusted shirt and opened the door.

“Good evening Mrs. Kline…” Jim took note of your attire and cocked his head to the side. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

You shook your head. “Not at all, I just finished dinner and was starting to uh… to paint.” You stood in the doorway, awkwardly regarding each other. “Would you like to come in?” You offered.

“That would be great.” Jim bent his head low and ducked into the doorway, planting both feet firmly in the rug of your front foyer.

You ushered him into your kitchen and offered him a seat at the island. “Please feel free to call me by my name, by the way. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? I think I’ve got a few bottles of beer at the back of the fridge…” You were entirely too nervous, and could feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle in discomfort.

Jim smiled graciously and shook his head. “I’m uh… I’m good, thank you.” He leant forward and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by to drop this off for you.” He slid a small piece of paper towards you. “It’s the name and number of a guy here in town who would be happy to fix up your taillight for you at a pretty reasonable cost.”

You picked up the paper and deposited it into the front pocket of your shirt. “Thanks Jim… I really appreciate that.” You were silent for a few moments before you remembered the leftover food you’d put away only an hour before. “Are you hungry at all? I definitely made too much chicken for dinner.”

Jim shook his head. “Sounds delicious, but I already ate before I came here.” You were about to say something else when he cleared his throat. “May I…. Uh, see some of your paintings?”

Your immediate response was to say no. Larry had never taken an interest in your art, and you had never showed it to anyone, so it was natural for you to be somewhat self-conscious about it. Yet you found yourself agreeing to it. “Sure… follow me,” You made your way silently up the stairs to the spare bedroom. “Watch your step,” you murmured and threw a glance back at Jim as he followed along behind you. “Here it is…” You pushed open the door and watched wide eyed as Jim stepped into the room and peered around.

He was silent as he stepped around discarded brushes and splotches of paint. He stopped in front of a piece by the window and your cheeks grew hotter the longer he continued to stare at it. “These uh… these are breathtaking.”

You swallowed hard and walked over the few paces to join him where he stood. “Thanks Jim.” You watched with baited breath as he traced a fingertip gently over the raised bumps of dried paint.

He turned to you, blue eyes wide and glittering in the light of the room. “I’m serious. You’ve got quite the gift here.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off by brushing the pad of his thumb along your jawbone. “You had a speck of blue paint there.” He murmured in explanation. He was close to you now, close enough that you could detect the subtle hint of menthol and cigarettes. It was a scent that was inherently Jim, and it made you lightheaded. He stared at you openly, there was something undetectable there; a want that both of you knew needed yet had no idea how to vocalize. And then he did the one thing you were praying he would do and he closed the distance between you, took your face into his hands and kissed you hard. You pushed him away immediately; the effect was like grazing a finger over a hot stove. The precise softness of his lips on yours, the need with which he was kissing you, made you both extremely horny and extremely conflicted.

“I’m married Jim.”

He squared his jaw and stepped ever closer to where you were. You took a step back but he only followed you, and soon he had you backed against the wall. “That doesn’t stop him now does it?”

You swallowed hard and without thinking whispered, “Do it again.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Do what again?”

You tapped your index finger twice against your lips. “Kiss me.”

And he certainly didn’t have to be told twice, because within seconds the gap between you was closed and he was on you. It wasn’t a slow ebb and flow; there was a keenly electrical element to the way he touched you. It was as if his lips left sparks at every inch of skin he kissed. His hands were deliberate in their movements; he tugged impatiently at the hem of your shirt and you wordlessly lifted your hands above your head so that he could shimmy it from your body. Once you were free of the useless material, he reached around with a hand and unhooked your bra. You watched, gaze half-lidded, as the flimsy material fell to the floor in a pool. “So fucking beautiful,” Jim murmured against the crook of your neck. His hands roamed freely; they caressed each breast, and he bent his head low to suck a pert nipple into his mouth. You groaned loudly into the touch and cursed as he pulled away to blow a steady stream of air over the sensitive bud. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His voice was low and gruff, like black velvet.

“Probably about as long as I’ve wanted to.” You tucked your fingers into the waistband of your panties and leggings and shimmied them down your legs, kicking them to the side. This was the first and only time you had been utterly naked in front of a man who wasn’t your husband and the notion was liberating in every way.

Jim sucked two thick fingers into his mouth, got them nice and coated with his spit and danced his way down your abdomen, where he hovered teasingly just above your clit. “Mmm… so you want this just as much as I do?”

You laughed, throwing your head against the wall with a dull thud. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You had barely gotten your sentence across before Jim’s thumb brushed across the swollen bundle of nerves, and pushed his fingers into you. “Jesus fuck,” you gasped loudly and grabbed onto his clothed shoulders for dear life. He started off at an innocent enough pace but he began to curl his fingers at the end of each pump and it didn’t just have you seeing stars, it had you seeing the whole fucking solar system. Jim slowed when he could tell you were unravelling, pulled his fingers from your pussy and sucked them into his mouth, eyes on you the entire time. When they were cleaned to his satisfaction, he got down on one knee and hike a leg over his shoulder. “What about you?”

Jim grinned up at you, his eyes bright and shining merrily. “This isn’t about me tonight, baby.” He rested his head against your lower abdomen and inhaled deeply, reveling in your natural scent. Wordlessly, he licked a warm, wet stripe up the length of your dripping slit. You held your wrist against your mouth to keep from crying out. “None of that shit tonight, I need to hear you.” He repeated his movement again, though this time he sucked your clit into his mouth as he went, his bottom teeth grazed the swollen bud there, causing you to grind yourself against his face. This earned a loud groan from him, and he palmed the ever-growing erection in the crotch of his pants. He began to delve his tongue further into your folds, starting at the bottom and always ending at the top to where your clit was. He swirled his tongue over it multiple times, and then suddenly and without warning, added two fingers into the mix. You were falling apart before his very eyes; trembling and moaning and trying to glean as much friction from him as possible. “That’s it baby,” He groaned against your wetness. “Come for me whenever you want, but come hard…” He spit against you and pumped his fingers just a little bit harder, hitting your G spot with each thrust. “That’s a good girl,” He cooed as you stilled your movements around him. You were sure he could feel your walls contracting around his fingers as his name ripped from the base of your throat. You came hard against him, to the sound of him groaning praises. “Such a good girl…” His voice was hoarse- yours was wrecked. He pressed a chaste kiss to your pussy and stood up straight, his form towered over you almost entirely. Again, he sucked his fingers into his mouth and helped you pick up your discarded articles of clothing.

You noticed the moist patch of pre-come just beneath the zipper to his pants, his cock still entirely erect. “That looks painful… I could help you with it?”

Jim moved a strand of hair behind your ear, shaking his head. “I’m on cloud nine, miss. Nothing hurts.”

You followed him downstairs and waited by the front door for him to leave. He bent his head towards you and kissed the center of your temple. “I’d be happy to let you take care of me next time.” He let himself out before you could say anything in return. You stepped barefoot and pant-less onto the front porch, and watched him take off down the darkened street, still wanting him… always wanting him.

[project-rebirth]

Overview: Espers

An esper (能力者 Nōryokusha?, lit. "Ability User") is an individual who uses scientifically based supernatural powers and emits AIM. The term usually refers to those enrolled in the Academy City Power Curriculum Program, who gained their powers artificially, but can also refer to natural espers, also known as Gemstones. It is also used to refer to magicians by those unaware of the magical nature of their abilities, and therefore treat them as esper-related.

In-universe, espers have only existed for a few decades up until this point.

Terminology

The original Japanese light novels used the term "Ability User", but before the licensing of Toaru Kagaku no Railgun, the majority of the English-speaking fandom substituted it with "esper". Because its use has become widespread, this wiki uses the term "esper".

A queer event related to this is Seven Seas' English translation of the first volume of A Certain Scientific Railgun, which opted to use "psychic", a term that has been used before by the fandom until "esper" became the standard. Because of this, the English fans that were accustomed to the use of "esper" lobbied for "psychic" to be changed, and Seven Seas acquiesced, even referencing the incident later.

The term "esper" does not automatically imply ESP, one of the two classifications of powers in Academy City, as it could also refer to an ability user that does not have extrasensory perception but instead influences objects in their surroundings, referred to as Psychokinesis. Abilities such as Pyrokinesis are considered esper powers despite the user not having extrasensory perception.

Principles

Academy City's espers have existed for over half a century in the world of Toaru, with the first modern esper being a girl nicknamed "the Beginning Child", who was trained by Academy City based on Meiji-era psychic Mifune Chizuko's data. The system used for the Beginning Child would become the foundation for the Power Curriculum Program to create espers.

Espers are described by Index as individuals with "talent"; this likely refers to Gemstones and each cannot use magic without injuring themselves. An esper is created after passing through the Power Curriculum Program, thanks to which the esper now possesses a Personal Reality, their capacity to substitute reality with their own which is the basis of their abilities, with no two people have the exact same one. In contrast to Magic's Idol Theory, their interference with and subsequent distortion of reality to create effects is an isolated phenomenon based on quantum theory, their observations of the world based upon their Personal Reality affecting things on a micro quantum level to cause phenomena on a macro level. An opposite theory would be holism, where a large interference with the laws of the whole world is used to make effects on a smaller scale. Aside from the mental performance of calculations, no elaborative and preparatory rituals are required by an esper to produce effects related to their abilities, unlike in Magic.

Espers can only access one specific power; Misaka Mikoto, for example, can only control electromagnetic phenomena. Despite this, however, researchers have attempted to create espers with multiple powers, such as Dual-Skill and Multi-Skill espers. Moreover, esper abilities are compartmentalized into two categories: Active and Passive. Active abilities require conscious effort to use, while passive abilities require subconscious effort. Abilities can be classed as both active and passive, such as Accelerator's ability. Esper abilities are further grouped into two major categories, Psychokinesis (PK) and Extrasensory Perception (ESP), with PK having a higher precedence in the classification of esper powers than ESP, especially when an esper power sits on both sides of the boundary between ESP and PK.

Another aspect of espers is that every one of them, even Level 0s, subconsciously radiates an AIM Diffusion Field, minutes amount of their power in a way akin to body heat and weak enough that it can be felt by any of the human five senses and is only detectable through machines. Different powers means a different AIM Diffusion Field: a Pyrokinetic for example will emit AIM that will heat up their environment, a Telekinetic will emit pressure, and an Electromaster will emit a weak magnetic field. According to the Professor, AIM is not simply weak energy emanating from espers, but the unconscious interference against reality, and analyzing its composition and strength gives more insight into the Personal Reality of a given esper than a psychological profile. There does seem to be some direct connection between the AIM Diffusion Field and Personal Reality, if Takitsubo Rikou being able to affect the latter through the former is any indication.

Esper powers are controlled using complex calculations done mentally, so strongest espers are also Academy City's greatest honor students. Because esper abilities rely on mental calculations and concentration, if anything affects the esper mentally, be it pain, exhaustion, surprise, or confusion, they will not be able to perform the calculations needed and their powers won't work. The AIM Jammer takes advantage of this, essentially disturbing espers' concentration.

While the brain is an important component to esper power, it is not the only factor. The entire physical human body is also part of this system and controls the power, though the exact mechanism is not well understood. Produce tested and researched to find out where exactly in the body esper power resides, removing limbs, organs, and brain parts from subjects, but the power still remained, although its output decreased as the body grew smaller, leading the researchers to conclude esper power can only reside in a body containing something that could be called a soul. Likewise, it is shown that, as long as something is considered a part of the body by the esper, esper abilities can be used with it, no matter if that part is attached or detached, artificial or natural. Kuroyoru Umidori can use Bomber Lance through her detached cyborg arms, which she considers parts of her body; Kakine Teitoku can control his Dark Matter even if it's not directly touching his body by no longer distinguishing between his actual body and the parts fabricated from his power; and Rensa operates by changing her biological structure to that of other espers so she can use their abilities. Coffins also operate on this principle, tricking the brains of dead espers into thinking bigger mechanical bodies are their own, which in return make the power stronger.

Genetics also have some influence on esper powers, and DNA can be used to determine esper powers. The very existence of the Parameter List and its ability to predict the future development of an esper before even passing through the Power Curriculum Program might be due to this fact, especially as they used it to get the DNA map of a future Level 5 for cloning ahead of time. Another manifestation of this is how siblings tend to get the same or similar powers: the Tobio twins have the exact same power, the Yumiya sisters have the same power but at different Levels, and Acid and Counselor both have oxygen-related powers. And, while they are not true siblings, there are no clones, or Sisters, of Misaka Mikoto with non-electrical powers. This is not an absolute rule: for example, the Gokusai sisters, or at least Kaibi and Amazora, have completely different powers. The triplets Ichika, Futaba, and Mitsumi likewise each have a different power. It may be that the possibility of similar and identical powers is weaker for ordinary siblings and fraternal twins than it is for identical twins and clones, who share the exact same genetic makeup.

Academy City's curriculum begins at 5-years-old at the earliest, and hormones generated during puberty and adolescence are considered critical to esper development. This might explain the prevalence of espers of kid and teenage age. In fact, it seems that is impossible to become an esper if one is an adult, to the point that the existence of adult espers is seen as improbable. So far no adult esper have been shown to exist, aside from those who used various means to artificially get esper powers, like Kiyama Harumi with Level Upper, Kihara Gensei with Exterior, Houjou Seigo with Ideal, and Kihara Byouri with her Equ.DarkMatter implants.

Ultimately, espers are considered only a byproduct of the Power Curriculum Program on the way to reach SYSTEM, with the reasons and mechanisms behind their existence being the actual objective of the city's scientists. Aleister compares espers to litmus papers changing colors in solutions of different acidities: the interest is in why they changed colors and if it can be manipulated, not the colors themselves. Essentially, espers are a means to an end, not the end itself.

Power Curriculum Program

A person enrolled in this program is called an esper and, through a series of drugs usages and experiments, will be cut off from regular reality and enabled the capacity to substitute it with their own. Espers are ranked according to their System Scan results, which evaluates six attributes to determine the rank of an esper: Precognition, Clairvoyance, Psychometry, Telepathy, Psychokinesis, and an unknown sixth one. It is stated that Level 0 espers barely have enough influence to pass the curriculum's grading exams.

Any individual can use the curriculum to acquire powers, such as Misaka Mikoto, who started out as a Level 1 and worked hard during her training to become the 3rd ranked Level 5 esper in Academy City. There are exceptions of course, as with the case of Level 0s. Furthermore, with the Parameter List, it is apparent that esper potential is limited by various factors. This has resulted in researchers determining that it would be wise to focus on developing an esper whose ability is worth more to the city and whose training is predicted to be more resource efficient than that of another person's.

Information regarding the students enrolled in the curriculum, such as their abilities, their level and a brief description of them, is available in the Data Banks of Academy City. Furthermore, certain espers, such as Kamijou Touma, have security protocols in place to ensure that the truth of their abilities is classified.

According to Uiharu Kazari, the name of an esper ability, such as Electromaster or Telekinesis, is decided by the school that its owner is enrolled in. Only under specific conditions can the name of an esper ability be decided by its owner, such as the Railgun. Railgun's editor Ogino Kentarou further elaborated later that there are three types of names for abilities: public ones, the ones that the esper themself applied for and registered, and self-declared names. It is unknown, however, as to what exact conditions an esper must meet to officially name their own esper ability, though its uniqueness may be a factor.

Currently, only Academy City can create espers, although others have tried, such as during the Stargate Project.

Gemstones and speculation

A Gemstone esper is an individual who can emit AIM without requiring participation in any power development program. Gemstones are the beings that Index likely referred to as having "talent"; the envy of their abilities from their peers is what led to the creation of magic. There are currently 50 confirmed Gemstones in the world.

In extension to this, it has been speculated that there may be people who have not realized that they have powers, or that their certain propensities or idiosyncrasies, as subtle as good looks or good penmanship, may actually have this power.

Many Academy City students are aware of Gemstone rumors, but treat them as urban legends. This is due to many feeling that it is unfair for esper powers to be gained without having gone through the Power Curriculum Program to attain them. Currently, Sogiita Gunha, who is the strongest Gemstone, and Himegami Aisa are the only two known Gemstone's in Academy City. Kamijou Touma, as mentioned by Kumokawa Seria, does not classify as a Gemstone esper as due to his powers being unrelated to AIM; it is believed that Imagine Breaker is beyond the current understanding of Academy City researchers.

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: Nomadland

Frances McDormand is unafraid to do things with her face and body that terrify most aging actors. She does not mind that her face is creased, she doesn’t mind that her legs are those of a 63-year-old woman, and she doesn’t mind if, under the tuck of her shirt, you can occasionally see that she has an ordinary stomach. McDormand’s comfort with her own body on camera is essential to the look and feel of Chloe Zhao’s Nomadland. Fern is living rough after the death of her husband and their manufacturing town, and McDormand’s looks reflect life lived not in Hollywood, but in heart of the American west.

In the past few years, there’s een a quiet Civil War going on in America. In the eyes of many, there are only two kinds of people now: those who believe it is a place for many people, and those who believe it is a place only for people who look and think like them. Part of this perspective is that you have no choice to sit this fight out---either you’ve picked a side or, by dearth of a choice, a side has picked you.

Nomadland takes places in 2011, before this stark division exploded into full-on combat, but in many ways it depicts the kind of people who don’t get seen much in these times. It is inspired by a non-fiction book by Jessica Bruder which tells of older Americans hitting the road permanently after the Great Recession. Of course, their world had been ending for a long time. Fern’s specific story begins when the US Gypsum plant in Empire, Nevada closes and takes Empire with it; the introduction informs us the town’s zip code vanished with the factory. We don’t see this happen. We pick up with Fern after she has already hit the road in an RV, working seasonal jobs to make ends meet, going to the bathroom in a bucket, and avoiding getting to know anyone. After all, they’re all gonna be gone eventually.

Unlike the people who sit around and moan about liberals and globalism over beers at the local watering hole, Fern seems to know what world she lives in, and what it means, and exactly how much power she has to change it---that is, none at all. Now let’s talk a little more about Frances McDormand’s face. There is a brief shot in which said face is framed in profile, contrasted with the mountains in the background, and the lines on her face almost seem placed to match those in the distant hills. Her close-cropped hair is a practical necessity that reflects the bare, rocky earth on which her moving home spends most of its time. She is a part of this environment, and she does not hope in vain for the return of a past that is gone. On those occasions when she stops in a place resembling civilization, she doesn’t seem to belong there anymore.

Contrast that with her friend and potential lover David (David Strathairn), who speaks sage wisdom but, unlike Fern, is in a van in the wilderness because he is running from something. His world has not closed behind him, and therefore whatever chance he and Fern might find late-life love seems remote. Fern has experienced something to which few can relate. Cities like Detroit, St. Louis or Youngstown, where American devastation is also a daily story, may not be what they once were, but they’re not going to disappear in our lifetimes. To see not just your personal house but the town you call home dry up and blow away leaves you with scars that relocation can’t fix. David behaves as if this is a minor inconvenience which can be forgotten with his attentions.

Chloe Zhao’s first film, Songs My Brothers Taught Me, perhaps tried a tad hard to replicate the Malick formula, but her second, The Rider, staked her identity as an outsider able to see the reality of the American dream in the 21st century better than most Americans can. Nomadland confirms it. It has just enough touches from the Malick school---patient camera shots that linger, characters whose lives are communicated not through monologues but through body language and surroundings---with a willingness to operate in a real world Malick often refutes. She has also further established her own trademark of casting non-professional actors in roles that are fictionalized versions of their own lives. McDormand and Strathairn have enjoyed long careers, but several of the roles are played by actual nomads. Are they telling their own stories, with Zhao merely turning the camera on them, or stories written for their screen avatars? I cannot say, but they feel authentic.

An underlying question of the film might be: can you simply check out of society? Is that even possible in a modern world long removed from the days of pioneers and treasure hunters? Fern works for Amazon on a seasonal basis, and when she shuffles listlessly through the doors for her shift I thought of so many Bruce Springsteen songs I couldn’t name them all; the omnipresence of that gigantic yellow sign is like the announcement of a king, saying “You can run, but we still own you.” Yet even when she works smaller jobs, such as dishing up fair food at a stall, she is still dependent on society. Her van, her refuge, must be fueled up, she must have food to eat, and she must have clothes to wear. Her divide from us is made most stark when she visits a relative who chose the more settled life, and she listens to real estate brokers talk disparagingly about people who bought houses they couldn’t afford. The comments rile her up---as if those brokers didn’t encourage and fool people into taking such deals, to fuel their own extravagant houses in upscale neighborhoods. It is the most starkly political moment in the film, these predators blaming the prey for getting caught. If that’s what we call society, we can see why Fern wanted no part in it. Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts. 

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow me on Twitter here, if you want more posts about film and video games and sometimes about hamburgers:

https://twitter.com/RyanmEft All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[willow-salix]

Here's this week's #FABFIVEFEB from the prompts by the awesome @gumnut-logic. This is all about the Scott, and I loved writing this. This bad boy topped out at 5,110 words, I don't know where they all came from apart from the fact that it was pancake day yesterday and that was all I need for the vision in my head. I used all the prompts somewhere (even if they are a little vague) except glow.

"Scott?" Alan whined from his position slumped over the kitchen table, his arm up to speak into his comm. "Can you make me some pancakes?" 

"No I can't, sorry, I'm just too busy, " Scott's distracted voice floated from Alan's wrist. 

"Oh come on, you make them the best."

"I don't have time."

"But Selene said it's pancake day in the UK, it's tradition."

"No, Alan, I'm waiting for Brains to finish that modification to Thunderbird One so I can test her out and make sure she's still operational for rescues as well as the Zero-XL."

"But he won't be done for ages…"

Scott declined to answer, cutting the call. 

Alan huffed, sat up and crossed his arms angrily. All he wanted was to spend some time with his brother like they used to. Scott made the best pancakes in the world, he could flip and land them perfectly, any shape, any size and they always came out golden brown and fluffy.

He'd been dreaming about those pancakes, remembering how their dad had patiently tried to teach them all how to mix up the perfect batter, how to test the heat of the pan and how to flip them just right. 

Virgil and Scott had mastered the batter instantly, seeming to have a knack for measuring by eye and mixing it with a hand whisk. John had taken his time, insisting on noting down the exact weight and measurements of each ingredient as Jeff had added them and then using the blender to make it as smooth as humanly possible. Gordon and Alan had shared a bowl, which has descended into chaos as they had both tried to add ingredients, ending up with a lumpy, eggy, sloppy mess. 

Virgil's pancakes had been nice enough, a little messy around the edges, a little abstract but edible and easily flipped with a spatula. John's had been perfectly formed equal little rounds of fluffy goodness, small enough to flip with a spatula and stack easily. Alan and Gordon had dropped many, burnt a few and had a couple still raw. But Scott's had been perfect. He had flipped them as if he had been doing it his whole life, an easy wiggle and flick of his wrist and up they had sailed, executed a perfect 180 and landed back in the pan with a gentle splat. He had experimented with different flavours, adding chocolate chips and different sauces to various degrees of success but always perfectly cooked. 

Over the years the duty of making pancakes for breakfast on a weekend had fallen to Scott and their dad, the two tag teaming, perfectly synchronised, Jeff mixing and plating them up, Scott pouring and flipping. If Scott was in a particularly good mood or had time to spare he would try to make the pancakes in simple shapes, a fish for Gordon, a rocket for Alan, a star for John. It didn't matter what the shape was, he always managed to flip and land it without trouble. 

After Jeff had disappeared Scott had continued to make them for any family that was home, it had been a tradition for so long that they had clung to it, it was familiar, it was comforting and they had needed that more than ever. 

Over the years as International Rescue had gotten busier, their days more unpredictable and their weekends almost non existent their breakfasts had trailed off and then stopped all together. 

Alan hadn't realised how much he missed them until he'd woken up with a craving for Scott's special toffee apple pancakes, made with applesauce and chunks of fresh apple mixed right into the batter and toffee sauce drizzled on top. He could practically taste them. 

They had all been so wrapped up in the Zero-XL building and the possibility of finding their dad that they had barely spent any time together, it felt like they were growing further apart rather than closer together as they should have been. They were about to reunite their family, to be complete for the first time in eight years but Alan couldn't help that he was a little worried. What if things changed? What if their dad wasn't the man they all remembered? It had been hard to lose him but they had all come to terms with it, had each learnt to accept it in their own way and now he didn't really know what to think. Their world was about to change all over again and, much as he hated to admit to himself, he was nervous. He craved something normal, something solid and dependable. He wanted his big brother. 

"What's up puddin'? Why the long face?" Selene wandered into the kitchen from who knew where, her face full of concern. "You OK, boo?" 

Alan nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. 

As always, Selene knew exactly when he needed a hug, even though he would never ask for one, and pulled him into her arms. 

"Talk to me, precious." 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head against her shoulder, allowing her warm, comforting presence to surround him. She held him tight, not making any move to let go, something he loved about her. There was never any time limit to a Selene hug, none of that brief embrace then let go as soon as you could rubbish, she'd happily stand there for an hour if that was what you needed. More times than he cared to remember he'd found himself leaning against her on the couch, allowing her to wrap an arm around his shoulder and draw him into a cuddle that could last the entirety of a film. Selene he felt safe talking to, she never judged, he didn't feel like he had to be manly with her, to act mature or hide anything from fear of upsetting or angering her. 

"Scott won't make me any pancakes." Just saying it out loud sounded stupid, like all that was wrong was the fact that he was hungry and wasn't getting his own way. He didn't want to sound like a spoiled brat. "I mean, I wanted him to make them with me, like he used to, but he's too busy. He's right, I shouldn't have asked."

Selene sighed, hugging him tighter. "No he's not, darling. He's not too busy, he's hiding away. And you were right to ask." 

Alan lifted his head to look at her, confusion written all over his face. "Scott's hiding? What for? Scott doesn't hide, he faces everything." 

She shook her head. "No, he doesn't, that's just what he wants you all to think, especially you."

"Why me?" 

"Because you're his baby brother, he wants you to have someone you can look up to, someone dependable and in control, even if he doesn't always feel that way on the inside." 

Alan snorted. "I doubt Scott feels that way, he's so sure about everything. He has a one track mind, get the Zero-XL finished, find Dad and everything will be fine." He pulled out of her embrace and sat down on one of the kitchen stools.

"And are you not sure about his plans?" 

Alan scowled as she zeroed in on the problem with that uncanny ability of hers, not needing him to even voice it. She stared right back at him, face neutral, waiting for him to elaborate. He picked up a spoon that had been abandoned on the counter and fiddled with it, needing something to do with his hands. 

"I don't know." 

She waited some more, leaning patiently against the sink, giving him the time he needed to collect his thoughts and choose his words. 

"What if everything is different after? Not in a good way I mean. Everyone is so desperate to have Dad back and so sure that it'll be brilliant, and I think that too, but…" 

"But there's a little part of you that is scared and worried that he won't be how you all want him to be?" 

He nodded, relieved that she understood exactly what he meant. 

"No one else thinks that way. Just me. Because I'm the youngest and because I don't really remember him that well. It's like…"  he paused, unsure if he could say the words. But this was Selene he was talking to, she would get it. "It's like he's a character from a favourite film, one that's so familiar it's like they are part of your life, but they also seem so abstract, like you know that they aren't actually real. Does that make sense?" 

"Perfect sense. And believe me, you aren't the only one feeling this way. Scott's been in charge of this family for a long time, in charge of International Rescue and everything that comes with it, this is his baby as much as it was your dad's. And John, he is happy and content with his work in Five. You know he loves coordinating and bossing you all around, he loves to organise and prioritise each call that comes in. He told me that before your dad disappeared all he did was field the calls and relay them to base so your dad could make all the decisions. That's going to take some getting used to and some toes are going to get stepped on, there will probably be arguments and compromises will be needed. But it'll all come in time. I haven't spoken to Gordon or Virgil about it but I'm willing to bet they feel the same. You will all need to get to know one another again, you're all different people to how you were then, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing, sweetie."

Alan looked down at the spoon in his hands, now bent out of shape, the bowl twisted back to meet the handle."What if he doesn't like me? " His voice was small, so quiet she barely heard him. 

Oh gods, her heart was just breaking for him at that moment. Her poor little sweetheart. She crossed over and hugged him from behind, kissing the top of his head. 

"Baby, there isn't a single person in this world that wouldn't love you. You are perfect." 

"You have to say that, you're marrying my brother." 

She sighed, flicking his ear gently. "No I don't. And do you honestly think that I'm not shitting myself too?" 

Her rude words made him choke out a surprised laugh as he rubbed his abused ear. "Why would you be scared?" 

"I'm meeting your dad for the first time and I'm not exactly anyone's dream of a daughter in law. I'm a crazy witch that swears too much and moved into his house. He could hate me." 

It was Alan's turn to make her feel better. "He'll love you, because we all do, and there's no way he couldn't. You have made my brother the happiest he's ever been, you've made him better, and Dad will see that. You haven't just helped John, you don't just love John, you love us all." 

She smiled gratefully, hugging him tightly from behind, squishing him against her chest so he couldn't see the way her eyes were damp with unshed tears. "I got stuck with all of you, bloody package deal brothers."

He laughed, knowing she didn't mean it. 

"Give me your comm." 

"What? Why?" he lifted his arm up for her. 

She tapped the screen and waited for Scott to answer. 

"Yes, Alan?" 

"Scott," she wheedled. "You know you love me…will you come and make me some pancakes? " 

Alan muffled a laugh with his hand. His brother was silent for a few moments, then his long suffering sigh floated out. 

"Fine, I'm coming up." 

"How did you do that? How come he never says no to you?" 

"Witch magic." 

"That can't be your answer to everything, you know." 

"Say's who?" 

"Say's me," Scott answered as he entered the kitchen, ruffling Alan's hair affectionately as he passed. 

"Rude, you weren't included in this conversation."

Scott ignored her, knowing exactly what was going on. He felt bad that he'd said no to Alan's request, had wanted to drop everything the second his baby brother had asked, but a sense of duty had prevented it. How could it be right for him to stand around making pancakes when there was work to be done and what seemed like a million things to prepare for his dad's homecoming? Honestly, he was grateful that Selene had intervened, giving him an excuse to spend some time with his smallest brother. 

"What pancakes do you want, squirt?" 

"Toffee Apple," Alan answered immediately. 

"How did I know you'd say that?" Scott reached for a large mixing bowl and gestured to the store cupboard. 

"Because they are my favourites," Alan started taking out packages of flour and jars of applesauce without being asked, both of them falling back into their familiar routine. 

Selene took herself off to the side and sat down at the table, content to watch them work together. Alan helped Scott to measure out the ingredients and they both took turns whisking it into a smooth batter then added a sprinkling of chopped apple into the mix. 

Scott lined up three skillets and set the heat beneath them, letting them get nice and hot. Once they were to his liking he took a ladle and spooned out a big dollop into the middle of each pan. 

So impressive were his skills that he didn't even need to use a spatula to loosen the bottom as she would have done, no he just wiggled the pan and the pancake slid up the side like a well trained puppy, ready to be tossed. 

Scott wiggled the pan a bit more, playing up to the enthusiastic encouragement of Alan, then with a flick of his wrist the pancake soared upwards, turning in midair and coming down to land perfectly in the center of the pan, much to the appreciative cheering of Selene and Alan. 

He repeated the process in quick succession until a large stack of pancakes rested on the warming plate. 

"Can you call the others to come eat?" Scott requested and Alan scrambled to do his bidding. 

"Let's see if I've still got this," Scott muttered under his breath as he took a smaller spoon and dipped it in the remaining mixture, dribbling it into the pan, returning time and again for another dip, concentration etched on his face. 

Selene wandered over to watch over his shoulder, seeing the vague but recognisable shape of Thunderbird Three forming in the pan. Scott let it cook through until little air bubbles had formed all over the surface and then wiggled it up to the side. 

"Ready?" 

Both Selene and Alan nodded and with a deep breath, Scott launched the rocket skyward. It sailed up on its perfectly plotted path, dipped at the tip and turned end over end, hurtling back to the pan. Scott flailed comically for a second before he caught the little rocket, the only damage being a slight crease where the nose cone had hit the rim of the pan. 

Selene clapped, very impressed and Scott bowed theatrically, his face split in a wide smile as he returned it to the heat for another minute then carefully slid the lovingly made treat onto the plate Alan held out. 

"Pancakes!" Gordon cheered as he dashed in, heading straight to the stack. "We haven't had these in years!" He glanced over at the rocket that Alan was drenching in toffee sauce. "Hey! Where's my fishy? You always make me a fishy." 

"I'm working on it," Scott started his dip and dribble routine all over again, drawing an outline first and then filling in the center, all under Gordon's watchful eye. 

Virgil wandered in and retrieved a plate, helping himself to a few from the stack. Brains was next, and then Kayo, followed, slowly and somewhat hesitantly, by The Mechanic, who was still refusing to give anyone his real name. Selene was secretly convinced that it was either something mundane, like Dave, or very out there like Heathcliff and that he had been cursing his parents ever since. Either way, she called him Nic, shortened from Mechanic and he had learnt to do what everyone else in the family did and ignore her. 

A pair of warm arms slid around her middle, making her jump, John's evil chuckle muffled against her skin as he kissed her neck in greeting. 

"How did this happen?" 

Selene looked over at Scott as he caught the fish perfectly, pleased to see the way he had visibly loosened over the last half hour of so of fun with his youngest brother. 

"We wanted pancakes, it's traditional on Shrove Tuesday in Britain."

"Was that all, huh?"

She nodded, leaning back against his space suit clad chest, her fingers lacing through his. "Yep, that's it."

"A fish is easy to flip," Kayo taunted from her place at the table, a fork full of pancake halfway to her mouth.

"I'd like to see you do better," Scott challenged, already working on another, this time star shaped.

"Anyone could do it," Kayo shrugged.

"Yeah," John joined in, obviously in the mood to push some buttons. "It's simply a case of angle, height and force, physics, couldn't be simpler."

Selene grinned evilly. "You know what else is traditional in my country?"

"What?" Alan asked, his voice muffled, cheeks bulging like a hamster's.

"Pancake races."

***

Half an hour later saw them all outside on the beach. Selene and Grandma acting as judges and general rule keepers, while the brothers, Kayo and, after much persuasion, The Mechanic and Brains were all lined up ready to race.

"OK, remember, you can only run if you are flipping and catching and while the pancake is in the air, you can use both hands on the handle if you want to, but if you drop your pancake you have to stop and pick it up, place it back in your pan to flip again, you cannot throw it into the air and catch it. You have to complete one stationary toss and catch before you can pass the pan over. First team to cross the finish line wins. Got it?" They all nodded seriously.

"Ready team A?"

Gordon, Scott, Kayo and Brains cheered in response.

"Ready team B?"

John, Virgil, Alan and The Mechanic whooped in answer.

"Alright! On your marks! Get set…" Brains and The Mechanic readied themselves. "GO!"

Brains gripped the pan handle with both hands and hefted it upwards. The pancake barely lifted and did a very ungraceful belly flop back down but that counted and he managed to take a few steps forward.

The Mechanic had a little more strength and was a tad more coordinated and after a practice flip and catch, he got the hang of it and managed to make pretty good time.

Brains on the other hand, missed the pancake twice and had to retrieve it from the sand and toss it again before he could move. When he managed two flips and catches in succession his team mates cheered like crazy.

He passed the pan over to Kayo who flipped and took off, getting in three steps before she had to catch and flip again.

John took over from The Mechanic, taking his time to do an experimental flip, landing it well enough. He then tried again, leaning forward a bit and tossing at an angle rather than straight up, stretching to catch the flat disc.

"Come on, John, MOVE!" Alan yelled.

John ignored him, ignored the way Kayo was making steady progress down the beach, flipping, catching and running a few quick steps.

One more practice and he got his rhythm. With a wrist flick at the right angle, just the right spin, the right speed… He took off running, managing to toss the pancake ahead of him and catch it every time without slowing his pace once. Alan and Virgil burst into loud cheers, Alan bouncing on the spot eager to receive the pan for his lap.

"What the fu-" Kayo missed her pancake completely as John sailed past her effortlessly. She grabbed the pancake and put it back in the pan, tossed it hurriedly into the air, but over compensated and ended up running right past it and having to backtrack and pick it up again.

"Damn you, Tracy!"

John waved a casual hand behind him in acknowledgement, came to a gentle stop beside Alan, tossed and caught it one more time then handed over the pan much to Selene's supportive cheers.

"Hey! Favouritism from the Judge!" Gordon yelled as he waited impatiently for Kayo to reach him.

"Dude, he's running in a skin tight suit and didn't mess up once, I'm allowed to cheer!"

"Divided loyalties!"

John spread his hands in a what-can-I-say-the-truth-is-the-truth gesture, a smug smile on his face, not even out of breath.

The edge of Kayo's pan hit Gordon in the kidney as she nudged him to get his attention.

"Shit!" he grabbed the pan and tossed the sandy and now decidedly ragged pancake into the air, taking a couple of steps.

Alan was faring better and stopped mid step to stick his tongue out at Gordon. Splat! The pancake landed on his head as he turned back.

"That doesn't count as catching it!" Scott yelled at Grandma.

"He's right, Alan, toss it again, it has to be caught in the pan."

Alan slapped the pancake down into the pan and tossed it again as Gordon started to catch up.

Alan got in a few running steps before he caught the pancake.

Gordon threw the pancake into the air but didn't manage to land it right, one side flopping off the edge of the pan where it ripped, one half falling to the ground.

"Grab it!" Scott yelled.

Gordon fumbled but grabbed the lost half and deposited it into the pan. Tossing both halves was tricky but he managed it, catching both with a little extra effort.

Alan had stopped dead to laugh at Gordon's pancake disaster, allowing Gordon to pass him, but tossed and caught quickly, rushing to catch up.

"Ooof!" Alan landed on the sand as Gordon innocently pulled his foot back. "You tripped me!"

"Judges!" Virgil yelled.

"Two toss penalties for Gordon!" Grandma ruled, much to Gordon's disgust.

Alan made the most of his time advantage to get to his feet and hurry forward. He stopped, tossed and caught then passed the pan on to Virgil.

Gordon caught up and gave Scott the pan.

The two eldest and probably most competitive of the boys started their lap.

"You killed this pancake, Gordy!" Virgil complained as he tried to get the hang of flipping both halves.

"Blame Kayo, she started it! OWW! There was no need to hit me!"

Kayo rubbed her knuckles and grinned evilly.

Scott was, as predicted, making excellent time, tossing and catching with effortless ease while Virgil cursed, struggling to master the art of a double flip and catch. In the end he settled for smaller tosses of a higher frequency, the ragged halves barely lifting up but still clearing the pan and therefore counting, while he trotted along in a quick shuffling run.

The two teams cheered, bellowing encouragement and insults, having left their previous spots and converged on the finishing line.

"Come on, Scott!"

"Run, Virg!"

"Flip it!"

"Call that a toss? Pathetic!"

Scott glanced over his shoulder at his brother.

"Might as well give up now, you can't beat me!"

"In your dreams!" Virgil yelled back.

The finishing line was in sight and with a last burst of speed the racers edged closer.

Virgil, in a last ditch attempt to win, tossed the pancake halves towards the finish line -a beach towel laid out on the sand- and threw himself forward.

Scott, spotting what he was up to, did the same…

Virgil stretched out with the pan, ready to catch the falling food…

Scott dived, reaching out…

They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, Scott splayed out on top of Virgil, Virgil face down in the sand…

They all watched in horrified fascination as the pancakes seemed to hover suspended in mid air for a second before falling down to earth.

Scott flapped with his pan, Virgil flailed trying to push Scott off him, managing to get an arm free to stick out his pan.

PLOP! plop plop!

The two judges, along with the rest of the teams, rushed towards the two fallen racers.

"Seriously?"

"What are the odds?"

"What?" Scott pulled himself up off a complaining Virgil and looked into his pan.

Virgil sat up, doing the same.

In his pan sat Scott's still vaguely round pancake. And in Scott's, crumpled and creased, ripped and sandy, were the lumps of pancake that had belonged to Virgil.

"So who won?" Gordon asked.

***

"I saved you the last pancake," Scott came up behind Alan and offered him the plate.

"Thanks, Scott," Alan shifted over on the bench to make space for his brother and took the plate. "And thanks for today."

Scott sat down beside his brother, draping his arm around his shoulders. "You're welcome, and I'm sorry I didn't come straight away. I guess I've been a little preoccupied recently. I know that's not an excuse, but it did feel like a valid reason at the time."

"I shouldn't have asked, not really, you had more important things to do."

"No, you were right to ask, it's been a great afternoon and I think we all needed it. Thanks for forcing me to take a break."

Alan nodded, leaning closer to rest his head against his brother's shoulder.

"I just…I guess I feel like so much has changed so quickly and it's only going to change more. When Selene said it was pancake day I remembered how great it used to be to have fun and just spend time together. With everything that's been happening I didn't want that to be something that changed too."

Scott sighed, giving Alan's shoulder a squeeze.

"I'm sorry, I should have realised that. I should have noticed that you needed a bit more time than I've been giving you lately."

Alan scowled. "It's not your job to give me time, I'm not a baby, I'm big enough to look after myself now."

Scott chuckled. "Are any of us big enough to look after ourselves? Or is that why we all want Dad back so much?"

"Selene said that you weren't busy, you were hiding," Alan had zero issues with throwing her under the bus, knowing that Scott would never make her feel bad about it.

Scott was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "She's not wrong, I guess, in a way, I have been hiding. I know I've been driving Brains and The Mechanic nuts with my constant attention. I'm just worried I think, worried that we'll be too late and we won't find Dad, worried that even if we do find him he won't be the man we remember."

"That's part of my problem, I don't remember him, not really. I just know that he was nice, and that everyone was less stressed when he was around."

"Yeah, dads always make things better and easier. Can I let you in on a secret?"

Alan nodded.

"I've been avoiding you guys a bit, especially you, because I don't want to let any of you down."

"Let us down? That's crazy! There's no way you could ever do that."

Scott closed his eyes, feeling so tired all of a sudden, the fun and relaxation of the last few hours fading away to be replaced with the bone deep exhaustion that was his constant companion.

"I'm having all these doubts, Allie. Doubts that I've been too stubborn to voice out loud."

Alans eyes opened wide. Selene had said that Scott was having the same fears he was, but he hadn't really believed her up until that point.

"What do you mean? What kind of doubts?"

Scott turned away to look out over the island to the sea below them, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

"I worry that he won't be alive when we get there, or that we won't even find him, but I also worry about what will happen if we do manage to bring him home. I want him home, of course I do, but things are going to change, and I'm just hoping that it won't be too hard on us all, especially Dad. We've been on our own, doing things our way with International Rescue for longer than we were doing them with him, and I worry that we're going to clash. Or even that Dad won't want to be here any longer, that he won't want to continue the way we are or even go out on rescues again. Can you imagine a world without International Rescue in it? One where we sit at home and don't help people? It was trying to save people that got Dad lost in the first place, and we've spent eight years saving others but left him alone. We didn't help him. What if he resents us for that? What if he blames us?" Scotts voice dropped lower, almost a whisper." What if he blames me? I'm the one that's in charge."

"I've thought all that too, apart from the bits about you, he would never blame you, none of us would."

Scott hugged his littlest brother tighter than ever, until Alan squeaked and squirmed to get away. He didn't know how he'd missed the fact that Alan himself had also been worried.

He was lucky to have his brothers and the friends that he counted as family. He felt his tight shoulders loosen a little. None of them knew what they would find when they got up there, or what would happen after, but no matter what, he'd have the support of everyone he held dear. That would be enough to get him through anything. 

"It'll be alright, Allie. We'll make sure of it. We'll do as we always do, we'll get through it together. Things have a way of working themselves out. We'll get up there, we'll find Dad and we'll bring him home. That's all that matters, that's all we need. Everything else is fixable in time."

Scott looked up towards the lounge windows where the sound of Virgil's piano filtered down to them, along with the indistinct rumble of conversation. 

"We're a family, Dad's part of us, and we'll make sure that he knows that."

[wellthatjusthappend]

Can we Deadshot appreciating J's ass while Dick loses it? please and thank you!

Nice! I don't remember if Jason and Deadshot have ever worked together (or against each other) in the comics, but I feel like they would get along.

Also, thank you everyone who sent in villain suggestions and prompts!

Dick was getting a little worried that he’d get too used to Jason sleeping by his side.

Not that they’d really done anything but literally sleep next to each other, but it was… nice. Really nice. It made coming back to his apartment feel like an actual home sometimes rather than just another base of operations. Jason wasn’t there at all really during the day- though Dick sometimes woke up to find an extra plate of breakfast sitting around for him after Jay left- and their patrol schedules rarely synched up, but the simple fact of another person’s warmth beside him of Jason made Dick feel calm in ways he’d never expected.

He felt like he had been starving, but hadn’t realized it. His chest felt light and full in ways he couldn’t quite describe.

Dick still didn’t know why Jason had changed his mind and decided to stay with him. He said that he’d sorted out everything about the knife already (though Dick wasn’t sure he’d ever taken the threat seriously in the first place) so it didn’t make much sense. But Dick couldn’t deny that it eased much of the worry that had been building in his chest that Jason was with him and not out there getting seduced by some villain.

For some reason that relaxed feeling made him think that it would be a good idea to invite Jason onto a case he was working on.

There was a new supplier on the streets trying to break out into the market by slipping samples of his new drug into middle and high schoolers backpacks. Mostly he’d been hitting Bludhaven schools thus far- Dick had been a bit overwhelmed by some new gang wars lately so it took a while for him to notice- but apparently the guy was based out of Gotham.

Probably wanted to test the success of his drug before he tried a market where the Bat or the Red Hood might come down on him.

For good reason too, since Jason looked like he was going to murder someone when Dick showed him the case files.

“Keep it non-lethal Hood,” Dick warned as they suited up.

“Bastards like that deserve to burn in hell,” Jason snarled, the sound much more menacing through the voice mod of the helmet.

“I’m serious Hood-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the rules about working with you goldie,” Jason waved him off.

Dick still caught himself double checking that the bullets Jason had loaded were rubber.

It would always be weird working in masks in daylight, but sometimes there was no way around it.

They hid themselves in the shadows of a roof overlooking a school Dick had heard was starting to have more issues with the drug. Jason was tense beside him, and Dick had to remind himself that trying to lay any comforting hand on him right now would probably just end in violence.

They stayed in mostly silence as they waited for their mark to follow his usual routine and come up to the rooftop to set up shop for the burgeoning addicts of the school. Jason was better at long distance than he was, so Dick was hoping they could settle this quickly without terrorizing the school.

“Sniper on the building to left,” Jason suddenly said.

“ What?! ” Dick whipped around just to catch the slightest glint of a scope on a nearby roof.

“Doesn’t look like it’s aiming for us,” Jason commented.

“A sniper aiming anywhere near a school doesn’t sound good,” Dick shook his head, “I’ll go around back and see if I can take them by surprise. You stay here in case our guy comes out.”

He kind of though Jason might protest, but he just grunted his agreement. Dick supposed someone selling to kids would be a higher priority to him, especially since he could probably punish him more if Dick was busy.

Stomping down the bad feeling in his chest, Dick grappled up to a nearby ledge before scaling the building by hand to ensure a silent approach. When he pulled himself up onto the rooftop he saw the tripod and sniper rifle still poised and set up on the other edge of the roof, but no sign of the sniper himself.

Dick ducked just in time to miss a fist to the head.

He dropped automatically and kicked out, just barely missing taking the snipers legs out from under them.

“What the hell, aren’t Bats only supposed to come out at night?” grumbled a familiar voice.

“Deadshot?!” Dick said in surprise.

“Aw hell, what’s Lawton doing here?” grumbled Jason over the comm.

Dick didn’t really like the familiar way Jason said his name, but he had no time to dwell on it with one of the deadliest assassins in the world poised to fight in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Dick demanded, hands gripping his escrima sticks a little more firmly.

“Same thing as you, I’d imagine,” said Deadshot dryly, “unless there’s more drug selling scumbags hanging around kids that I don’t know about.”

“Lawton,” Jason said having apparently abandoned his post in favor of landing on the roof next to Dick and pulling off his helmet. Dick barely had time to process his alarm when Jason grinned and strode forward to clasp hands with Deadshot with a camaraderie that Dick didn’t like one bit, “good to see you man.”

“Should have known you’d be around, kid,” Deadshot grinned, clapping Jason on the back, “I liked your work on that fucker who was hanging around Madison school a couple months back. Nice and clean.”

Jason preened under the praise, and Dick scowled deeper. Not just because he didn’t know what had happened at Madison school- and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it when he found out- but also because Deadshot had not stopped touching Jason for whatever reason.

The fact that Jason didn’t even seem to notice implied that it was probably normal for them.

“You didn’t really answer the question before,” Dick said coming up beside them and barely resisting shoving between them, “What are you doing here?”

Deadshot looked between them, a hint of a smirk gracing his features for a moment.

“Don’t really tolerate bastards that target kids,” he shrugged, “I’ve got a daughter in Gotham, y’know? I do what I can to clean out the trash every now and then.”

“‘Priciate it,” Jason said back honestly, “I’ve missed working with you, man.”

“Right back at you, kid,” Deadshot said, giving Jason’s arm a squeeze, “One of these nights we should hit 10th and make a little noise. My kid has to take that road to the bus stop and the gangs there have been a little too arrogant for my liking.”

“It’s a date,” grinned Jason.

Dick ground his teeth.

“You better not have forgotten our no killing rule, Deadshot,” Dick said with a hard look.

“Ah, are you Bats the ones cramping Hood’s style these days?” Deadshot said lazily.

“They wish,” Jason snorted.

“No killing in Gotham, or it’s back to Blackgate,” Dick warned.

“Right, sure, like that place has ever held me,” Deadshot said dryly, making Jason snort. Dick glared at him.

“I’m serious…” Dick said gripping his escrima sticks a little tighter.

“Don’t worry, Nightwing, I’ve got a kid, remember?” Deadshot placated him, “I’m not going to do anything that is going to get me caught and sent to jail.”

Key word caught , Dick thought.

“Speaking of which, you want to take the shot, Hood?” Deadshot asked, jerking his chin towards the scope.

“Hell yeah,” Jason said, his face lighting up like Christmas had come early. Dick supposed they were nice guns, but Jason could have just as nice ones if he spent more time at the Manor.

Dick noticed Deadshot’s eye flicking down to admire ass and thighs ass he crouched down.

Dick made an angry warning sound, glaring at him. Deadshot just grinned in response.

“God, you’re obvious,” he chuckled quietly so Jason wouldn’t hear.

“Stay away from him,” Dick hissed back.

“Easy, birdy,” Deadshot said giving him a patronizing look, “He’s a bit young for me. Doubt the kid even knows he flirts as much as he does.”

“You’re flirting back,” Dick accused.

“Hardly a crime,” Deadshot said mockingly, “‘sides, I can still admire a nice view when I see one.”

A pointed look at Jason’s thighs again.

“You-” Dick started hotly.

*BANG*

Even silencer muffling things, the sound of the rifle going off was still startling.

“Got ‘em,” Jason said standing with a satisfied look.

“Nice one,” Deadshot said coming to admire the view as well.

“Jesus, Hood, we agreed non-lethal,” Dick cursed as looked as well at the supplier bleeding out on the rooftop.

“Sure, and it won’t be lethal if you get your ass down there and do your job until the pigs show up,” Jason shrugged without a hint of remorse.

Deadshot laughed and Dick cursed both of them again as he launched himself off the rooftop to the next building.

The guy would live, but he’d no doubt be crippled for life. No slipping into schools unnoticed anymore. A nicer fate than what Deadshot would have chosen no doubt, but Dick wasn’t in a charitable mood.

A glance at the rooftop where he’d come from showed that Jason and Deadshot had disappeared together somewhere.

Jason was going to drive him crazy by the end of this.

[examiningmormonism]

Divine Perfection and Presence in Christian Theism and Mormonism

The Mormon doctrine of God claims, sometimes implicitly, sometimes explicitly, that Mormonism holds to a being of far greater reality than the normative view of God. When a Mormon says “God exists” its defenders argue, they don’t invent esoteric meanings for the word “exist” so as to show God as “wholly other.” God exists as you and I exist. The traditional view of God, Mormon apologists have claimed, is so esoteric that it’s not clear that such a being can coherently be spoken of as existing in the first place. Latter-day Saints are very fond of quoting an Egyptian anthropomorphist monk after the teaching (that God the Father has a physical body essentially like our own) was condemned: “they have taken my God away from me, and I have none to rasp, and I know not whom to adore or to address.” 

C.S. Lewis in “Miracles” pointed out the pitfalls that our theological language can slip into when we subconsciously associate a set of visual images with a particular concept without recognizing the association or unpacking its implications- which would allow a person to see misconceptions driving questions or criticisms about a particular point of view. In defending what I am calling the normative view of God, I emphasize that this view of God is not the provincial view of Hellenic metaphysics and Abrahamic traditions under Hellenic influence, but constitutes the view of God prevalent among countless and widely varied cultures who preserve their memory of the God of Heaven. This is true for cultures as far flung as ancient India and ancient Africa- see an interesting survey of indigenous African views of God in “African Origins of Monotheism” by Gwinyai Muzorewa. 

In launching this discussion, I will quote a small bit of an attempted satire of the normative view of God by a Mormon in a (quite old) email thread. This person, in trying to conceive of God as historically conceived, began with the following:

“Once upon a time there was this ethereal essence that roamed around somewhere in the cosmos...”

A couple problems immediately stick out to the person familiar with normative theism and its associated philosophical traditions. 

-The terms are not well defined. What is “ethereal” and “essence” in this context? It appears that the terms are not chosen for their conceptual significations, but because they relate to an image in the author’s mind. It is this image which dominates his understanding of the normative view of God- the words are haphazardly chosen to capture the sense of this vague image. Lack of definition is a consistent recipe for philosophical disaster.

-If this being is “roaming around somewhere in the cosmos”, clearly we are not dealing with the normative view of God. This being exists in relation to a larger preexisting cosmic background. Because this being’s mode of existence is described in terms of that preexisting cosmos, the latter is more ultimate than the former and defines its existence. 

—

What is the image driving the critic’s dismissal of the normative doctrine of God? Clearly, it is something like a thin gaseous substance, spread over a wide area of physical space. This is what most Mormons understand the doctrine of divine incorporeality to entail. And it must be admitted that many Christians have been theologically sloppy in talking about incorporeality as if the “incorporeal” is a distinctive property had by certain substances, one of which is God. 

—

In fact, it is exactly the opposite. Words like “ethereal” convey a sense of a being who is thin, hard to see or get a sense of, spread throughout a wide space but only very subtly present in any particular point in space. In reality, the normative view of God is that God in His divine perfection is far *more* “thick” and “concrete” than anything which we experience. Next to the infinite God, the embodied life in which we exist is barely present. C.S. Lewis describes the heavenly places as a world of intense thickness and weight. A human creature in an earthly body could not so much as move a blade of grass in that world. God is, in Lewis’ words, “so truly body that He is no body at all.” When we think of something ethereal and gaseous, we are thinkin of a failure of presence. By contrast, the Christian rejection of anthropomorphism is rooted in its declaration of the totality of divine presence in and through all things. 

Consider how Joseph Smith framed the notion of divine embodiment. For Smith, the Father and the Son each have a glorious, resurrected body. (contra consistent LDS misconceptions, Christians believe that Jesus has and will have forever a glorious body- before trying to use this teaching in an attempt to disprove classical theism, Mormons need to study the precise theology of the Incarnation articulated by the Fathers and Councils. Otherwise, they will have arguments which sound decisive to each other but deeply shallow to a person committed to the traditional doctrine.) Why does the Holy Spirit not have a glorious body? Smith’s answer is striking- so that the Spirit can dwell in us. This underscores a very serious problem, to my mind, in Mormon theology. Attempts to raise arguments against the Mormon doctrine of God by vaguely waving at texts identifying God as spirit are doomed to fail because the terms are not well defined. It is clear that, even prior to the Incarnation, God reveals Himself to the children of Israel in the form of a glorious man. 

But the key texts- the ones which decide the issue- are texts like Jeremiah 23:24- “Do I not fill the Heavens and the Earth?” Or Psalm 139:7-10: “Where shall I go from your Spirit, and where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to Heaven, you are there. If I made my bed in the grave, behold, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me.” Or 1 Kings 8, where Solomon proclaims that “Heaven [the starry skies] and the Highest Heaven [the throne-room of God] cannot contain” the Lord.  For Latter-day Saints, embodiment is an essential step on the path to exaltation unto divine glory. Even for those Mormons who take the non-traditional (and I applaud this, which I believe comes from a grace-inspired pious instinct) view that God is God from everlasting to everlasting, the Father’s glorified body is understood to be one of his divine perfections. But it is precisely this embodiment which constitutes a *limitation* for God. For Smith’s view of God, glorious embodiment restrains the modes according to which God can be present to all things and through all space. As such, at least during the time of the human family’s mortal probation, there must be a kind of “compromise” in the Godhead where the Holy Ghost refrains from taking a glorious body in order that he might dwell in the saints. 

The classical view of God is that His all-suffusing presence is a divine perfection intrinsic to what it means for Him to be God. To say that He lacks “parts” is simply to say that all things true of Him come as a package. If God were made up of parts, then these parts would be prior to the whole- God would exist as a being within a larger cosmic order. This is, after all, the traditional Mormon view of God. And His lacking passion means that He is “impassive”, not that He is cold. He is active in all things, and no creature can impose its will on the Creator. The creature endowed with freedom who uses that freedom in rebellion finds, immediately and unavoidably, that his rebellion is assimilated and integrated into divine providence and will which is acting at all times through all things for the realization of God’s purpose to sum up all things in Jesus Christ the Incarnate Son. No act of God is “reactionary.” He is infinitely and gloriously serene, unfolding His wise purpose without stress or question of defeat. If you needed immediate heart surgery, you wouldn’t want a doctor who was so “moved” by your plight that he was too broken to operate. You would want a doctor who is genuinely and utterly committed to your healing but is in perfect control throughout the whole surgery. His fingers do not shake or slip. His mind never wavers. His next step is always clear in his mind. This clarity and purposefullness is the means by which his fingers nimbly stitch up a heart which would have stopped beating without his skill and calm. 

Rather than being an “ethereal” gaseous presence distributed thinly throughout space, God is so intensely thick and concrete that everything else- from the most solid diamond to the thinnest layer of hydrogen gas- exists by His free constitution of the creation out of the superabundance of His own glory.

Biblically speaking, this perfection is signified in the symbolism of the “Rock.” God is described as the Rock of Ages. The word “glory” is very closely related to the word “heavy.” And this association exists in English parlance, too. A person of great authority and influence, who immediately communicates a sense of presence and sovereignty is said to be “weighty.” God in His glory is infinitely heavy. He is infinitely heavy because there is an infinite “amount” of God to put on the scale. He’s the Rock which is never moved but always moves. He’s the Rock which gives birth to a creation taken up into His glory- a creation described as a stone Temple with a “cornerstone.” We become glorified in Him- we are little stones and bricks in the temple of Christ according to 1 Peter and Ephesians.