#and maybe my dad will grow some common sense and realize that continuing to go to meetings will ensure he is in a state of trauma

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

”I don’t want to give Jehovah’s organization a black eye so I have to suffer in silence. Oh the pain! The pain!”

Mhm. Have you ever considered that Jehovah’s organization has given you not one, but two proverbial black eyes, broken ribs, and a concussion over the years; and maybe you should expose them for the abusers they are, if only enough to get yourself help to heal from the abuse you’ve experienced? You’ve got Stockholm syndrome bad, and you’re making it everyone else’s problem. You cared about your abusers so much that you abused me in their name, just because I wanted no part of their organization. Even if I didn’t seek out apostate resources, I wouldn’t have needed them to make my decision to leave because of how much you vented about them to me since I was about five years old. Did you just expect me to stay here and take the abuse like you did? I’m better than that; I’m better than you.

[xxitsxbillxhaderxnationxx]

SPOILER ALERT: if you have not seen ANY of Barry season 4 yet...

Okay, so I'm just sitting here waiting for the next episode of anxiety (I.E Barry) to premiere and I started thinking some stuff...I would like you all to read this fully and leave any/all comments for the end. I am about to say some really crazy shit and it might not make sense, but trust me, it does.

There is very little known about Barry's mother. I mean when he was in jail, we got a flashback of Barry as child, and his dad (John) is introducing him to Fuchs. His mother is not in anyone of those flashbacks by the way. Ergo, I started thinking: what if Fuchs and John were working together as in John was Fuchs' hitman before Barry? Makes sense, wouldn't it? I mean, Fuchs didn't just wake up one day and say he wanted to start a hitman venture. It had to be something he was already doing before, right? Also he sort of mentioned that he would look after Barry since John saved his ass during Vietnam. But instead what if it was because John wanted to help Fuchs out by giving him a "new blood" knowing that his son had violent tendencies, which would make him a great hitman? Also do we know if Barry's dad is even alive anymore? what if he was killed during a hit? (yeah I realize I have fallen deep into the abyss. I am so deep in fact that there is no sunlight down here and I can't find my way back out)

Anyway, don't jump in yet, just hear my out. So, Barry's mom finds out that John is a hitman and/or they don't have a great relationship, so she medicates with alcohol and goes into a deep depression resulting in her self-assassination. I mean it is a common theme in the show. This leaves Barry in the care of his father, who let's face it, if he is a hitman, he's not going to be very loving towards his son. This results in Barry looking for other male role models to fill that void as he gets older (Fuchs...then Gene). So, moving forward, Barry joins the marines to try and validate his life. Spoiler alert, its only temporary. Now who does he see when he comes home? Fuchs. He comes in like an angel of death dressed in black, ready to help Barry and give him a purpose. (Also I wonder if it is Fuchs who got him out of the Marines in the first place?) He knows Barry has these violent tendencies (so does Barry's son, John).

I say all that for context. In the last episode of Barry, we see him and Sally have created some sort of "Family" as they play the roles of parents to an 8 year old child, named...John (after Barry's father). I hope you all are still with me because what I'm about to say next will BLOW your minds, and probably piss off some of you.

Sally is depressed, clearly. She is self medicating with alcohol and trying to hold up this "role" of being a wife/mother. She sucks at it by the way. If we were to say that Barry is sort of mimicking/or maybe trying to recreate his childhood (because let's face it, he is as the flashbacks are strangely similar to his "current" life). I can see Sally taking a trip down self-assassination boulevard leaving Barry to raise his son on his own. How will he do that? I can see him becoming a hitman again. Why you may ask, because Barry is a violent person and he is irredeemable. (He tries to bury these urges, however he is showing his son videos of a kid getting killed with a baseball bat and dying; those feelings are still very much present in Barry). Now becoming a hitman will cause him to grow distance towards his son until one day he introduces John to a man who will give him the paternal needs he has been looking for...and that man is...wait for it...HANK!! Then Hank grooms John into becoming the perfect hitman...BOOM full circle!! The cycle of violence continues!!

I see you Bill Hader and if you end the series like this, you'd be a fucking genius!! This would be an interesting twist, if I'm being honest.

[teachablemomentsblog]

Heart Map: My Sunfire Circle (Part One)

"I had no idea how to change a flat tire"

Midway through our personal narrative unit, even though they showed spurts of ambition upon hearing my exploits with Alexa, my student’s motivation began to severely diminish with their narratives. Students always found themselves “thinking” or, in other words, spacing out until I walked up to them. They then refocused their efforts to feigning concentration, usually by placing their pencil to their mouth or chin and staring at some distant inspiration they couldn’t quite make out. Once I walked away, they relaxed and continued staring into the void. Or maybe they were truly struggling. I had to be careful I didn’t always assume their confusion was bullcrap...since that’s what I did in high school. 

Unfortunately, bullcrap or not, most students couldn’t think of a story. And if they did, it barely registered as a personal narrative with real meaning and purpose. Even if they thought of a story with meaning, they never had enough support to showcase it. For example, a conversation I had with Juan, one of my reluctant students.

“Mister...the only thing I can think of is that I mow grass on the weekends.”

“Okay, awesome! So, do you do that stuff with your dad or…?”

“No.”

“Okay, so is that your job then, or you do it at your house or…?”

“No.”

“Okay, then...I’m not really sure what other options there are?”

“I don’t know. I just like to mow on the weekends.”

“Okay. Well...sounds like it’s going to be a great story!”

Unfortunately, by the time my students started to truly grasp and develop their stories, we had already closed in on our first week of revisions. So, when they should have been fixing their drafts, they were actually starting them. Like always, I held back and gave them writing days, but breaking down the lessons for each student and their own pace and speed turned into one of the most daunting processes. And at some point, we did have to forge ahead. Adhering to a flexible deadline felt like the best way to allow a little freedom to work through the critical thinking process while still motivating them to keep moving forward with their narrative. 

However, this year, I had a revelation. Maybe it shouldn’t have been all that revelatory and more common sense, but I realized the revising concepts were just too abstract for my poor students to grasp. They didn’t understand whenever I explained to add specific details for these certain effects, just like I did in the THREE DIFFERENT EXAMPLES I HAD EVERYONE HIGHLIGHT, UNDERLINE, AND LABEL. Everything geared towards creating juicier, higher interest paragraphs, stronger opening or body paragraphs within their narrative. But the independent, critical thinking overwhelmed them. They had been so conditioned to be told what to write and in what specific way, they didn’t know how to self-reflect and ask themselves, “Does this sound good? Make sense? Is this even English?” Hell, I even told them to follow the structure (Mister, what’s a structure?) or to copy (God help me if I used the word emulate) the style used by the author. A sea of confused looks immediately followed. 

I averaged about two-to-three kids in each class who enjoyed writing and could follow more than a half a step at a time when working. This felt like the primary focus for my job. To grow my herded students to think for themselves. They needed something more concrete. They needed something they could look at and decipher (Haha! Learning!) what moves the person used to make it effective writing. My students didn’t need a story from a textbook written by some dated author they didn’t know. They needed to see the entire essay written out for them. By me. My model essay wasn’t difficult, especially after I had displayed my arsenal of anecdotes to detail whatever I wanted to write. I didn’t want to give them my entire story, which would result in a stack of eerily similar personal narratives. But, if I let them see the effect on a story when it followed all these “abstract” concepts, it would hopefully push them to “make their story good” or, at least, “legible”. So, with that in mind, I brought back out my Heart Map!

Like I explained from my IHOP story, I intended for my Heart Map to overwhelm, at least a little. Over the four years of Heart Map tweaking and revising, I’d had plenty of time to decide what stories to add, keep, and take out. Some stories I didn’t need my students asking about. Even though, “Leaving a girl stranded at IHOP” might have tread the line of appropriate, it at least energized and engaged them right from the start.

However, with my current revelation, next I needed to decide which story would have the most impact. And then push them to ask the same question about their own lives. What is the heart of this experience? What makes it meaningful? At this point, they had heard my IHOP story, and enjoyed a good laugh. They felt sympathy about crazy high school Alexa, but it hadn’t packed the emotional gut punch I needed. I had to use something that had the ability to change from a one-dimensional Mr. Rust Story, to something more meaningful. My eyes fell on my Pontiac Sunfire breaking down. A story that, at face value, seemed just about some car problems, but really, turned into so much more. A full circle story. My emotional gut punch. Painful and powerful. Perfect.

…

Even though this story is titled “My Sunfire Circle”, it really begins with an interview. One of my first ones. At that point, life had quickly spiraled out of control. In May of 2013, my girlfriend, Christian (now my wife, woot!) and I found out about her pregnancy. While dating, I had always figured she was THE ONE anyways, but this news still shocked both of us. (Note: I also would like to mention here that I’m still extremely proud of my reaction when she told me. We were at my old college apartment in Huntsville, Texas when she slowly came out of the bathroom with her PLUS SIGN. I jumped up and hugged and hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed. I finished with a “Baby, I love you! I could freak out later, alone.) However, this news did change everything. After the unforgettable experience, no matter how much I try, of telling her parents and attempting to line everything up for our extremely unexpected life as a family, the next step involved me finding a job. No, not my sit back and relax job at the YMCA, where I currently worked. A real job. Something with a thing called Benefits (?!) and Life Insurance Policies (?!?!) and options for retirement (Retirement? Uh, I’m 24?). I had neglected finding a real teaching job for as long as I could, since I never understood the rush in finding one. But now, I had officially found my rush.

I started by applying for teaching positions at nearby schools in the area so we wouldn’t have to move too far away. However, without Christian working and our first baby on the way, we needed a teaching job that would prove sustainable for our little family. Which nixed a lot of open positions in surrounding areas. For example, when I looked at teaching positions in Huntsville ISD, I believe they listed the starting pay at roughly $30,000. $30,000?! I might as well sit on my butt at the Y! Factoring in job availability after my first round of inquiries easily showed I needed to make a strong push for a job with Conroe ISD, and, on a less aggressive scale, Montgomery and Willis ISD. None of these worked out, except for (what felt like) a pity interview with Conroe High School. But, hey! I still tried it! After my first wave of home run swings leading to strike outs, I realized I had to broaden my search. This pushed me further towards Houston, into Aldine ISD. While growing up in Montgomery, Aldine had quite the undesirable reputation, which made me hesitant to apply. (Based on my teaching experience with Aldine, (spoiler!) I did not find (most of) the rumors to be true.) But I didn’t have very many other options. And I didn’t have the time to be choosy.

I researched the district and narrowed my schools to Nimitz High School, Carver High School, and MacArthur Ninth Grade Campus. Right away, a red flag popped up. After I pressed SEND on my applications, BOOM, I quickly received three adamant, almost desperate responses. Okay, so maybe they weren’t RIGHT away, but still...30 minutes? 45 minutes? Still feels like a BOOM-worthy turnaround from applying!

“When can you come in? Tomorrow? Yeah, let’s get you in tomorrow! Two o’clock work? Three? Four? Whenever! Come in! Interview!”

Within a day of applying, I’d heard back from each school. I was quickly leaving my comfort zone. I had only really known the YMCA for the past six years, which had been my safety net occupation since my freshman year of college, so three professional interviews felt like completely foreign territory to me. The night before my interview, I stayed at Christian’s parent’s house, who lived in Porter, closer to Houston. I brought my three rarely-used button-downs I owned with my one pair of nice pants so I could rotate through the shirts and see which looked the most professional. No matter which shirt I wore, I felt like a fraud. Christian’s dad also helped teach me how to tie a Windsor knot, to even further compound my deer-in-the-headlights feeling. At least I didn’t settle for a clip-on though, right?

In my haste during my three different phone calls with the Aldine schools, I found myself with three interviews, ALL ON THE SAME DAY. I had Nimitz at noon, Carver at 2PM, and MacArthur 9th at 4PM, giving myself two-hour intervals to interview and drive from school to school. But I did enjoy feeling so adult, especially since I needed this professional teaching job to provide for my soon-to-be wife and unborn child. I had never adulted quite like this before. Exhausting, but exhilarating.

Nimitz quickly scared me away. As the assistant principal walked me into the front office for our interview, a group of large students glared at me from across the vinyl tile entryway. I vaguely remember the assistant principal’s gross understatement, “These kids can sometimes be a handful.” Later on, that same year, a report came out of a student throwing a substitute teacher across a desk because she had confiscated his cell phone. Yes, OVER HIS CELL PHONE. I dodged a dangerous, angsty teenage bullet there.

I then made my way to Carver, which seemed like a very nice school. The principal interviewed me by herself and carried herself very professionally. Carver seemed like a nice starting spot for my teaching career. I secretly put them in my MAYBE pile and made my way to MacArthur 9th.

When I first walked into the school, the whoosh of the air conditioning blasted me across the face. What a relief after the drive over in my Sunfire which, recently, had been prone to overheating, in Texas’s smoldering summers. I had driven all around North Houston at the peak of the heat. The air conditioning quickly became a necessity if my button-down shirt had any chance of making it through the day, even with the assistance of an undershirt. I hesitantly walked to the receptionist to check in, but, before I had made it halfway, Ms. Ivory in all her overblown glory barged through the office door.

Now, Ivory has many endearing qualities, but she definitely has her own unique style of doing things.

“Rust? Are you Rust?”

“Um...yes ma’am, I am.”

“We talked on the phone. Come on, we’re ready for you. Well, actually, hang on. I’ll be right back.”

Poof! She disappeared. It all happened so fast I wasn’t sure if it had happened at all. I looked to the receptionist, who had already reimmersed herself in her work, and sat back down. Just as I started making myself comfortable, she burst through the door again.

“Okay, Rust, we’re ready.”

She led me through the reception area, down a long hallway, to a large conference room. She opened the door for me, where I came face-to-face with the entire ninth grade team. Now, at the time this terrified me. I had never known an interview as anything more than a one-on-one conversation, so gathering my thoughts to try and sound professional in front of five other professional educators, let me say my button-down didn’t quite make it.

The saving grace of this intimidating process was that my interview happened to fall on casual Friday, so, even though my Mac 9 interview consisted of questions from five other adults, the formal meeting didn’t pack as much of a punch since my interrogators questioned me while wearing basketball shorts, baseball caps, and flip flops. I specifically remember Lawshe’s Houston Cougars hat and shirt along with the distinct possibility that she wore Cougars shorts as well. (So, Ms. Lawshe, where’d you go to college, again?)

The department chair also caught my attention. His shaggy hair and thick-rimmed glasses sat atop an overweight frame. While everyone else tilted their clipboards towards their midsection, his lay flat on the table, showcasing his worn Pulp Fiction shirt. Oddly enough, it comforted me to stare down Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta pointing their .45 and 9mm at me while I answered interview questions. I instantly liked the department chair. His name was Charles.

The questions themselves breezed by and they started to show me around the school. (Note: If you are interviewing and they start showing you around...that is DEFINITELY A GOOD SIGN!) And, of course, because she just couldn’t help herself, Ms. Ivory introduced me to the principal, in typical Ivory fashion.

“Dr. Minchew, this is Gannon Rust. He’s going to be our new English teacher this year. Right, Rust?”

“Uh, ye-yes! Sure!”

Even though I'm positive I would have picked MacArthur Ninth over Nimitz and Carver, this wonderful, on-the-spot introduction sealed my fate. I would work at Mac 9 for my first year of real teaching!

They instantly threw me into the jaws of first-year teaching. The school year mercilessly moved forward like molasses. As a first year, we are told to just survive. If we make it to May, we can make any other year! The lack of tools and veteran instincts turns every day into a thousand small fires to douse with a water supply. And yet, I survived, but barely. (Believe me, once the bell rang at 2:35 for student dismissal, if I didn’t have a reason to stay, I bolted out of the building faster than anybody. In fact, most days I beat the buses, leaving to rush home to my pregnant wife. And, after early December, my wife and newborn baby. (Woot!) 

I’m bypassing a year of successes and failures during my first year of teaching, but they don’t serve much of a purpose to my Sunfire breaking down. I swear the rest has relevance to the initial onset of this story. That’s enough exposition.

The week before our final week of school, I needed to stay at the school to finalize grades. By 4:30, the school and parking lot were empty, minus my Sunfire and one other car. It belonged to Charles. As I fumbled with my keys, I looked down at my car and its giant flat tire. Of course. And I’ve already stayed late. That’s what I got for being proactive. And to make matters worse, at the ripe age of 24, I had no idea how to change a flat tire.

(Note: Upon hearing this, my students destroyed me, Edmund found it particularly hilarious. 

“Oh my god, mister, are you serious? I learned how to do that when I was in like 2nd grade!” 

When this happened, I had two ways I could handle it. I could have taken the high road and moved on, which sounded like a perfectly viable option. But, since Edmund had his particularly obnoxious temperament on full display, I went in a different, more immature and manipulative direction. “Well, my parents divorced when I was really young so I never had a dad growing up to show me how to do those things.” Annnnnd Edmund had nothing left to say. Classy move.)

My mom had always paid for me to have coverage on her AAA account, which I don’t like telling my students, since then, to them, I’m an overprivileged, unrelatable adult. This was not the impression I wanted to leave. As I thumbed through my stack of superfluous cards in my wallet, desperately searching for the number to call, who else but Charles sauntered out the heavy back doors of Mac 9 to his vehicle, glinting in the afternoon sun, complete with its four inflated tires. He noticed me helplessly digging in my wallet, and since he knew my tendency to drag race with the buses out of the parking lot, this surely was an odd sight. 

“Hey, man. What are you doing here? Everything okay?”

Thankfully, the rapport Charles and I had created throughout the school year helped me to not blow off his concern with an “Oh, I’m fine! Thanks!” or “You know how it is! Just hanging in the parking lot!” or “I just don’t feel like I’ve been at school long enough yet, so, here I am!” He had always attempted to help me as a floundering new teacher, so I didn’t feel the crippling shot at my pride to reveal I had no idea how to change a flat tire. (Although, don’t get me wrong. I still had to swallow the large lump in my throat to tell him this. Even now, reciting this story over and over again, I still have to move past my shame that comes with the memory of potentially waiting an hour for roadside assistance to change a tire for me.

“Eh, not really, man. I’ve got a flat tire and, well, I’ve never changed one before.”

I waited for the smirk, waited for the mocking comment about not knowing an essential piece of adulting. But, rather than saying anything derogatory, Charles set his messenger bag on his trunk and walked over to my Sunfire.

“Man, I remember being 18 years old and getting a flat tire on the side of the road. A cop came up behind me and, instead of changing it for me, he stood there and walked me through every step to change my tire. It took forever, but I learned. I guess I should do the same thing and maybe you can pass it onto someone else whenever they need it.”

And maintaining the master patience that characterizes an amazing and effective teacher, Charles walked me through all the steps to change my tire, including little tips and tricks to make it easier each time I had to do it. Since this incident, I have changed my tire approximately five times and, everytime I do, I think back to this moment and what Charles instructed me to do. If only what I teach my kids in my English class stuck this much. In all his calm and collected glory, Charles rummaged through the avalanche of garbage in my trunk to find my donut, laid on the concrete with me, scuffing his white button-down and sweating through the rest of his clothes in the process. And in the heat of 4PM, we mercifully tightened the last lug nut on the donut and threw the flat tire in the backseat. With my wife and newborn daughter waiting for me at home, and probably a beer or two, I couldn’t express my gratitude enough.

“Man, how can I ever make this up to you? Thank you so much.”

Charles wiped his hands on his decimated work pants and put the rudimentary jack back beneath the floorboard of my trunk.

“Well,” he said, now smirking at me. “How about this? So, you know how every Friday me and a handful of people from the school go to Carlo’s Mexican Restaurant for Happy Hour drinks and every Friday we invite you and every Friday you say you can’t go for whatever reason you have that week?”

“...yes…”

“Well, we have two Fridays left in the school year. And you have never gone. So, to pay me back, I want you to come out next Friday for Happy Hour.”

That sounds silly, right? Isn’t it sad that THAT’S how he wants me to pay him back? By hanging out with my coworkers? My first year of teaching and living with my pregnant fiance, and then my fiance and newborn baby in a foreign part of North Houston in a tiny apartment off a busy street roughly compared to a flaming can of garbage. And yet, for some reason, I always struggled to do anything social. I originally blamed it on the nightmarish traffic on Fm1960 if I came home too late. It added another hour to my commute. Yuck. So, my social interactions with coworkers definitely left much to be desired. Not to mention the different social environment that comes with seeing these people outside of work when we don’t have the safety net of the work day to fill in the gaps in our conversations. Even though the traffic didn’t help, my introverted tendencies secretly spurred on my reluctance. I didn’t know what I could possibly have in common with these people OUTSIDE of school. But I wanted to show my gratitude so, reluctantly, I agreed.

Part Two Coming Soon!

[springsaladgaming]

I'm in the US, so we celebrate Thanksgiving (in the sense that we have a dinner) in my family, and ever since I can remember there's one common denominator about family holidays that has always made me hate them, and that's that I feel ignored.

For the first couple of hours of any gathering with my family (which only ever consists of me, my mom, my sister, my brother-in-law, or me, my dad, my sister, my brother-in-law, because my parents are divorced and don't interact with each other), things are fine. I can engage in conversations with everyone and feel like I'm listened to.

For some reason, as the time drags on, my family members start unconsciously pushing me out of the equation. To this day, I don't know why it happens. It's not because I speak less or anything. On the contrary, I try to make entries into a conversation that start to get talked over and ignored more and more the longer the night goes on.

Interestingly enough, it happens in some of my friend groups too. I can't come up with any observable reason why it happens. People just stop listening to me. I'll make entire statements that people seem to start listening to, and then, like someone flipped a switch that suddenly erased my existence from the timeline, the others will just continue speaking like I never said anything to begin with. It feels almost surreal when it happens.

I've tried talking louder to assert myself in a conversation. I've tried confronting people about it when it happens. Nothing fixes it, nothing changes it, and, more often than not, people try to gaslight me into believing that it's all in my head whenever I do speak up about it.

It's a pretty terrible and hurtful experience, but it's been happening to me so long and so regularly that I've come to expect it from every family gathering. It happened tonight too, but I'm not really bringing it up to talk about the specifics of one evening.

Like, here's the thing about me as a person. I'm an enormous introvert. People who interact with me for the first time in person usually would never guess that—in fact, some people that I've known for years never realized that about me until I explained it to them because I'm extremely good at masking it. But, even though I'm really good at blending in and carrying myself through an interaction like I'm an extrovert, inside there's this timid little person that is constantly screaming out to be acknowledged and respected.

I think there's some clear signs of emotional neglect somewhere in all of this that I've been trying to unpack more in recent years, but that's a different conversation.

What does this have to do with Interactive Fiction?

Well, here's the thing about me as an IF player. When given the option, I almost always play my characters as timid (and sometimes neglected) as possible. Some authors out there do such a great job at writing these scenes that it's actually emotionally painful to read through some of them when playing a character with that personality.

But there's also something extremely cathartic and validating about it for me. It's an emotional thing for me to play a timid character and have their struggles be acknowledged and reacted to by the other characters in the story, largely because I do think that my experience growing up was far too much of me constantly setting aside my feelings and needs for others and nobody ever noticing.

So to go into an Interactive Fiction and have a main character like this is a connection that really makes me feel seen.

And we talk about representation in IF with a lot of things, like with gender, sexuality, racial and cultural identity, neurodivergency, etc. And maybe the kind of timid/introvertedness that I'm talking about in IF can be seen as a type of ND, especially when considering the causes for it, but I don't know that we talk about it the same way we talk about things like depression, for example.

So I dunno, I'm really just rambling about some thoughts I've been having lately, but I really appreciate when IFs have introverted options. In addition to the other types of representation listed above, it's one of the main things I look for when deciding to play an IF.

A lot of the time, out there in the world, it feels like most people don't get it. But it's good to come into the IF community and find a piece of writing that I really like and be able to say, "You understand me."

[gavin-plz-call-me]

The Brothers + Dateables & Luke react to MC owning a cat named lucifer

A/N- To attempt to avoid confusion, the demon Lucifer’s name will always be capitalized, while the cat lucifer’s name will never be capitalized.

~

“Now,” Diavolo said, obviously nearing the end of his speech, “Do you have any more questions, MC?”

You nod, “Is my cat up there all by himself?” you ask, “I don’t want him to get lonely, and without me he wont have anyone to feed him.”

The men, no, the demons in front of you stared, all obviously dumbstruck. You had been ripped out of your home, brought to a strange place, and told you were to live here for a year, and your first thought was of your cat? What a strange human you were.

“We can arrange someone to take care of your cat,” Diavolo said, smiling wide, but your face fell at his words. Diavolo seemed to sense your discontent as he spoke again, “Or we can arrange for your cat to be brought here?”

“Yes, please,” you spoke almost immediately.

Diavolo called for a demon named Barbatos, telling him to go to the human world to retrieve your cat. He disappeared then reappeared in a matter of seconds, your cat laying comfortably in his arms.

“Oh, lucifer,” You cooed, taking your cat away from Barbatos, kissing the cat’s forehead.

The hall went silent once again, before someone, the demon they introduced as Asmodeus, spoke up, “Honey, that’s Barbatos.” He said, a slight chuckle laced within the words.

Confused, you glance back up at the hall of demons, you point to your cat, “No? His name is lucifer.”

Lucifer

Can't decide if he's confused or insulted.

He's confused because, who the hell would someone name a cat of all things after a demon

and he's insulted because WHO THE HELL WOULD NAME A CAT AFTER HIM?

He's one of the strongest Demons in the Devildom, much stronger than a mere housecat, the insinuation that he, Lucifer, avatar of pride, shares anything in common with a cat has him fuming.

Of course, he shows none of these emotions outwardly, keeping his face stoic as always.

And any one of his brothers who dare joke about this cat's name will be hanged from the ceiling in a matter of seconds.

Is fairly annoyed with their shared name in day-to-day life, and not just because it's insulting.

But, many times a day, Lucifer'll hear his name called through the halls and, when he goes to investigate, one of his brothers is cooing over the damned pun intended cat.

Will eventually get used to lucifer and will definitely be seen cuddling with him.

Is like the dad who insists he doesn't want a cat, but as soon as he gets one they're inseparable.

At the end of the day, he loves that damn cat.

Mammon

Laughs out loud at the revelation that the cat's name is lucifer.

Until he realizes now he has to look after the human and the cat.

Will complain about it in typical Mammon fashion, but he warms up to lucifer about as quickly as he warms up to you.

Buys him a bunch of cat toys when he has the grimm, and loves to play with him

especially with a laser pointer.

Also loves to cuddle, but always acts very tsundere about it.

"What is it lucifer? Oh, of course, you want to cuddle with the Great Mammon."

Will either steal lucifer from your room at night, or sleep in your room to cuddle with him and totally not you, of course, but you should be honored he's even sleeping in your room.

Leviathan

Thinks it's hilarious as well.

Though he prefers anime, Levi is well versed in other human media, especially classic Disney films, so, because of Cinderella, he's well aware that lucifer is a popular cat name in the human realm.

That doesn't make it any less funny, though.

WILL NOT allow lucifer into his room.

He has too many expensive figurines to risk it

Plus, he doesn't want to risk Henry 2.0 getting hurt.

Will only play with, pet, or cuddle with lucifer if he initiates it.

"He probably doesn't want to be pet by a gross otaku like me," as if cats know what otakus are.

Will, at some point, sew lucifer a costume that looks suspiciously like what his older brother tends to wear.

He may or may not have been hanged for that one, but it was totally worth it.

Satan

Like Lucifer, Satan is conflicted.

On one hand, cat! He loves cats, he wants to pet this cat all day, and give him kisses and cuddles and love.

On the other hand, Satan would rather his soul be ripped apart than give love to something named after Lucifer.

Will try his hardest to completely ignore the cat's existence.

Has to leave the room if lucifer comes in because he can't trust himself to not pet him.

Is like this with lucifer until he sees him respond to the name luci as well.

After that, you cannot separate Satan from lucifer even if you tried.

Spoils him rotten.

The two are often found reading together in the library, Satan leisurely petting lucifer.

Fights with Mammon at least once a day for lucifer and always wins.

Goes on long rants about how cat lucifer is much better in every way than demon Lucifer.

Asmodeus

Another one who thinks it's hilarious.

Definitely thinks lucifer is cute but hates all the shedding, so he usually keeps his distance.

Like Levi, Asmo doesn't allow lucifer in his room.

Will constantly complain about fur getting all over his clothes.

Has had to buy more lint rollers in the first year you spent in the Devildom than he had bought in the last century.

Constantly posts pictures of lucifer on his Devilgram because, despite being a furry monster, he is just the cutest little kitten around.

Beelzebub

Thinks the name is a bit weird but accepts it pretty quickly.

It's just a name, after all, lots of people who are very different share names.

lucifer's food has to be hidden from Beel because he can, and will, eat it.

"It just smelled so good, and I was so hungry."

Apologizes by buying him some luxury cat treats that took all of Bee's willpower not to eat on the way home.

At first, he won't interact with lucifer unless lucifer approaches him.

Beel is so big, and lucifer is so small, he doesn't want to crush the little cat.

But with enough time and reinforcement, Beel will pick lucifer up himself for some much-needed cuddles.

Before Belphie comes down from the attic, Beel'll bring lucifer up to their room at night when he's feeling a bit more lonely than usual.

Beel will invite you up to his room as well.

Belphegor

Finds out about lucifer after everyone else, due to the whole, being locked in the attic, thing.

Hears Asmo trying to coax lucifer into a good pose from down the hall.

"Oh lucifer, cutie pie, you gotta look at the camera."

Is surprised that Asmo is still alive talking to Lucifer like that.

Is even more surprised when he turns the corner to find Asmo talking to a cat, not his eldest brother.

Thinks it's hilarious, but Lucifer is already over it so teasing him about it doesn't do much.

Won't actively seek out lucifer's attention, but will gladly nap with him.

Beel continues his habit of bringing lucifer up to their room for cuddles when Belphie returns, so the three of them usually end up in a big cuddle pile.

Bonus points if he brings you up too.

Diavolo

Thinks it's very amusing.

Laughs about it, probably for a bit too long.

He can't help it, especially because he knows Lucifer is most definitely a bit upset about it.

Will tease Lucifer once or twice about it, but will ultimately leave it alone.

When he visits the House of Lamentation, he'll give lucifer a nice pat, hello, but won't go very far beyond that.

Barbatos

Read lucifer's name tag while he was collecting him from the human realm.

Wasn't surprised in the slightest because nothing ever surprises him

Is definitely excited to see everyone's reactions to his name, and is not disappointed.

If given the chance, he will spend hours brushing lucifer's fur and pampering him

but doesn't get the chance to do so often, if ever.

Solomon

Has had a cat named lucifer in the past.

I mean, he's lived hundreds of years, it's not out of the realm of possibilities.

Named his own cat lucifer because he thought it was funny, and the humor hasn't faded since.

So he's very amused by this new lucifer in his life.

Will unabashedly cuddle and play with lucifer whenever he's given the chance.

I mean, this lucifer reminds him of his own cat, so he becomes pretty attached pretty quickly.

Whenever he visits the House of Lamentation, he'll hold lucifer until the very last minute he possibly can, and will be pretty sad when he has to leave.

Will joke about stealing lucifer, may actually try to steal him.

Simeon

Like Levi, Simeon is pretty well versed in human media, so the concept of cats named lucifer isn't new to him.

Still finds it a bit funny nonetheless.

Tells Michael right away.

Likes cats well enough, and, when he's in the House of Lamentation, will seek out a few pets from the kitten

but he doesn't venture to the House of Lamentation too often, so he never grows too close to lucifer.

Luke

WHY? WOULD YOU NAME A CAT? AFTER A DEMON?

There are so many better names for a cat!

Like whiskers, or oreo, or simba.

Is genuinely confused, and maybe even a bit concerned.

He's afraid you were consorting with demons before coming to the Devildom and that's why you named him lucifer.

After his brief stay in the House of Lamentation, Luke is absolutely in love with lucifer.

Plays with him constantly.

Wants to pick him up, but doesn't know how to.

Luke will end up getting scratched eventually, but Luke forgives him.

Bakes lucifer special cat treats and hopes you'll let him feed lucifer one.

[lovelybarnes]

dad- l. laufeyson

pairings: loki laufeyson x doctor!mom!reader, mentions of tony stark, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, oc, and thor odinson warnings: a child, y/n is a mom, dad!loki who is probably a little ooc but i hope that’s okay, y/n is a doctor but there’s no real detail, it’s just alluded to, mentions of an absent father, mentions of adoption about: requested! They’re dating and she has a toddler from a previous relationship that ended badly. Loki treats the baby like she’s his own and brings her to the compound once in a while to show off ‘his’ baby. The little one adores Loki and started calling him dada, making the soft side of him comes out. And also the very protective side. He eventually asks reader if he can officially adopt her to be the father figure. Since reader never put down the fathers name on the birth certificate, they put Loki’s down. a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i hope you liked this!!

tiny fingers splayed your cheeks wake you up, wet lips pressing continuously on your nose as familiar laughter rings in your ear. your nose scrunches, prying your eyes open to meet the mirror image of them in front of you. at the grin that splits daisy’s face, a smile sneaks up on your lips, too, “hey honey,” you say quietly, brushing away a strand of hair that falls in her eyes as your daughter’s warm hands hold your face.

“hi mama,” daisy replies, snuggling into your side, “pancake day,” she informs happily, a chubby finger reaching to trace the slope of your nose.

you tilt your head at her, raising an eyebrow, “really? who says?”

daisy doesn’t get a chance to reply, the crack to your door widening when loki steps through it, balancing a large plate stacked with pancakes and fruits in one hand. “loki!” daisy cheers, sitting up to reach for the food. you sit up, too, cocking your head at your boyfriend as you observe the platter.

“you made food?” you ask, eyes scanning the little cubes of cut-up strawberries and bananas before looking back up at him in pleasant surprise.

loki ducks his chin, “you were asleep. and today is pancake day. i simply could not disappoint daisy,” he explains, letting daisy take a piece of banana to shove in her mouth.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, a soft smile tugging at your lips, “hey, dais, let’s go eat at the table and watch some cartoons, hm?” at the sound of cartoons, she nods quickly, bouncing off of the bed to tug at loki to follow her, the god not making a peep when her grubby hands leave a smear of banana on his wrist. you watch as they head to the kitchen, listening when loki turns on the television and flips it to her favorite show without her needing to tell him. you take a second to remind yourself that the god in your house, sneaking homemade whipped cream--because store-bought whipped cream is not fit for her--to your daughter, is the same god who, not too long ago, physically recoiled at the mere mention of midgardians. you stand when you hear daisy’s voice calling you over when you take too long to follow, peeking around the corner to see loki cutting her chocolate chip pancakes into little squares. “any left for me?” you ask, your body burning hot when loki turns to look at you, a twinkle in his clear sea glass eyes.

“good morning, darling,” he greets, his lips kissing your cheek when you come closer to him, an arm wrapping around your waist. “pancake?” he offers, showing you a plate with two perfectly shaped pancakes, whipped cream piled high just the way you liked it and berries surrounding it in the way you always tried to do but were never able to. you pecked his lips, smiling against him when you heard your daughter protest loudly.

“what are we watching today?” you ask her, fingers taming the mess of bedhead that sits atop her head. she turns to the television after shoving pancake into her mouth, pointing at the image, “clifford,” she says simply. you sit next to her, exhaling, “that’s a good one.” daisy nods, “i want a dog,” she states after a second, “like clifford.”

you glance at loki, “finding a big red dog is going to be a little hard, sweetie--”

“i’m sure there’s one in asgard, if not, there must be one somewhere else,” loki shrugs, squinting at the show, “i’ll find one. worry not.”

you shake your head, chuckling, “maybe a normal-sized dog, daisy.” daisy pouts but nods.

the sounds from the television are the only ones for a few moments until you speak up, “oh, i completely forgot, i have to go meet with some big shot hospital reps for almost the whole day today, do you mind taking care of daisy?” you ask loki, an apologetic look on your face.

“of course not, she can accompany me to the compound today,” loki reasons, not missing the excited look that crosses daisy’s face.

you brighten, “that’s a great idea!” you turn to your daughter, who has smeared red on her cheek and a strawberry in her fingers, you huff a laugh, wiping it away with one of your fingers, “what do you think, dais? wanna go visit the other avengers with loki?”

she nods immediately, hurrying to swallow the fruit in her mouth before turning to loki, “can i wear your cape again?” she asks enthusiastically, patting wildly at your arm, “loki lets me use his cape!”

your eyebrow raises as you look at loki, “does he, now? i thought no one could even touch it?” you tease, appreciating the pale blush that takes over the snow of his cheeks as he shrugs, clearing his throat.

“there are always exceptions to rules,” he states.

-

“i love you,” you say, pressing a kiss into daisy’s hair, she parrots the phrase back to you, leaning further into loki’s arms when you pull away. “i love you,” you continue, kissing loki’s lips, “thank you again,” you whisper, feeling him chuckle against you.

“it is my pleasure,” loki assures before kissing you again. you pull away after a second, smacking your lips on daisy’s forehead as another goodbye.

“i’ll be back later, have fun, okay?” you request before finally walking out the door to head to work. you don’t see daisy’s pout as she lays her head on loki’s shoulder, balling her hand in his shirt. a soft smile tugs at loki’s lips, looking down at her to ask her if she’d like to go to the compound now.

a little while after she nods at his, he finds himself clicking her seatbelt in, making sure she’s safe in her booster seat before he begins to drive. he knows he could easily go there with a flick of his hand, but the travel makes daisy nervous, and, besides, she prefers to ride in the car with him, singing along to the playlist of the songs loki found himself liking in midgard.

daisy squeals when loki pulls into the driveway of the compound, jumping out of the car when he unbuckles her to hurry loki up. she pulls at his pant leg, growing more excited by the minute when she sees the red white and blue of steve’s shield flying behind the compound. “i do not understand why you like that thing so much. so boring,” loki grumbles, grabbing her hand and opening the door.

“ah, there she is!” thor’s voice booms nearly the minute loki and daisy step in, daisy’s grin grows wide, looking back at loki before running to thor. “uncle!” she squeals, oblivious to the way loki freezes when she says the simple word. thor carries her in his arms, holding her up like simba.

“my favorite niece! i brought the hammer for you today!” thor exclaims, sitting her down on one of his arms before holding his other hand out. loki looks to the side, realizing his brother is calling for the hammer with his daughter in his arms, quickly stepping over to him to take her away just as said hammer flies into his open hand. he twirls it, before handing it to daisy in loki’s arms, still keeping a hold on it as she wraps her small fingers around the hammer.

“brother…” loki hisses quietly, refusing to upset the little girl in his arms but wanting nothing more than to knock some common sense into his brother. “i would like to remind you to not do that while daisy is near you.”

daisy barely looks up at her name, too entranced with the intricate carvings in the hammer, “oh, she’ll be fine,” thor shrugs, clapping loki hard on the back, “i am very careful, brother.”

loki purses his lips, “yes, i remember how careful you are.”

“hey! reindeer games and little grey!” tony cheers from around the corner, natasha catching his words from the kitchen and heading for loki. loki can spot the captain in the hallway. “haven’t seen you in a while, kid,” tony tells daisy, ruffling up her hair, “thought you ditched us.”

loki rolls his eyes, concentrating on daisy, who reaches for the electric blue in tony’s chest, murmuring “pretty.”

“isn’t it?” tony brags, tapping a nail on his arc reactor, “built it myself. you want one?” daisy agrees enthusiastically, but loki makes sure to send tony a glare that tells him if he even dares. loki will finish the job in new york.

“how’s the doc?” natasha asks, coming cilently from the kitchen with a bag in her hand.

“y/n is good, she’s at the hospital right now.”

“hey, dais,” natasha starts, her green eyes sparkling, “you remember the toys you wanted from the mall last time we went?” daisy nods. natasha holds up the bag in her arms, “you wanna go see what’s in the bag?”

daisy’s eyes go wide, and she turns to loki, “can i dad? please?”

loki chokes down the uncharactersitic lump in his throat so he can nod, putting daisy down so she can grab natasha’s hand. when they’re out of hearing range, steve raises an eyebrow at loki, “‘dad’? that’s a big one.”

“yes,” loki clear his throat, “she had never called me that before.”

the other men exchange looks, before thor claps loki on the back with a beamng grin, “congratulations.” loki has never felt luckier.

-

it’s a few hours later, when you’re back at home, exhausted and sprawled on the couch next to loki with daisy sleeping on your and loki’s lap. “how was your day?” you ask quietly so you don’t disturb daisy.

“as excellent as a day with the avengers can be. i took daisy to the compound, everyone adored her, natasha spoiled her…” loki trails off, the clear cut reminder of the events of that day bright and new in his mind, “she called me dad,” loki finishes, allowing himself to look into the deep nooks and crannie of his brain that urges him to tell you what he’s been thinking about for far too long. there’s a second of silence.

“she’s never said to you that before,” you finally say softly. loki shakes his head, “she’s slipped up before, though. sometimes she calls you papa when she talks about you.” loki turns to you, searching your features for a lie he won’t find. “you are her father, loki. you’re way more of a father than her biological dad ever has been. you’re her dad, she loves you.” there’s more silence, the question you’re implying hanging in the air, waiting to be grasped and asked.

“would you adopt her?--” you grasp.

“i would like to adopt daisy--” he grasps.

you stare at each other before quiet laughter bubbles from your mouth, a nod tilting your chin, “you know, i never put her biological father’s name in her birth certificate.”

“we could go tomorrow,” loki offers, admiring the beaming smile that brightens your tired face.

“we should,” you agree, staring at loki for a few more moments before connecting your lips, looking down at daisy and brushing away some strands from her face when you pull away. you nod, meeting loki’s eyes again, “tomorrow.”

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 4

Request: Yes or No

TW: Drug mention, needle mention, overdose mention

I'm still unsure on the twins ages in age of ultron since one source says 16 and the other says 26 lmao. Imma just say the twins are 17 or 18.

~

You stared down at the city below with a frown. You knew Clint wouldn't rest until Natasha was found. Everything had happened so quickly and even if you had tried to catch her with a root, you would've been pulled along. A sigh left you as you sat down at your desk. Your room in the tower felt like a cell. Gray walls, white bed, white desk. The only real color in the room came from the line of potted flowers on the desk. You felt your stomach grumble, standing up and leaving the room. You headed to the kitchen, getting a granola bar. You opened it, taking a bite from it. You almost choked, hearing crashing and arguing. You swallowed the bits of granola as you followed the noises to the laboratory. You headed up the stairs, dodging a flying Steve.

"What the fuck?" You turned your head, seeing the Maximoff twins. "What the fuck?" You repeated, watching them in bewilderment. Another one left you when Thor crashed through a window, raising his hammer and letting the electricity power the cradle. Nothing happened for a moment before the cradle burst open, causing Thor to fly back.

"I should've stayed with Laura." You whispered, staring at the red man that emerged from the cradle. He slowly stood, looking between everyone. His gaze settled on Thor, lunging for him but Thor grabbed him and threw him to the side, causing another crash.

"(Y/N), stay close." Clint called, eyeing the twins. You quickly walked over to him, hearing the crunching of glass beneth your shoes. While Thor and Steve took the dramatic way, you chose to use the door and head to the room Vision was in. Thor raised his hand, stopping Steve from attacked. The man stared out into the city, staying silent and motionless. Thor set down his hammer as the man landed on the door, apologizing to Thor and mimicking his cape.

"Thor, you helped create this?"

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all forms of life and at its center is that." Thor explained, pointing at the crystal in the mans forehead.

"What, the gem?" Bruce asked, watching Thor look at him.

"The mind stone." He corrected. "It's one of the six infinity stones. The greatest power in the universe with destructive abilities." Thor explained as he faced everyone.

"It looks like a citrine." You muttered, continuing to unwrap the rest of your granola bar, swiping away the crumbs that fell on the floor with your foot.

"A what?" Clint asked softly. You glanced at him.

"It's a type of gemstone. It's supposed to motivate you to take action." You shrugged lightly. Gemstones were pretty interesting to study, even more so when they had so called 'destructive abilities.'

"Stark's right."

"Oh, it's definitely the end." Bruce said quietly.

"Why does your vision sound like J.A.R.V.I.S?" Steve asked as he watched the man walk forward. Tony explained why, still in awe and surprise. The man looked at Steve.

"You think I'm a child of Ultron?" Though it sounded like a question, it was obvious it was a statement.

"You're not?"

"I'm not Ultron." The man replied softly, almost confused. "And.. I'm not J.A.R.V.I.S either."

"I looked in your head and saw annihilation." Wanda said, stepping forward as she glared at him. Clint scoffed softly, walking towards everyone. You followed, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan.

"Look again."

"Your approval seems jack to me." Clint said, gaze staying locked on the twins. Wanda's gaze went to Clint before going to you. You maintained brief eye contact. It wasn't everyday you met another meta.

"Her powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultrons powers.. They all came from the mind stone. Nothing compares to what it can unleash." Thor revealed. "And with it on our side-"

"Is it?" Steve interrupted, looking at the man again.

"Are you? On our side?"

"I don't think it's that simple." He replied softly.

"Sounds pretty simple. Death or life for humanity." You said, shrugging. He looked at you, giving a small nod before looking at the others.

"Then.. I'm on the side of life. Ultron isn't." He took small steps forward, not wanting to agitate anyone.

"What's he waiting for?"

"You." The man stared at Tony. You were already coming up with names for him. Tony Jr was the one sticking.

"Sokavia's our best bet." Tony said.

"Nat's there too." Clint told them, looking at Bruce when he approached the man.

"If we're wrong about you..." Bruce started softly. His threats were always amusing until he turned green. He stared at Tony Jr, letting it up to his imagination, if he had that.

"I don't want to kill Ultron." Tony Jr walked around Bruce, continuing past everyone.

"He's weak.. And in pain but that pain will roll over the Earth, so he must be destroyed. Every forms he's built, every sense of his presence on the net. We have to act now and not one of us can do it without the other." Tony Jr turned, facing them. He looked down at his hands.

"Maybe I am a monster. I don't know if I will become one.. I'm not what you are. I'm not what you intended. So there may be no way for you to trust me but we need to go." Tony Jr finished his speech, picking up Thors hammer and handing it to him. The room stayed silent as everyone took it in. Thor took his hammer, clearing his throat and nodding.

"Alright." He gave a small smile, walking away. You sighed, turning around and walking towards the bar.

"Don't even think about it." Clint called as he walked past you. You huffed, watching him go.

"Seriously?" You rolled your eyes, looking over your shoulder at the twins. They walked away in amusement, following Steve's directions to the lockers. You walked to your room, putting on the outfit Clint had designed for you. You looked at a picture of you and Clint, smiling softly. You left the room, walking down the hall. You noticed Thor and Tony Jr talking outside, arms crossing as you approached the glass. You stared at the two, gaze locking onto the reflection of the twins. You turned to face them, seeing Wanda pause and stay in her spot.

"Sorry about choking you." You spoke first, looking between them. Wanda gave a small nod, hand gently gripping her arm.

"Did you get experimented on like us?" Pietro asked, head tilting. Some white strands fell over his face. You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as you thought on how to explain it.

"From what Bruce told me, my mother had drugs in her system during labor. It was an unknown drug that they still haven't identified but Bruce says that it might've given me some freak cell mutation that gave me these powerd. It's weird. Clint said it took a long time to even find any information on my family. I don't know if it's true or something that they told me to make me feel better about being orphaned." The twins gaze softened, glancing at each other. Wanda licked her lips, glancing at the ground.

"When were you orphaned?" She asked softly.

"When I was a baby. My mom died in labor and my dad had been found dead with a needle in his arm a day later. I was put into an orphanage cause my parents were seen as a Jane Doe and John Doe. Again, it's weird." You told them, shrugging lightly. Pietro took in a soft breath, gaze becoming distant.

"We're orphans too. I'm sure you already know what happened by now but.. A bomb killed them." Pietro said softly. He took in a deeper breath, giving a small smile to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that's another thing we have in common." He pointed out with a small shrug. You nodded, smiling softly. It was nice to be around people your age who understood you. Even Wanda seemed relaxed and more comfortable.

"(Y/N), what'd I say?" You looked up upon hearing Clint's voice.

"You were the one who left me alone to change." You reminded him with a soft huff, going around the twins and approaching him. Clint shot you a pointed look, glancing at the twins. You understood why he was distrustful of them.

"Clint, they're like me." You said quietly as you walked with him to the aircraft.

"You're not like them."

"Yes, I am. They're metas and around my age. Weren't you the one who said I had to work on my people skills?" You cocked a brow as you stared at him. Clint stayed silent, giving you the answer.

"They were fighting for their country after it was attacked. They have all the right to be distrustful-"

"After one conversation, you can tell apart the difference between good guys and bad guys?"

"I don't know, Clint, you tell me. You were the one who chose to take in a kid who almost choked your best friend to death and attempted to impale Americas biggest playboy with a fucking branch." You hissed lowly, frowning and looking forward.

"You were, and still are, a kid." Clint said, voice becoming hard and stricter.

"Oh, well, fuck me, I didn't realize the twins were in their eighties."

"Quit giving me attitude, (Y/N). I want to protect you. You don't know if they're gonna stab us in the back when we least expect it. If we destroy Ultron and they stay on our side, you can play dolls with them." Clint said, approaching the aircraft.

"Whatever." You entered the aircraft, taking a seat. The others entered not long after. The twins sat down beside you as Clint headed to the front.

"We didn't get you in trouble, did we?" Wanda asked quietly, glancing over at Clint. You shook your head, toying with the roots in order to relax.

"No, just.. Strict dad drama." You muttered. Wanda tilted her head, making eye contact with Pietro before it clicked.

"Oh.. He adopted you? That's nice." Wanda gave a small smile. "Maybe the Avengers aren't so heartless."

"We aren't." You assured, looking between her and Pietro. "It'll take a while but.. We can all grow to trust each other."

"I hope so." Pietro breathed out, hands going to the belt as the aircraft lifted up. You chuckled at the nervous look on his face.

[hermannsthumb]

If you're still taking requests!! Fake Dating situation where Newt and Hermann go to a public event together. they're used to being mistaken for a couple at the Shatterdome, so they expect to be mistaken for a couple at the event. But then they meet someone who definitely Does Not mistake them for a couple (because homophobia) and assumes they're just Very Good Friends. cue Newt and Hermann aggressively pretending to be a couple.

always and forever taking requests!!! this is such a fun one, THANK YOU

--------------

“We’ll have to go in eventually,” Newt says.

Next to him, Hermann silently fumes, apparently unable to decide whether to continue tugging at his stiff collar or grinding the bottom of his cane—over and over, in a sort of circle—against the sidewalk, leaving streaks of black rubber behind. “I hate these damn things,” he says under his breath, though it’s unclear whether he means his outfit or the event. Hermann’s dressed up tonight in a suit that’s hilariously oversized (even for him) and fraying in places, with a bowtie that he’s knotted crookedly. Newt wonders if the suit’s a hand-me-down from his brother. “Begging for funding, as if we haven’t anything better to do with our time. As if we’re not working for the better of all of them. It’s bloody degrading.” He works his jaw angrily. “And if that isn’t enough—everyone always makes—assumptions—about us.”

Oh, okay. The event. “Assumptions?” Newt says.

Hermann lets out a hiss of air between his teeth. “Assumptions,” he repeats, delicately. “About—ah—the certain nature of our relationship.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Oh.”

At the last one of these things they went to, someone (actually generous enough to open their checkbook for once) asked Hermann whether they should make it out to the PPDC or Dr. Gottlieb and his husband. At the one before that, a dinner event, the name placards at their table said Dr. Newton Geiszler-Gottlieb and Dr. Hermann Geiszler-Gottlieb. Before that, at a more casual affair at an up-scale bar, some tech hottie sent Newt a martini, before hurrying over and apologizing in person that (gesturing between Newt and Hermann) he didn’t realize Newt was with someone. Newt really wishes Hermann would just get it through his head already that introducing someone as your partner and dropping the important research part of it tends to hold drastically different connotations outside of, like, the group of people who know them on the Shatterdome base, because that would clear up probably sixty percent of the confusion. If not just so he can pick up a few numbers at these things for once. Still, though—for some reason it’s never really bothered him like it clearly bothers Hermann, but Newt supposes he’s not exactly a catch by any standards, so it makes sense. “I just don’t know where they get the impression—” Hermann begins, and Newt interrupts him.

“Yeah, well, you should take it as a compliment,” he says. “You could do a lot worse than me.” He opens the door for Hermann and ushers him in. “Seriously, we’ll be late if we don’t go in now, and that makes it, like, twice as awkward.”

As usual, they have to sit through some incredibly boring speech about how they’re sitting among some of the best scientific minds of the century right now, how they’re honored to play host to their colleagues at the PPDC, how the buffet will opening shortly for dinner, and then a different person gets up and makes another speech, and then another person with another, until finally the first person gets back up and promises that closing remarks will be in three hours, and how they should all enjoy themselves until then. Claps. Under his breath, Newt says to Hermann, “Doubt it.”

“Which side shall I take, then?” Hermann sighs. He’s probably the only one in the room not clapping. He told Newt a while ago that he doesn’t like to put on airs, and especially not in the service of flattering someone’s ego, and he’ll only clap for a speech if he feels it deserves it. He’s such a weirdo.

Newt surveys the room, considering. Luckily, people tend to flock together in similar little groups at these things. Birds of a feather shit. “Left. Everyone on the right is too young and hip-looking, so that’s out of your range.” He gets a cane to his shin, and grins even has he winces. “Kidding. Let’s just do it together, it’ll make it more bearable.”

Their first target is a forty-something marine biologist who’s very excited to meet Newt— “I followed your research on jellyfish for years!” she says. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight!” —and who is more than happy to promise donating a little to help fund the war effort. Their next is someone younger than both of them, whom Newt suspects is heir to his dad’s tech company or something, and who is easily guilted into promising even more than the biologist. “We’re having a lot better luck than usual,” Newt says, as they watch the kid hurry away to mingle with a group of other twenty-somethings. “Do we look more, like, respectable tonight or something?”

“It’s the open bar,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, probably,” Newt agrees.

“And anyway, we’re still terribly behind on our goal, so there’s no use getting too pleased over ourselves,” Hermann says. He sniffs. “If you still want that bloody—whatever it was—kaiju spleen, we need at least—”

“Okay, okay,” Newt says.

He nods at a small group standing by one of the buffet tables, holding half-eaten plates. People tend to be in better moods when they’ve eaten something. Hopefully more generous moods too. “Let’s try them,” he says.

Hermann is the one to initiate the conversation this time, launching at once into a variation of the little script he and Newt penned so long ago the night before their very first gala. “Good evening,” he says. They get a few polite smiles and nods of acknowledgement in return. “I’m Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, and this is my partner—” Newt tries not to groan. “—Dr. Newton Geiszler. We’re here representing the PPDC tonight. I don’t suppose we could have a moment of your time?”

The mood of the group changes immediately, but why Newt can’t figure out; it’s like they suddenly go hostile on them. Hostile, and tense. Newt is suddenly astutely aware of how each of the three dudes have a good few inches on both him and Hermann. “The PPDC?” the guy in front says. He's not smiling anymore. Maybe they all supported the jaeger program defunding or something. “Sure.”

“Er,” Hermann says. He clears his throat. “Newton—that is, my partner and I work for the kaiju research division at the PPDC’s Hong Kong base. As you may well be aware, the latest cuts to the PPDC’s budget have been quite dev—”

“So you and your friend,” the guy says, with a little more emphasis on the friend than Newt would like, “are going around asking for donations? To help buy pencils or something?”

“Well. Essentially,” Hermann says. He doesn’t seem to have picked up on what Newt did, though he grows visibly nervous anyway. Outright hostility isn't anywhere near as common as indifference at these sorts of things. “Though, pencils is—er—a vast understatement.” He casts a furtive, desperate glance at Newt—a help me if Newt ever saw one. “My partner—Dr. Geiszler—simply doesn’t have enough funding for the samples he needs to study—and donations would certainly help with our funding for other necessary supplies—"

“I sure we’d love to help you and your friend,” the same guy says, and there’s no missing the emphasis this time, “but we’re a little busy at the moment. Please come back and talk to us later, though.”

Hermann clamps his mouth shut. Newt narrows his eyes, and in a move bold enough to surprise even himself, snags Hermann’s arm and links his own with it. “Sure thing,” he says loudly. Hermann goes rigid and stiff under him. “Come on, babe, let’s get something to eat. I know how you get when you’re hungry.” Then, before he can stop himself, he brushes a single kiss at Hermann’s cheek, and tries not to laugh at the looks they get.

He waits until they’re out of eyesight (Newt having had to sort of drag Hermann along with him) to drop Hermann’s arm. Hermann hasn’t moved a muscle since Newt touched him, and even now, he just sort of blinks at Newt. “What on Earth—?”

“Dude,” Newt says. “That guy was a total jerk. He thought we were together, and—”

“He did not,” Hermann says. “He kept calling you my ‘friend’. It was a bloody nice break from what usually happens, I might add, and now you’ve gone and—”

“Hermann,” Newt says. He sighs. “You’re, like, totally missing my point. He thought we were together.”

“But he called you—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Newt says.

Hermann blinks a few more times. “Ah,” he says.

“No way in hell do we need his money,” Newt says. “Anyway, sorry about the—” He touches Hermann’s cheek, and then gestures to Hermann’s left arm, which is now just sort of hanging limply at Hermann’s side. “I just wanted to screw with him. I won’t do it again, though—”

“No!” Hermann says quickly. The tips of his ears go red, and he fumbles as he grabs Newt’s arm again. A sudden warmth situates itself like pressure over Newt’s chest, identical to the kind that’s creeping up his wrist where Hermann’s fingers just grazed his bare skin, and he’s struck with the sudden bizarre urge to duck his head and blush himself. Since when has Hermann had this kind of effect on him? “What I meant to say is—” Hermann licks his wide lips. “He might still see us. We ought to—to keep up the ruse.”

“To really screw with him?” Newt says.

“For what other reason?” Hermann says.

Newt forces himself to keep a smooth, neutral expression as Hermann unwinds his arm to lace their fingers together instead, with a lot more awkward fumbling. “Uh-huh,” he says. He remembers how soft and smooth Hermann’s cheek had felt, so unlike his own, which can never seem to hold a clean shave. How nice Hermann's hand feels in his now. He’s definitely going to have to unpack this later. “Yeah, that’s—good idea, Hermann. Let’s do that.”

[celosiaa]

I dont know if you're taking prompts at the moment but when you have time if the idea interests you what about martin greying after their time in the apocalypse and growing a beard and being distressed because he looks like his father. jon comforts him and helps him feel better about his appearance. maybe some soft domestic comfort where jon helps martin dye his hair and shave the beard away to look like himself again.

hi friend!!! thank you for this prompt, it’s probably not perfect bc I wrote it really fast!! But I hope you like it anyway :)

CW panic attack

When Jon wakes, head still spinning in the light of the sun, Martin is once again gone. And Jon is so, so very tired.

Tired of the weariness, the deep ache that has settled so heavily in his bones he is unsure if he will ever truly shake it. Tired of the sapping away of his strength, as he attempts to rebuild, day by day by day even after a year has gone by since the end of all things.

Tired of waking up alone.

It’s a wonderful thing, in a way, to know that something is wrong with Martin rather than Knowing it—the realization that he is, in fact, able to discern when something is bothering the love of his life is a rather comforting fact, after everything. Even so, he finds himself frustrated. Frustrated with the fact that he cannot intuit the source of his husband’s distress, much less pull anything out of him.

Martin is shutting down. Plain as day. And it terrifies him.

Running a hand briefly over the Martin-shaped imprint beside him, long gone cold, Jon props himself up on too-slender arms, waiting a moment for the spots to clear from his vision, and standing on too-slender legs. At once, he reaches for his cane at the bedside, finding his injury sitting heavy in his hip this day—and heads quietly out of the room and into the hall.

If Jon had not known better, he would never have guessed that Martin were there at all. For the entirety of their normally-cozy, tiny little flat seems nothing but desolate and dustladen and darkening, ever darkening. Something Lonely creeping through every window sill, beneath the outside door, through the vents—

Streaming from the open bathroom door.

Of course, Jon had seen it coming for days, had tried to warn Martin of the fog carried on each of the few words he has spoken over the past few days. But it did not matter—Martin has often explained how muffled everything becomes while he finds himself once again in this place. Muffled and meaningless and fading, fading. Buried under guilt and fear and apologies, so many apologies that Jon could drown in them.

And now, perhaps—just perhaps, he might let him in. If the open door of the bathroom is a sign to be taken as hopeful.

“Martin,” he calls as he approaches the doorframe. “Habibi, are you alright?”

Upon looking in, he finds Martin leaning over the sink—staring with empty eyes back into the emptiness of his reflection in the mirror, fog swirling so thick beneath his glasses it’s a wonder he can see at all. The word that comes first to Jon’s mind is frozen—and he cannot help but hurt over just how long he has stood here, alone and in his private grief, limbs shaking ever so slightly in their static hold.

“Habibi,” he starts again—quieter this time, stepping a bit closer. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

He follows these words with resting a hand against his forearm—ever so gentle and cautious, yet Martin jumps bodily all the same.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Jon continues, without moving his hand away.

“…what?” is the eventual reply, so dim and far away it echoes, swirling around Jon’s head dizzyingly.

“Look at me, Martin. Can you look at me?” he pleads, beginning to rub his hand up and down his forearm now, anything to create some warmth over his ice-cold skin.

“Jon.”

“Yes. Right here, please look at me.”

At last, at long last—Martin turns his face away from the mirror, the fog beginning to dissipate from his eyes as soon as he meets Jon’s. The ache of it all sends something twisting in his stomach, over the fact that this still happens so regularly, that Martin still struggles to be open, even with him, even after all this time.

And buries it.

“There you are,” he soothes as he slips a hand up and into his hair, beginning to stroke through it as Martin starts to come back to himself. “You with me?”

He blinks a few more times, slowly, strangely—before tensing suddenly beneath Jon’s hands, eyes blown wide as he gasps in a breath.

“J-Jon—”

“Easy. Easy, now,” he murmurs easily, grasping at his arm once again. “Just sit down. You’re alright.”

“Jon—”

“Sit down, my love.”

Back to the wall, Martin slides down to sitting braced against it—bowing his head between his knees at once, one hand against his throat as he gasps for something beyond the fog to fill his lungs. Jon steps over his feet—coming to rest on the side of the tub, leaning forward to keep a gentle pressure moving across his shoulders as he works through the panic. All too common panic, unfortunately.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

As always, Jon feels so helpless here. He knows there is very little to be done but to sit and wait, talk if it helps, stop if it doesn’t, always keeping that contact to ground Martin in warmth. Every time his heart breaks—and every time he swallows the lump in his throat, no matter how thick with fog it may be.

“I’m right here.”

Several minutes pass this way, rapid breaths fading into rhythm, color returning back to Martin’s skin, the fog at at last dissipating into the floor beneath them. And finally—finally—Martin looks up, eyes just barely meeting Jon’s for a moment before he covers them in shame.

“God, I’m so sorry, Jon,” he croaks, scrubbing over his eyes as he speaks. “Happened again.”

“No need, habibi,” Jon replies, as always. “No need.”

And still the silence remains for a while, Jon’s hand never leaving Martin’s back, Martin’s hand never falling away from his eyes in his misery. It is in this moment, feeling his husband shaking beneath him for the third morning in a row, and the fourth this week, that Jon makes a decision.

“Martin,” he begins, pausing to worry at his lower lip for a moment. “Martin, please…please tell me why this is happening.”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” comes the terrible reply, the one that tells Jon there is so much hurt still left to heal in his soul.

“I am worried. And will continue to worry, because I love you.”

A small huff of laughter behind a ghost of a smile.

“I love you too,” he replies, as if still shocked he is allowed to say it.

“Then please—talk to me.”

“It’s silly—it’s nothing, I dunno why it’s bothering me so much,” he continues, at last letting the hand covering his eyes fall and rest atop his knee. “And—and I’m sorry it’s—it’s worrying you. But I’m alright.”

Yet another small and fragile thing shatters in Jon’s chest over this—this utter falsehood, that he would ever see Martin drowning in the Lonely and think only of himself. That he would ever think that way.

“I-I wouldn’t—this isn’t about me, Martin,” he assures, refusing to bely the hurt pushing against the steadiness of his voice. “I know that you are hurting. Please—please tell me why, and I will help.”

“Jon—”

“That’s all I want. Is to help.”

A moment—a long, terrible moment in which Jon cannot be sure he is trusted, cannot be sure he is ready to talk. That he will have to accept whatever the next breath brings, even if it hurts. Even if it hurts.

Please please please

“I—like I said, it’s silly, right?” Martin begins to choke out, tears rising immediately as he begins to speak. “I-I know it is. And I’m just going to sit here and blubber about it like a fool.”

“It’s not silly if it hurts you.”

“I—well, just—just wait till you hear it,” he says tremulously, letting out a terribly damp little laugh at the end, swiping at his eyes yet again. “It’s just that—with the, the grey, and the—beard, I—god—I look just like my dad.”

And there it is at last, the aching truth of it all. The trauma Martin would rather call silliness. The panic he would rather call a terrible display of dramatics. The tears he will apologize for in three, two—

“God, I’m so sorry,” he bursts through gritted teeth, trying desperately to make a noise sounding something like laughter.

“Martin—”

“It’s so silly, I—”

“Stop, stop.”

Catching both of Martin’s hands in his own, Jon grips them tightly, tilting his head in a gesture that begs Martin to look, please look at me. And when he does, eyes still brimming and barely holding together—it’s nearly enough to do Jon in altogether.

“It is not silly,” he begins forcefully, gently. “You have every right to feel upset by this. This—this pain makes sense—and it is real, and it is justified. Alright?”

The damp smile Jon receives in return is enough to tell him that Martin does not really believe him, perhaps he never will—but that his words are appreciated all the same.

“Now listen. There are some things we could do that might help, alright?” he continues, starting to massage Martin’s hands gently as the tears begin to fall in earnest, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking. “I could—I could help you dye it. Any color at all. And—only if you want—I can help you shave. If you think it might help.”

A laugh—a real, if still damp, laugh comes from him then—cast in the glow of a genuine smile. As it always has and always will—it sets Jon’s heart fluttering with love for this man, for his anchor—for his love. For his always.

“Yeah, I—heh—” he begins, swiping away the remaining wetness with another laugh. “Early thirties is a bit young to go grey, I reckon.”

“Is it now?” Jon teases at once, a grin spreading wide across his face, tossing his own greying hair over one shoulder. “Is that young to go grey?”

“Oh come off it,” Martin says, rolling his eyes, bumping a shoulder against Jon’s leg. “You know what I meant.”

[beyondthetower]

Sacred & Common Ground (Annette x Felix)

Summary: Felix stumbles across a conversation he should never have heard, and his reaction surprises even him.

Characters/Pairing: Annette x Felix

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Spoilers for Annette’s character.

A/N: Wow! What a surprise. I wrote more Netteflix fluff.

It had been a long day, and it was beginning to stretch into a long night. Felix wandered around the monastery grounds, still too jittery from his training to turn in for the night. His body was tired but his mind was awake. Hopefully a walk would help that. 

When the moon was high in the sky and most of Garreg Mach had gone to bed, Felix found himself outside of the cathedral overlooking the Goddess Tower. He leaned over the stone wall, staring at the tower and trying to remember that ridiculous legend people always told of the place. On their trip to the monastery at the beginning of the year, Felix’s father had blathered on about the legend. It had something to do with “lovers meeting” or some such nonsense. His father had mentioned in passing that he had met a girl there himself on the night of the ball. Whether that was his mother or not, Felix didn’t know. And he didn’t really care. 

He couldn’t concern himself with that kind of thing. He was and always would be a lone wolf. He didn’t need a girl by his side nor did he ever think about it.

Well...sometimes... 

Quickly, he shook the thought from his head. He was more tired than he thought. As he walked back toward the dorms, he heard the muffled sounds of conversation coming from inside the cathedral. 

“Why do you pretend not to recognize me?”

Felix recognized her voice at once. Annette always seemed to annoyingly sneak her way into his thoughts unwarranted. Without thinking, he peered past the nearby column into the cathedral. Lanterns flickered lowly, most already out for the evening, and a few others illuminating two figures as they stood at the far side of the room.

Annette was standing by the alter, behind a large, imposing figure whose head was bowed low in prayer. “Annette, I-”

Felix had seen the man before, and his voice only reinforced that. But he couldn’t quite place where he knew him from. He strained to try to catch a better glimpse of him, but he couldn’t make out anything other than the faint glint of armor.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

Annette’s voice cracked, and Felix realized that he had stumbled across an extremely private moment. He knew that he should leave, but a strange pull was keeping him tethered to that spot. In fact, he realized after a beat that he was actively restraining himself from marching over to her.

“Please stop treating me like a stranger, I can’t bear it.” 

There was a pain in Felix’s hand, and when he stretched his fingers out he realized he had been clenching his fist. Small, red, divots appeared on his palm where his fingernails had almost broken the skin. He tried to rub them away with his thumb and leaned against the wall when he heard the familiar sound of thick boots on the floor. 

“How long are you going to keep avoiding me like this?” Annette’s voice was starting to come undone; the strained composure she had been holding up until then was slipping and she was starting to sound like a girl holding a tantrum. She stomped her foot, and the man paused just close enough to a nearby lantern for Felix to get a better look at his face. 

He remembered now. Gilbert, the knight, had joined them in their most recent mission to the Kingdom; to stop Sylvain’s brother from doing any more damage and to take back House Guatier’s relic. He was a skilled knight, and had been pretty familiar with Dimitri. In fact, he seemed to know a lot about the Kingdom.

Felix tried to scan his memories for any hints that Annette had known him too. Judging by this conversation they weren’t newly acquainted. He remembered the day the Professor introduced Gilbert to the class. Annette had skipped in with Mercedes, cheery and energetic as usual. Professor made the necessary introductions, not bothering to go all the way around the room for names. He remembered catching a glimpse of Annette at one point (he annoyingly found his gaze wandering to her a lot more than it should) and realized now how different she had looked. Her face looked somber, like she had seen a ghost. 

“I have lost the right to face you or your mother,” Gilbert said now. 

Her mother? Felix thought to himself. 

“This has nothing to do with rights!”Annette said exasperatedly. “We're family, I'm your daughter.”

Daughter?

It all made sense: the color draining from her face as she stared at him that first day, the way she had been so shaky and distracted during that mission. She had seen a ghost. She had been searching for her father for however long, and now that she found him he was acting as if he didn’t even know her.

Felix had a sudden urge to punch a wall. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but the idea that Annette’s own father had not only abandoned her but refused to acknowledge her even now infuriated him. The idea of anyone hurting her upset him, if he was being honest. But her own family? He may have hated his dad but at least he was always there. 

He shook himself back into the present moment, where Annette and Gilbert had continued with their conversation. Whatever Felix had missed had been final, because he could hear heavy footsteps bounding toward him before he had time to react. 

Gilbert emerged from the door, and did a double take before fully seeing Felix lingering there in the shadows. There was a long pause between the two of them, where Gilbert blinked in surprise and Felix bit back his urge to hit him. Gilbert furrowed his brow, as if he was about to scold him. But before he could say anything, he glanced back at Annette, as if he knew why Felix had been listening in (even if Felix himself hadn’t known). So, instead of saying anything, Gilbert merely turned back toward the bridge and disappeared behind the thick, iron gate. 

Inside the cathedral, the eerie quiet was only broken by the soft sound of sniffles coming from one of the pews. As he walked up to Annette, Felix realized that he should have made his footsteps more prominent, if only to announce himself in some way.

He cleared his throat. “Annette?” 

Annette whipped around, pulling her hands from her face and gasping in surprise. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, her eyes bloodshot and glassy with tears. 

“Felix!” she said quickly. She wiped at her cheeks as if that would hide the fact that she had been crying. “W..what are you doing here?”

“I was taking a walk when I heard you arguing with someone.” He realized this wasn’t an actual excuse, that he was really just admitting to eavesdropping, so he cleared his throat again and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought maybe you were...in trouble or something.” 

Annette studied him for a moment, sizing up his story. But rather than prod any further she just let out a frustrated sigh. “My stupid father,” she explained. Her small face distorted into an angry pinch as Felix took a seat beside her. And as much as it broke his heart to see it, he found it almost cute. “He left mother and I a few years ago, and I’ve been looking for him ever since. But now…”

Felix wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept quiet. 

“I just don’t understand how he could be so cruel. It’s nothing like the man I knew growing up. It’s like Duscar-” Annette stopped herself suddenly and sighed. 

It suddenly made sense: why Dimitri would stumble over Gilbert’s name, why Ingrid thought he looked so familiar, he must have been a Kingdom knight when it happened. When the King was killed. When his brother…

Felix shook the thought from his head, tried to refocus on Annette, who looked so much smaller and more fragile when she cried. He had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her that he fought off out of sheer embarrassment. His face got hot at his own internal struggle, and he hoped she was too wrapped up in her story to notice. 

“I’m sorry,” Annette said then. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. 

“You lost your brother in Duscar, didn’t you?” 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he noticed her eyes were starting to get back to normal. “So here I am complaining about my own father, when you lost your brother for real.” 

Felix shrugged. “There doesn’t seem to be much difference from where I’m standing.”

Annette stared out at the doorway that Gilbert had disappeared through. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Maybe you’re right.” 

Off in the distance, a bell toll. It was getting late, and the chimes reminded Felix that he had better get to sleep if he wanted to get his morning training in before class the next day. He knew that he should bid her farewell, but something kept him glued to his seat in the somewhat uncomfortable silence. 

“Thanks, Felix.” Annette sniffed and offered him a weak smile. “You know, I’ve got to admit, you are surprisingly easy to talk to.” 

While it didn’t sound much like a compliment, even Felix knew that, for him, it was high praise. He was prickly and hard to read. He purposefully presented himself that way. “Yeah, well,” Felix tried to hide the smile tugging at his lips by looking down at his shoes. “Don’t get used to it.” 

“Of course. I won’t,” Annette promised. 

He could hear the smile in her voice, and when he looked back at her, her blue-green eyes were gleaming up at him. Heat rose in his cheeks, and he rubbed the back of his neck in a feeble attempt to hide it. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “You shouldn’t be out by yourself this late. You could get hurt.” 

Try as he might to make his words sound accusatory, even he could hear the compassion in his tone as he turned on his heel to storm out. He checked over his shoulder as he walked toward the bridge, and sure enough, Annette was following him with her eyes down and a sweet smile on her lips.

[rreeaahh]

Noble Chantage | Fred Weasley (02)

CHAPTER 2 - “It’s Queen for you, Weasley”

WORD COUNT - 2,406

SUMMARY - After having a fit of anger, you realize that, after all, some people near you are meant to make life easier.

WARNINGS - angst; flirt; a little swearing

TAGLIST (message me if you want to be added) - @lucymfer @prongsyy @famdomhideout @anywherebuthere​ @garyluly​

“I can’t believe you just said that!”

Laughing, I continued to run my fingers in Cedric’s hair, messing with his warm, brown locks.

“You’re the one who mentioned his name,” I said in my defense, which only made him frown his brows.

I looked down at him, his head on my lap. Cedric Diggory was a handsome boy and every girl on Hogwarts would’ve killed to be in my place in that moment. My index went down to his face, tracing the shape of his nose, stopping to his bottom lip and then going up to the other one. His soft and sweet lips were the ones which convinced me to stay to his side two years ago, when he kissed the back of my hand after walking me to my Common Room. For already two years Cedric Diggory was spoiling me with his attention, far from people’s eyes. It was nearly a miracle how our nearly-but-not-really-relationship stayed a secret that long. We met in the library, and he got my attention with his manners – very polite and he knew to respect a girl. He walked me to my Common Room every time we’ve met and sometimes I could’ve received flowers from him – daisies, his favorites – something very important in my opinion. Mat’ taught me that a true gentleman is the one who knows how to get his way to your heart subtle, without you realizing it.

“And you’re the one who said he’s handsome – I thought you didn’t like Quidditch that much.”

“My father’s a big fan of him, so I guess I know something about him in particular,” I smiled devilish, watching the jealousy growing on his face.

“D’you like him because he’s Russian? Does it have something to do with your DNA or something?”

“Cedric!” I laughed and slapped his chest gently. “Viktor Krum’s Bulgarian.”

He rolled his eyes. “Same thing, Y/N,” he said. “You fancy him and your dad likes him, that git.”

I knew he was joking, putting that much hate on the name of a famous Quidditch player – but he was funny playing the victim and he only wanted me to have a good time with him, always putting a smile on my face.

“Maybe if your dad would see me playing he’d like me too,” he whispered, playing with the end of my hair between his fingers.

Cedric had those jokes – I preferred to think of them as jokes – he wanted to mention his name to my parents, to tell them my sympathy for the Hufflepuff boy.

I pulled out the air in my lungs and looked away from his face. “Don’t start it again, Ced,” I asked him, already exhausted at the thought of that topic.

“Aren’t you tired of hiding?” he questioned and got up, looking me in the eyes. “Because I am.”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” I sighed and closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was still watching me.

“You do have a choice, Y/N, but you’re not choosing me.”

The accusation hit me like a punch in the stomach – his eyes were dark, nearly black, and I was asking myself if he was sad or mad.

“You don’t understand, Cedric,” I said in the same tonality, hoping to make him give up.

“I do understand your family, but I don’t understand why aren’t you saying something – you’re keeping me a secret for almost two years.”

“What do you want me to say? You want me to tell them I’m madly in love with you and there’s nothing they can do?” I snorted, rolling my eyes which made him even angrier, somehow. I guess I have this hidden talent: to make people angry, and then angrier. “Besides, it’s not like you’re shouting out loud how much time you spend with me, or how much you tell me I’m the best in everything!”

He was amused, I could tell by the way his eyes went smaller, in an almond shape. “You are the one who’s telling me to not tell people! You think I don’t want to tell all those gits who are drooling over you that you’re mine?”

Part of his words were truth: I directly told him to never tell anyone, I even made him swear to me and I told him that I’m a revengeful witch, so I wouldn’t forgive him if he’d broke his promise. But he still was somehow wrong. The gits who are drooling after me, as he called them, are the ones who provided me so much fame in a short time; being a nice looking girl, being unapproachable, made me who I am in Hogwarts – so my reputation, the way my last name was known in that school, was because the boys wanted me and the girls wanted to be me. It took me a while to be comfortable with that idea, but mat’ made sure I’d understand something: I’m a Rosier, people would always want something from me.

“Oh, Cedric,” I laughed and I got up, moving in the small compartment to the window and then to the door – it was a strange habit of mine, “Do you think I’m yours?”

The mean smile on my face made him confused, and that made me smile brighter. “What?”

“Yeah, no, I think it’s cute,” I added and stayed in front of him. “To think that you own me, when we both know it’s not true.”

“You know what I meant, Y/N,” he said exhausted, but he knew very well how much he fucked up the situation.

When I was away from home, I was free: nobody’d tell me what to do, what to say or wear directly, so I wasn’t very pleased to hear that he considered me his property in any way. “I know one think very well, Diggory,” I said in a cold voice, “You don’t own me. In fact,” I laughed, “you couldn’t afford me. Who do you think you are?”

He wasn’t expecting that kind of response from me, that was sure, but he said nothing as I continued to walk. “You want me to tell my parents about you? Tell them what? Mat’, papa, this is Cedric Diggory,” I started a fake speech, laughing, “He’s a very good Quidditch player, papa, he’s in Hufflepuff, he’s in love with me, clearly, but oh, Merlin, he’s too blind to see that he’s also a toy of mine!” I ended rising my hands up in the air.

He was frozen. “What?” was all he could whisper, searching my eyes to look for a little sparkle.

“C’mon, Ced,” I pouted my lips, “Don’t tell me you think that I could see you more than a waste of time! You’re nice, don’t get me wrong.”

“You’re just mad,” he said confident in his words, “You don’t mean it, Y/N, you always talk shit when you’re angry.”

“If that’s so, don’t you think that I’d make ‘our relation’”, I drew the commas in the air, “public? At least at school? Oh, no, darling,” I laughed again, finding very funny that idea, “I don’t show off every toy I get, you know?”

The devilish smile on my lips was erased by the tip of his wand,  pointed to my face. “Get out,” he demanded, not even looking at me.

“You’re threatening me?” I asked, holding back my laugh.

“Don’t make me do something I’d regret, Rosier,” he said, now looking at me with a hurt expression.

With a fast move of my hand, I was in the possession of my Reed Wood wand, casting an unspoken spell which made his wand come to me. I took it in my left hand, smiling proudly. “I think you forget who you’re dealing with, love,” I said in a mocking tone, the expression on his face giving me chills all over my spine – he was mad, hurt, annoyed: it made me sad and satisfied at the same time.

“I’ll go now only because I want to,” I clarified and opened the door, “Because nobody tells me what to do, and nobody should point their wand at me, Cedric,” I said in a serious tone, “I thought you’d know better,” I spat and threw his wand at his feet, careful not to damage it, and I closed the door after me, striking it to its frame.

I hated so much that he was right: when mad, I’d tell a lot of shits which were only meant to hurt the person I’d be arguing with. It was a flaw of mine, the short temper, but it hurt me very much to see him pointing his wand at me, wanting to hurt me or at least show me he’d be stronger. As long as I’d have my wand in my hand, nobody could be stronger: my mother always told me that she knew, deep down, that I’d be the strongest witch in my family, especially after I inherited my grandmother’s wand, which had a Dragon Heartstring core.

Even if my words were meant to hurt him, I realized they had something true behind: I knew very well that a relationship with someone who’s not a Pureblood Slytherin was worthless – in the end I wouldn’t have my parents’ approval and they’d eventually find me a husband, something I was still trying to prevent, somehow. Maybe Cedric was a toy for me – a fun thing to distract myself from all the craziness I’ve had in my world. To distract me from my parents’ authority and to give me a sense of leadership. I immediately erased that idea from my mind: my sense of leadership was not given by him; I was a leader, I had people that respected me and I had the authority myself. Hogwarts was the place where I was the Queen, I only needed to remember that.

All the thoughts made me go blind of what was happening in front of me, that explaining why I was hit by a body and than laying down to the metal floor, surrounded by small and colored balls. I was thinking about myself like a God, so that kind of interruption made me boiling mad.

“Are you alright?” asked a voice and a similar one responded before I could even move.

“I don’t think she is, mate.”

I got up, fast, ignoring the pain my ribs were feeling after falling on them, because I didn’t know what amount of skin was shown by my skirt. “Of course it’s you two,” I said in a sour voice, frowning my brows at the sight of the Weasley twins. They were nothing else but trouble and I was lucky enough to have every single class with them.

“It’s just Rosier, Georgie,” Fred said in a bored tone, gaining a slight punch in his shoulder by his brother.

“Are you ok?” George asked in his always kind way. He was acceptable, only a pawn in his brother’s plans, which he followed loyal. Fred, on the other hand, was eyeing me unimpressed by my presence.

To say we hated each other was a big thing: we only wanted to be better than each other. I knew he wanted to be more popular than me by doing all those silly pranks and coming with those crazy ideas, and being in the school’s newspaper was a big deal for both of us. At every big event the little Gryffindor kid – who’s name I could never remember – would be present, would take a photo and then other students, mainly Ravenclaws helped by Hufflepuffs, would write a spicy story, enough to make the whole school to talk about that subject until the next edition. I was the main protagonist when it came about drama, a new jewelry or my performance at the Duelling Club, along with my grades, and he and his twin would be on the front page after doing some crazy shit.

“Good enough to hex your brother,” I said to George, not even looking at Fred. Giving him as little attention as you could was a torture for him.

“We’re sorry,” George apologized, but his brother was fast enough to correct him.

“I’m not,” he commented.

Rolling my eyes and squeezing in my hand the wooden wand, I looked at my nails. “I’m not surprised you’re a jerk, but I think your mother raised you better than this.”

Bringing his family in discussion always made Fred anxious, for a reason or another, even if I always tried to not say something harmful about them.

“I didn’t see you, lawn gnome,” he smirked and I snorted. He got even taller and he found it funny to laugh at me because a nonsense like that.

“Very mature. Where were you hurrying, gingers?” I asked George, out of curiosity.

“Going to meet Colin Creveey,” he said proudly.

When he saw the confusion on my face, he smiled and continued, “For Hognews,” he clarified, mentioning the newspaper’s name.

“We were going to show him our new product, but somebody scattered all over the train,” Fred said in an annoyed voice, looking down to the floor, to the small balls.

“I’m not sorry,” I said to his annoyance.

“We’re still going, we have a few left,” he answered proudly, crossing his hands to his chest. “We’re going to make it first page and you can’t stop us.”

“Oh, Fredrick,” I laughed, making George smile too, “I don’t even want to stop you two from doing such great things.”

He was astonished, just like his brother. “Ok, I think.” George punched him again, straightening his voice – he hit him harder this time, because Fred mouthed a little ow. “I’m sorry for making you fall,” he apologized, doing his brother’s wish.

“Oh, what was that?” I asked, amused, forgetting about the hard feelings between us. “I didn’t hear you.”

He smirked. “I think you didn’t, due to the distance, little gnome.”

I made something which made him stare at me like I was crazy. I stepped on his red shoes, raising myself. I was reaching the level of his eyes now, and it was good enough. “You can repeat now.”

Fred woke up from his daydream and shocked me by putting his hands on my waist, a cocky smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, princess.”

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having me speechless because of his hypocrisy, I smiled. “It’s Queen for you, Weasley.”

[ourloveisforthelovely]

In Love and Death Part 11

Harry Potter AU 

Link to Part 10 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M

____

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY GOING?”

Tonks shrieked as you brushed your hair. Turning around, you quickly hushed her. It had been a week since you agreed to go see the healer. Today was the day of your appointment and you were a bundle of nerves. How you hadn’t broken down and told Tonks yet was still a mystery. You had agreed with Regulus to keep things hidden until “something” happened and it was killing you to not tell Tonks. The two of you shared everything. Now here you were almost ready to spill the beans at any moment. Regulus, on the other hand, was calm and reserved as he typically was.

“Yes, and I need you to keep your mouth closed. Regulus didn’t want me to say anything.”

Tonks looked offended.

“Where is the prince charming?”

“Still on a mission with his brother. I am beginning to get worried. He knows that my appointment is today...or at least he is supposed to. I need to leave in like five minutes and of course he isn’t here.”

Tonks glanced down at her watch. She was trying to see Regulus’ point of view in keeping things quiet. The reasonable side understood. He didn’t want to start more turmoil than necessary. The “best friend” side, however, was screaming RUDE!

“I can go with you if you would like. I know that I am not Regulus but I don’t want you really sitting in that clinic alone.”

You shook your head.

“Thanks but I would rather go alone if Regulus doesn’t turn up. It is going to be awkward enough.”

Tonks finally relented.

“True. I have to know what happens. I won’t tell Regulus that I know.”

You smiled as she held out her pinky for a pinky promise.

“Fine. I’ll let you know.”

Half an hour later, you sat in the healer’s exam room on your own. As much as you wanted to be annoyed with Regulus, you couldn’t be. This was part of how things would be with missions and you of all people knew that.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts as a tired-looking old woman stepped in. She looked down at the filed folder in her hands.

“Ms. Rosier, correct?”

You nodded as she sat down and continued to read over the report in her hands.

“So, you are unable to get pregnant and are trying to?”

“True.”

You commented. Deep down you wanted to congratulate her on knowing how to read but your common sense reminded you that this old witch was here to help you.

“It looks like your problems are due to childhood trauma and abuse. Here drink this potion every morning for the next week and a half. It tastes like goblin piss but will work. I have fixed women with a lot of worse issues than what I am seeing with you. Drink your potion then have your husband work his magic.”

You almost snorted at that comment. Damn, you wished Regulus was here to hear that. You could see him blushing over that comment. The prudish side of him would be coming out in full force.

“He will love to hear that.”

You replied as you shoved the potion in your handbag. The witch chuckled.

“I don’t know many men who wouldn’t be thrilled with the prospect of getting laid. Come see me when you think that you’re pregnant and we shall see how things are looking.”

“That’s it?”

You asked, confused. The witch nodded.

“Did you expect me to start poking around down there?”

You shrugged.

“I was expecting more than this.”

The witch chuckled as she stood up. For the first time, the healer seemed to warm up. She reached out and patted your shoulder.

“You kids really are cute. Trust me, Ms. Rosier, this is going to be a lot easier than you expected.”

Stepping back into Grimmauld Place, you were still taking in everything that happened.

“Well?”

You were pulled from your thoughts as you stepped into the kitchen. Regulus sat at the table while Tonks, Remus, and Sirius were standing at the counter. Blinking, you tried to play innocent.

“Well, what?”

You replied. Regulus rolled his eyes as Tonks stepped in.

“Regulus told us where you were going today.”

“Yeah, the healer.”

Sirius came in. You breathed a breath of relief before sitting down at the table.

“I have a potion that she wants me to drink then you and I have some business to do.”

You smirked at the expression on Regulus’ face. He sat quietly waiting to hear some tale of events or get chewed out for missing the appointment but you casually took the tea that Tonks offered you as if nothing had happened.

“That’s it?”

Putting your teacup down you smiled again.

“You know that is the same reaction that I had. I was expecting her to be shoved between my legs looking at my lady bits but she looked over a chart, threw a potion at me, told me to have Regulus work his magic, then bidded me a nice farewell.”

Evan, who you hadn’t even noticed come into the room, froze at the “lady bits comment, spilled his tea, then turned and walked out without another word. Regulus made a mental note to be sure to torment Evan a bit later.

Regulus, himself, was taking in what you just said and blushed as the realization of what the healer said finally hit home.

“Maybe we should leave the two of you alone so you can work some magic.”

Sirius said, bursting into a fit of giggles at the embarrassed expression on your face. Regulus was shaking his head.

“Stay out of it, Sirius.”

Sirius poured a glass of fire whiskey with a smirk on his face.

“No need to be a prude, Reg. We have figured out that the two of you have sex. Some of us have been lucky to see the two of you with your tongues down each other’s throats.”

“Why are you watching, pervert?”

Regulus snapped before focusing his eyes on his older brother.

“At least when we have a child, it won’t have an older brother trying to sell it.”

Sirius didn’t look up as everyone in the room turned to look at him. He innocently looked down at his drink as you frowned.

“What are you talking about, Reggie?”

You asked. Regulus shrugged.

“Ask Sirius. It's his memory.”

Sirius finally looked up.

“I did not, oh wait, yes I did. He was so cute when mum and dad brought him home then he started screaming and taking up all of the attention.”

“I was a baby, you idiot.”

Regulus replied with a haughty frown. Sirius turned his attention back to you.

“So...anyway... I sold him to the old widow next door. Mum had to go get him back then I got the shit slapped out of me. So, Y/n, have you told Evan or Moody about the little plan that you two have cooked up?”

You had started to open the potion and looked up like a child who had their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Well, no. I figured they could find out when it happens. It will be a lot less painful to deal with Moody after it happens. As far as Evan...he’s a smart boy...he’ll figure it out.”

Regulus’ eyes flickered back to you.

“He has an idea already. He heard you mentioning your lady bits and walked out.”

You stood up and went to the sink. How you missed Evan’s awkward and brief entrance was beyond you.

“One less thing to worry about.”

You downed the potion and automatically winced. Remus, who had been quietly listening from his place by the sink, met your gaze.

“Alright?”

You shook your head.

“Tastes horrible.”

You stood silently for a few minutes wondering if this was how Remus felt when he had to drink his “monthly” potion? If you, you felt sincerely awful for him.

“Well, I don’t feel any different.”

You commented. Tonks grinned up at you.

“It probably takes a bit to take effect. Might as well go work some magic.”

Regulus put down his drink and stood up.

“I’m out of here. Come find me when you need me, Y/n.”

A few hours later you stood helping Molly cook dinner. You had grown closer to the woman since everyone was held up in Grimmauld Place. At first, you thought there were too many people together but it actually wasn’t that bad. Molly had quickly become like the mother that you never had. She had been showing you how to do crafty little things that didn’t involve dark magic. You couldn’t help but smirking at the thought of how your grandmother and mother would be devastated that you didn’t have a Kreacher doing basic chores. Kreacher was enough of a basket case without asking him to do too much.

“Y/n, may I ask a question?”

You nodded as you finished cutting up a chicken. Molly put her knife down before turning.

“I overheard you talking about a certain potion.”

Molly had waited to bring the subject up when Regulus was out of the room in addition to every other man in the house. This was a conversation that she wanted to have without a bunch of “other ears.” Hermione sat at the table finishing up a salad. Molly was fine bringing this up around her.

You, meanwhile, put your own carving knife down.

“Yes, I went to see a healer about my not being able to get pregnant. She gave me a potion to try.”

Molly noticed how Hermione instantly stopped shredding the lettuce and started blinking. The young woman turned in her chair as Molly smiled.

“Are you sure that the two of you are ready for this? It's a big step.”

You were quiet for a moment before speaking. Were you ready...yes and no. You did wonderfully with Teddy but he wasn’t your child. What if you messed this kid up like your parents clearly did with you? Regulus’ childhood wasn’t much better. Two “damaged” people raising a child seemed like a bad idea.

“I know. It's really big but we both want it. I guess I will have to slow down a bit. That was Regulus’ one term and it makes sense. I’ve never liked the idea of being a housewife but maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“You don’t have to stop being an auror just because you are a mother. Tonks does a fine job at it.”

Molly commented.

“Had it been a few weeks ago I would agree with that comment but I was thinking about it...I thought about my childhood and Harry’s childhood...I don’t want my child growing up without parents. Molly, what if I’m a crappy mum? I didn’t have decent parents and neither did Regulus. What if this kid ends up as messed up as we are?”

Molly quickly reached out to cup your cheeks. She knew right away that it was time to go into “mum mode.”

“You will do just fine...both of you will. You’ve done great with Teddy. You also have a lot of support.”

Your worried expression eased up as Molly patted your shoulder.

“You have plenty of time to get ready. It will probably take some time for the potion to start working fully.”

Hermione meanwhile, finished up the salad before politely excusing herself. She had to warn Harry before the inevitable happened and found out in some horrible way.

Harry and Ron sat playing wizard chess when Hermione came into the room. Neither looked up at first. Hermione closed the door before turning back to her friends.

“I need to talk to the two of you.”

Harry’s eyes rolled up immediately noticing Hermione’s worried expression. He had grown used to being wary of that particular expression. When Hermione wore “that” look something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione sat down as both boys turned to face her. This conversation was not going to be easy. It didn’t matter how many times that Ron or Hermione told Harry to let go of whatever crush that he had on you; he hadn’t. Ron could have told Harry over and over that you were an adult now and had no interest in a younger man fifty times and Harry wouldn't care. Neither Ron nor Hermione could decide which crush was more damning…the crush on Cho or the one on yourself.

“Harry, I overheard Y/n and Mrs. Weasley talking. Y/n went to see a healer today.”

Harry frowned. You didn’t seem sick when he ran into you earlier that day. Granted, neither Harry nor yourself had really spoken since the spat over Regulus.

“Is she sick? What did Y/n say?”

Hermione took a breath before beginning to fiddle with the fabric of her jeans.

“Not that kind of healer, Harry. Regulus and Y/n are trying to have a baby.”

Harry’s mouth dropped while Ron looked confused.

“Why would they want to do that?”

Hermione shot Ron a glare.

“Ronald!”

Ron quickly recovered from his mistake and realized what Hermione was saying. He quickly turned to Harry who sat blinking. Harry sat motionless for a moment before jumping up to pace around the room.

“Why am I not surprised? Date someone for a short period then have a baby with them...makes perfect sense. Of course, she wants to make a family with him. Why wouldn’t she? Y/n won’t have to worry about him getting killed by some vindictive dark wizard or worry about…”

Ron quickly came in.

“Harry, I mean, she is a Slytherin like Regulus. Harry, what do you expect mate? Those two feed off of each other. Regulus is as sassy as Y/n, if not worse. Y/n will say something sassy and Regulus has the perfect back up comment. You won’t get far with trying to insult him.”

Harry sat down and took off his glasses to hold the bridge of his nose.

“That isn't what I meant, Ron but thanks for that. I’m going to get some air.”

Harry didn’t wait for Ron or Hermione to respond before storming out of the room. He was halfway down the stairs when he noticed Regulus sitting on the sofa in the small room off of the kitchen.

“I’ve got to be out of my mind.”

Harry muttered before walking in. Regulus didn’t look up from the book that his eyes were glued to. He didn’t even seem to notice Harry or care that the other boy was standing in front of him looking very upset.

“Regulus, I want to talk to you.”

Regulus didn’t lookup. He knew it was Harry without having to look at him.

“Um...okay.”

Harry opened and closed his hands a few times. It was taking all that he had not to lose his temper.

“I don’t think y/n needs a baby, it's too dangerous and you’re too old for her.”

Regulus finally looked up. He raised an eyebrow before smirking.

“Are you her father?”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, he’s sitting in there looking confused.”

Regulus turned to look over his shoulder where Evan sat at the kitchen table muttering to himself... Rolling his eyes, Regulus turned back to Harry. It would be easy to hex the little fool for talking to him but you would also get mad at him. He didn’t feel like dealing with that at the moment. You being pissed at him wouldn’t get you underneath him anytime soon.

“Yeah, there he is. I guess I should only care about what he has to say but I don’t. Your opinion also matters little to me. I get that you’re chosen one but you're not god. Tell you what, I’ll consider your previous comment and put it in a filing cabinet in my brain. When I get the time and the desire to think about it...I will. Now run along and play in the street.”

Regulus went back to the book that he was reading as Harry’s furious expression intensified.

“You’re an ass.”

Regulus chuckled.

“Yeah. I’ve been told that. It's a real character flaw.”

“If Y/n gets injured by being with you...I’ll…”

Regulus looked up again.

“Alright, kid, I want you to listen to me. You care about her. I get it. There isn’t anything wrong with it but she’s my girlfriend and that won’t be changing. I’m sorry that you had all the bad shit in your life happen but, hey, crap storms happen. You don’t want me as your enemy. Now, as I said, run along and play.”

“Play?”

Harry snapped. Regulus nodded.

“Play...or whatever you kids call it nowadays.”

Before Harry could respond, you stepped into the room. You were immediately worried by the furious expression on Harry’s face and Regulus’ cool as a cucumber “this kid isn’t bothering me” demeanor.

“Reggie?”

Regulus looked up at you with a small smile. You weren't sure what you missed but had a feeling that whatever it was Harry was on the losing side.

“Yes, darling?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Regulus stood up without another word. He had a feeling where this “talk” was going and he didn’t mind in the slightest. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry before speaking once more.

“Hey, kid, watch out for cars when you are playing in the street.”

_______

@amelie-black

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[another-emotional-wreck]

My Only Sunshine -- chapter 1

Warnings: Mentions of blood, language

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's note: this fic takes place during 1983 but I need to clarify some things. In this universe, DOFP never happens because Peter was born in ‘66 instead of ‘56 to avoid anything weird between him and OC. Also, while the events of First Class take place, Erik eventually just comes to stay with the X-men and lives there full-time. He’s still Peter’s father, it just happens later than it does in canon, and no one knows yet.

Nyah Walker's physical appearance for anyone who wants it :)

1 | 2 |

***************************************************************************

We passed through the front gates and I sighed once again. I was already pissed, and the gloomy weather really wasn’t helping.

My dad rolled his eyes at my attitude. “It’s for your own good, Nyah. Not just yours, but for me and your siblings, too.”

“I know,” the sound was muffled from behind my fist. The trees were blurry and covered in snow as we drove down the path leading to the school. “Couldn’t we have waited till the end of the school year, at least?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

I turned towards the window again, hating the fact that he was right. The school was a large part of why I was in this situation in the first place, but it didn’t matter. I don’t even know what really happened-- how come I got expelled just cause the school didn’t wanna believe me?

The rest of the car ride was silent, but the falling snow brings a feeling of peace over the awkward quiet. We finally reach our destination and I see a building that looks as if it was built in the decades before I was born. I stepped out of the passenger side and somehow the building managed to practically double in size. The sky seemed to be getting darker and the building started to lean over me and I got dizzy up at it and it wasn’t until my dad greeted the man in front of us that I snapped back to reality.

My dad extended his hand to greet a man in a wheelchair. “Grayson Walker,” he said.

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He smiled, and it seemed genuine.

Just behind Charles stood another man wearing a dark brown vest under a beige jacket. He was fidgety, and couldn’t meet my eye for more than about a second.

While I studied the man, Charles stuck his hand out to me. It took a nudge from my dad to realize that he was trying to get my attention.

“And your name is?” He asked politely.

I hesitated before speaking. “Nyah Walker.” Sure, Charles seemed nice enough, but there was something about him that seemed strange. Not bad, just different-- as if he were hiding something.

“Wonderful to meet you, Nyah. The man behind me is Hank McCoy.”

“Hello, both of you.” He offered a small smile which I couldn’t help but return, but even he seemed to have something else on his mind.

“I suppose we ought to get inside,” the Professor broke the silence, turning the joystick on his wheelchair. “I’d hate for any of you to catch a cold.”

Despite the bitter cold, I had completely forgotten about the snow. Wrapping my coat tighter around myself and adjusting the bag on my shoulder, my dad and I followed Hank and the Professor through the doors of the mansion.

The place managed to look bigger on the inside than it outside. A staircase in the back of the main hall split in two directions, leading to what I assumed was the dorms and classrooms. Hank and the Professor led us farther down to an office, having both my dad and I take seats on the same side of the desk.

“So,” the Professor began. “Nyah, if you wouldn’t mind, could you walk us through what exactly happened that day?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. “Take your time,” said Hank. “it’s uh-- it’s not something that’s easy for everyone to talk about.” At that, he gave the man next to him a pointed look.

“Right...” I began. It definitely took me a little while longer than it should have to gather my thoughts. “Well, uh. About a month ago I got into an… altercation. Some prick--” my dad made a point of clearing his throat. “A kid from my homeroom, Jackson Dill, made some sick joke about my mom.”

I noticed Charles rest his chin on his fist. “I swear I’m not an angry person, but he just kept pushing. Saying stuff about how funny it was that my mom was dead, cause usually, it’s the dad who’s gone in families like mine.”

Hank looked confused. “Families like--” Charles cleared his throat and glared at Hank.

“I did my best to keep my cool. My friends came to my defense cause the teacher just so happened to not hear anything, but it still ended with me storming out of the classroom. Naturally, my teacher chose that time to look up from her papers and followed me out. Not sure how, but I ended up in the bathroom. The halls were pretty dark, so maybe I just lost my way?”

My gaze slowly moved from the men in front of me to my shoes and my voice got quieter as I began to mutter more to myself. “Honestly-- the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t even remember walking from the classroom to the bathroom.”

Hank opened his mouth to speak, his brow furrowed. The Professor held his hand up. “Let her finish, Hank.”

My stare flickered between the two before I continued. “Instead of locking myself into a stall like someone with common sense, I was hunched over the sink. My head was spinning and my stomach was churning and I had heard of people seeing red when they get angry enough, but that felt like something so much worse.”

There was so much darkness, I could hardly lift my head enough to look in the mirror and see that my eyes were all red and my hair was everywhere-- I think my nose might have been bleeding, not sure though. The most noticeable thing was that the lights started flickering…” My words petered out at the end of the sentence.

Was this even worth going over again?

“What’s the matter?” The Professor asked when I stopped. “Is that all?”

“No,” I muttered. “It’s just that things get a little… hard to believe from this point. I don’t even think my dad believes me.”

“That’s not true Nyah, I just--”

“Yeah. You just think I don’t know what I’m talking about. I get it.”

The two men in front of us looked mildly uncomfortable, so I took that as my sign to keep talking. “There was no weird weather or anything. Actually, it was pretty nice for December, so the weird thing with the lights went out outta nowhere. It wasn’t until a while later that I began thinking that the flickering might have been caused cause of me.”

God, my mouth was so dry. Since when did my heartbeat get that loud?

“The school says that what got me expelled was what happened to the teacher who came after me. In my defense, no one really liked her. She was always rude and her class was hard for no reason other than the sake of being difficult.” My dad, never one to appreciate my jokes, glared at me.

I sighed. “The point is, she came into the bathroom and grabbed my arm. I’ve never been a huge fan of being touched in the first place, and the fact that I felt like my body was being turned inside out wasn’t exactly helping.”

“Almost automatically, as if-- like I knew what I was supposed to do-- my eyes locked on her shadow-- don’t ask me why cause I don’t know. The next thing I knew, she was on the opposite side of the bathroom, unconscious. My eyes grew wider than I ever thought possible and in an instant, I was back in the classroom. Things were back to normal, except my teacher was gone and the entire school was pitch black.

Things happened. The teacher claimed that I shoved her-- as if I could throw her all the way across the bathroom, and the final decision was to expel me without pressing charges. About two weeks after all of that, my dad got a call from someone saying that they could help me.”

The whole thing was insane. Everyone was talking about it, especially how Mrs. Rio came out of it with a fractured spine and I just-- appeared in the back of the classroom looking shaken and sporting a bloody nose.”

The last time something like this happened, some kid blasted a hole through the stalls in the boys’ bathroom.

Hank and the Professor looked at each other for a while, seeming to have an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes.

Bits of words and phrases came out of their mouths.

“She’s… than anything we’ve…”

“But are we sure we… nothing’s ever…”

“We’ll just have to… and… as we go.”

My dad broke into the conversation. “Excuse me,” I could hear the impatience in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Well, she’s enrolled.” The Professor said finally, turning towards me. “That is if you’d like to be.”

*********

“You’d be allowed to leave whenever you choose, of course.” The four of us walked in line with the Professor. “We would never make you do anything against your will, but I do hope you understand that everything we do here is for your safety.”

“Of course,” I said. “I understand.”

The bell rang signaling the end of the school day. Kids of all ages flooded the halls and at that moment I couldn’t help but think that I may have been in over my head. The students here used their mutations so… freely.

Apparently, I said that last part out loud. “Yeah,” Hank smiled at the passing students. “No one’s shunned here, Nyah. You’ll be in an environment where you can learn and grow along with everyone else.”

My dad turned to me. “I think these people will be good for you. Might as well try it out, right?”

A grey blur flew past us making everyone’s hair and clothes blow everywhere.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Might as well.”

*********

“And this is your new room!” the white-haired girl smiled at me warmly as she stood in front of the open door.

I nodded awkwardly, taking in the room. It was small enough for me, with the bed in the corner and a window that had a view of the yard-- full of children running around in winter coats and laughing.

A little boy caught my eye. His head was tossed back and his mouth was open, and it took me a moment to realize that it was still snowing and that he was trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

I couldn’t help but smile to myself, which I immediately stopped once I noticed Ororo staring at me awkwardly. “Thanks again, uh--”

“Ororo. Ororo Munroe.”

“Thank you, Ororo.” I tossed my duffel bag on my bed and plopped down right next to it. Ororo still stood in the doorway, almost unsure.

“Everything alright?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, her smile fading slightly. “It's just that you seem, uh, nervous.”

I thought I had been hiding it well enough. “How’d you know?” I asked. “Is knowing people’s emotions your, what’s it called? Your uhm…”

“My mutation?” She grinned at my sheepish nod. “No, but would you like to see it?”

I nodded again. God, I felt like a little kid, barely knowing what to say or using my words.

Ororo’s grin managed to grow even bigger. “Watch this.”

Her feet left the ground and she crossed her legs under her. A ball of lightning formed in her hands and grew as she expanded them. Her smile grew into a frown as she concentrated on making it bigger, eventually making it the size of her head. She clapped her hands together just as her feet came back to the ground, sparks flying like fireworks.

I clapped in excitement as Ororo took an overdramatic bow. I giggled once again as she walked over to me, her eyes asking for permission to sit. I nodded.

“So what exactly is your mutation?” My smile faded and Ororo’s face grew worried. “Oh no, I’m not trying to pressure you! You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I was just--”

I smiled slightly. “It’s alright, I just have no real idea how to explain it.” a sigh left my lips as I fell back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Feeling Ororo do the same next to me, I turned towards her.

“It’s only happened a few times since the incident at school. I still don’t know how my teacher ended up against the wall on the other side of the bathroom, but I swear I don’t remember touching her.”

She thought for a moment. “Telekinesis maybe? I know someone who can do that.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Wanna try it?”

*********

I had been staring at the pencil in front of me for about five minutes before I turned to Ororo in exasperation. “I feel stupid.”

“Yeah, you don’t look much better.” Ororo deadpanned.

I shot her an annoyed look and she raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Just sayin’.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Welp, telekinesis is off the table--”

“Same thing goes for mind-reading, elemental manipulation, teleportation--”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” I snapped.

Ororo looked mildly annoyed at my reaction before her gaze softened. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, you just need time.”

“That’s easy for someone who both knows how to use and enjoys having their powers.”

She snorted. “I’m not exaggerating when I say it took me years to become comfortable with my abilities. I was terrified of who I was-- what I was-- for so long. But here, while it has its flaws, I felt at home. Accepted. Being around people like you can do so much more than you think.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I guess you’re right.”

Ororo looked at me for a moment before shooting up from where she sat. “I have an idea!” Her eyes were wide and I could see the gears in her head turning.

“Something tells me I should be worried…”

“No no, it’ll be fine, but I just remembered--” somehow, her eyes managed to grow wider than before. Something about her eagerness to try whatever she had in mind was slightly unsettling. “Whenever new students are having trouble using their powers for the first time, the Professor will make them feel whatever they were feeling the very first time their mutation emerged.”

“Wait a minute.” I squinted, trying to figure out exactly what she was getting at. “So you--”

“Think we should try and replicate the emotions you were feeling the day your mutation first arose? Yes. Yes, we should.”

“But… you don’t have any sort of mind control. How are we gonna do that?”

“I’ve already got that figured out!”

Ororo took one look at my anxious face and rolled her eyes playfully. “You’ll be fine. There’s just someone I need you to meet.”

[s0seo]

The Heir Chapter 1

Pairing: OT7 x Reader                  WC: 3755

Rating: M                                        

Genre: Vampire au with lots of angst and eventual fluff and smut

Summary: After you and your friend are attacked during a night out, you discover a world much bigger and more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

WARNINGS: 18+, Lots of blood, swearing, assault, death of Minor character

A/n:  I really want to thank @noonaduck​ @autumns-sweaters​ @solitudiante​ for beta reading this and helping me get this where it needed to be. I hope you all enjoy!

© s0seo please do not copy or edit as protested under this license :)

You see the seconds on the clock counting down, your heart pounding in your chest. 

5, 4, 3, your favorite team is only two points down and is trying to beat the buzzer. 

The player throws the ball past half court and into the hands of his teammate who turns to throw from the three-point line. As he shoots the ball you feel time slow down and you hold your breath.

2, 1 you see the ball flying, barely hitting the rim of the basket before falling through the net just as the buzzer sounds. The stadium erupts in cheers and you smile. You knew bringing him to this game was a good idea. Looking to your friend standing next to you, you can tell by his gummy smile that he feels the same. Still facing him, you glance again at the scoreboard.

 “What did I say Yoongs? Never bet against Daegu.” He rolls his eyes and retorts, “I wasn’t doubting. I just said they were cutting it close.”  

You stay in your seats for a few minutes while you wait for the stadium to clear out a bit. Deciding now would be the perfect time to order your Uber, you put in your order and see a few different messages from your other friends. Leaning back in your seat, you gesture to Yoongi to wait a moment while you respond to each one.

The first one you see is from Namjoon.

Namjoon: How’s the game going? Are you guys having fun?

Y/N: Sorry, I didn’t hear my phone go off. Yeah, the game was great! It was super loud though, but I think Yoongi enjoyed it too.

Next you see a few messages from Jin.

Jin: Hey text me when the game is over and we can probably meet up for drinks

Jin: Scratch that I went ahead and picked up a shift for tomorrow morning and you know I need my beauty sleep. Maybe next time!

Y/N: No worries! Just let me know when you’re free and we can hang out.

You see that you have a message from Jungkook as well

Jungkook: Hey me and the others were thinking about heading to my dad’s club next weekend, you in?

Y/N: I’m alright. Honestly, I’m not a big fan of clubs.

Y/N: Thanks for the invite though. Maybe we can do something else.

You’re beginning to wonder why they don't just message you through the group chat when you see a new notification. 

Hobi: I need your help applying for some of these scholarships for next semester. I have to write a few letters and you know how bad my writing is.

Hobi: Please???

Y/N: Don’t worry about it. You free next week? How many letters do you need?

Finally, you see one last unanswered message.

Jimin: Tae and I were thinking about going to the beach tomorrow, wanna join us? Ask Yoongi too!

You look over at Yoongi and catch him browsing his phone as well, already knowing what his answer is going to be.

Y/N: Definitely! I don’t think Yoongs will come though. You know he doesn’t really like being outside.

Y/N: I think he’s supposed to visit his parents next week so let’s try to go then instead?

Y/N: Would you be willing to wait for me?

 Rising out of your seat, you place your phone in your pocket and say to Yoongi as you stretch,

“I think the crowd has died down enough.”

He nods to you in response as he lets out a small yawn, and you can tell he’s getting tired. 

“C’mon let's head out,” you say as you start your climb up the stairs towards the exit.  You look back and continue with the suggestion, “let’s grab a few drinks to celebrate and head home. After all, it’s not every day my best friend turns 25.”

You are only met with a grunt which you consider translates to “that’s a great idea,” and finish your climb in silence,

As you reach the top of the stairs, you see that even the thinned crowd is still a giant mass of people. 

‘So much for an easy exit,’ you think to yourself as you turn to Yoongi and see from his face that he’s thinking the exact same thing.

You realize that when you had the idea to take him to his first professional basketball game to celebrate his birthday, you didn’t take into consideration how crowded it was going to be when the game was over. Taking his hand, you lean close to him.

 “Stay close. I’m gonna try and make a path for us.”

You then pull him along and start forcing your way through the crowd. When both of you finally make it out of the building, you lean against the wall, close your eyes, and breathe, thankful for the fresh air filling your lungs. From the sound to your left you can tell that Yoongi is doing the same.

You both really hate crowds, and you realize that this was probably the largest amount of people you two have been around in years. You pull out your phone to see how far away your Uber is, thankful that the app only says five minutes. ‘Good,’ you think to yourself, ‘I knew it was a good idea to wait until the stadium cleared a bit. This traffic is terrible.’ You look over to Yoongi and ask, “so, how do you feel? Did you have fun tonight?” 

You knew when you bought the tickets that he wasn’t a fan of large crowds or loud noises, neither of you were, but you hope that he at least had fun seeing his favorite team in real life tonight. He looks away for a moment, forming his response. 

“I really liked it. I’ve always wanted to come to one of these. Growing up you know my family never really had money, and basketball was sort of my way of escaping my reality. Even though I wasn’t the tallest or the fastest, playing gave me a sense of control that I wished I had over other parts of my life, so thank you.” 

You understand, remembering how much his family was struggling financially when you became friends.  How he struggled with his parents and his dreams of playing basketball and becoming a music producer. You lean into him and say, “I’m happy that I could make your birthday a good one.”

You look away, garnering your courage to admit what you have been wanting to say all night.  “Honestly, I was a little worried about the noise and the crowd, but I’m glad we could do something together. It’s been a while since we spent some time together without all the others, you know.”

He smiles to himself, knowing just how you feel. He thinks for a moment about just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life, someone who he doesn’t have to explain himself to  and understands his way of thinking even better than he does sometimes. He quietly whispers under his breath too low for you to hear, “this is the best birthday I could’ve hoped for,” and looks away to the cars still exiting the parking lot. You both stand there in silence for a while, leaning on each other, lost in your own thoughts while waiting for the Uber to arrive.

You reflect on how far your relationship has come. Growing up together you both continuously saw each other grow into the people you were today. You remember how excited he was when he made the basketball team and the pride he developed for his position as shooting guard. He remembered how proud you were when you became the top student in your class and how your classmates referred to the both of you as “the dream team” dominating sports and academics.

He was good at every sport he set his mind to, basketball, soccer, and tennis. You worked hard to be at the top of your class while also being captain of your school’s debate team, math team and foreign language program.

You let out a sigh as you think about your other friends. You knew they wanted to join you tonight, but you could only manage to grab two tickets before the others sold out. You were lucky you even got these. You glance over at your friend, and you’re pretty sure his level of disappointment at it only being the two of you isn’t that high.

You and Yoongi first met them your junior year of high school after one of the other school districts was forced to shut down its campus due to a lack of funding, and yours was forced to merge with it.

Along with over 150 other students who would now compete with you and your best friend, came six others who would later become the people who knew you better than your own family. Jimin, Namjoon, Jin, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok were all strangers you both found yourselves competing against constantly.

Yoongi often found himself competing with Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin for captain positions, and you found yourself having to fight tooth and nail to beat Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook as well for the top spots in your clubs. The only two you didn’t have a problem with were Taehyung and Hoseok. That was until Yoongi decided to try out for the dance team and you developed an interest in photography. 

Stuck together for hours and hours, you soon realized that although you were all different people you all actually had a lot in common besides your clubs.

You were all passionate about your dreams of success and you all agreed to help each other succeed any way you could. You came to a compromise that allowed everyone to succeed while always pushing each other to do their best.

His friendship with the others wasn’t as close as yours was. Even though you were all like a family to each other, you couldn’t help but feel like each of them grew closer to you than they had each other.

You shrug to yourself, not really feeling up to analyzing your friendships tonight, but looking over at Yoongi, you know he’s already thinking of how to tell the others how much he enjoyed tonight without making it seem like he had fun without them, and you wish that he felt like he could be more honest with how he feels sometimes.

 Your phone vibrates in your pocket pulling you out of your thoughts, and you see that your ride has finally arrived. “Come on,” you say to Yoongi, grabbing his attention with a nudge of your shoulder. 

“Let’s get something to drink then call it a night.”  

Deciding to head to your regular bar, you and Yoongi order your drinks and take a seat in your regular booth towards the back.

After drinking your way through a4 bottles of soju, you think it is about time for the both of you to head out.  You order another Uber and head to the bathroom, telling Yoongi to just wait for you outside.

Making your way out of the bar your head begins to spin and you chide yourself for not grabbing food before coming. You stumble outside and look around, not spotting Yoongi anywhere.

You could’ve sworn you saw him come out here before you went to the bathroom. You pull out your phone and text him.

Y/N: where are you

Seeing no response, you check the arrival time of your Uber and see it’s still a few minutes away.

You pull up Yoongi’s number and call him. The first call goes straight to voicemail and you curse as you dial his number again. This time even though you don’t get an answer you hear his phone ringing nearby. Searching for the source of the sound, you turn the corner and see his lit-up phone ringing on the ground in the alleyway.

It’s hard to see given that the only light is coming from a dimly lit bulb above the door on the side of the building, but it’s only a few feet away.

You look around and call out for him, already feeling yourself beginning to sober up as your heart begins to pound in your chest.

“Yoongi? Are you out here? Are you okay?”  You take a deep breath and begin walking into the alley, becoming very aware of how quiet it has gotten.

Seeing nothing but a dumpster, some empty bottles, and some trash bags you reach down for his phone and pick it up. The screen is cracked, but you can see that it still works.

You glance around once more and realize how sketchy this feels.

Deciding to turn back you think to yourself ‘he probably just dropped his phone out here before going back inside or something.’

Your thoughts are interrupted however when you hear a bang against the dumpster. You turn around, and you hear it again though this time it’s quieter. You turn on your phone’s flashlight and quietly walk towards the dumpster, ready to run away if you need to.  As you get closer you hear what sounds like a person moaning.

You dim your flashlight, turn the corner of the dumpster, and you freeze. What you see makes you want to scream.

Yoongi is lying on the ground against the wall covered in blood. He is being pinned down by a man dressed in black. Yoongi’s eyes slowly blink at you.

‘You have to help him! You have to help him’ your thoughts scream at you. You have to be smart though, you realize. Judging by his form, you can already tell that he is much bigger than you.

You look around for something, anything that you could use to save your friend. The man hasn’t seemed to notice you yet, but you know Yoongi can’t last much longer, not with the amount of blood he’s lost.

Deciding that your best option is to hit the man off of Yoongi, you quietly reach down for the biggest bottle you can find, and sneak up behind him before bringing it down on his head as hard as you can.

You see him lean forward, startled and injured by the unexpected attack, and you hit him again, this time reaching forward and pulling him off of your friend.

He seems to be knocked out.

You crouch down in front of Yoongi and look around for help. Out of the corner of your eye you see a person walking near the road at the end of the alley. 

“Hey! Call an ambulance! Call the police, hurry!” you yell out to them and see them quickly run back towards the entrance of the bar. 

You breathe a sigh of relief before looking back at your friend to inspect his wounds. You can already tell that he has two large gashes: one on his right side and one on his shoulder near his neck, and so much blood.

You can see his short breaths fogging up the cold night.

Reaching for his face, you whisper to him, already feeling your tears beginning to fall.

“Yoongs, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Receiving no response, you say again, “Yoongs? Yoongi, can you hear me?”

You look at his wounds again and place your hands on them, hoping to stop any further bleeding until the ambulance arrives.

Suddenly you feel your entire body jerked backwards. You hear a crack as your body forcefully slams into the brick wall of the building. Feeling your breath leave your lungs, you gasp for air. Tasting copper on your tongue, you realize that your nose has started to bleed and reach up to touch the back of your head with your fingertips, only to realize that you’re bleeding from there as well.

You look up and see the blurry shape of the man glaring down at you.

His face looks angry and he is bleeding along the side right where you hit him earlier. “YOU!” he seethes in recognition as he brings his face near yours, already looking forward to repaying you for the wound on his head and growls at you. “They said to bring you in in one piece, but I don’t think a few scrapes would hurt.”

None of what he’s saying is making any sense to you right now.

‘Who is this man,’ you wonder.  ‘Why does he seem to know you?’

Desperately glancing behind him at Yoongi you feel more tears fall.  You realize that he’s losing too much blood. He probably won’t make it out of this; neither of you will.

You look at the man as he brings his hand to your throat, and you reach your arms out searching for anything that could help you. You feel your fingers graze the broken neck of a bottle as your vision starts to fade, and you know what you have to do.

Placing your free hand on his arm, you choke out “why are you doing this?”

Your nails are digging deep enough to draw blood now. “Because,” he says lifting you up by the throat as he brings his face close to yours once again, “you ruined everything. More importantly, you pissed me off.”

He looks you in the eyes and you see him pause before licking his bottom lip and bringing his face towards the left side of your head. You can faintly hear sirens in the distance.

Realizing that now is your chance, you bring your right hand upwards sharply and stab him in the neck with the bottle. You twist it in deeper, feeling his blood cover your hand and spray across your face. You hear him let out a scream as he staggers away from you and pulls the bottle out of his neck. 

You see blood pouring out of his wound as he rushes forward and slams you against the wall for a second time.

You feel a sharp pain in your right side before you see him stagger away towards the end of the alley. You slide down the wall, your breathing shallow, and your hand trembles as it makes its way to your side.

Bringing your fingers up to your face, you can see that they are covered in blood. 

You see that his blood has soaked into your shirt, and you weakly drag yourself over to Yoongi’s now barely conscious body, your tears falling slowly.

You notice the bleeding from the wound on his side has slowed down immensely, and you understand that it’s because he’s running out of blood to lose. 

You whisper out to him, your vocal cords crying out in pain from the man’s grip,

“Yoongi? Please look at me... Yoongi!” You reach out and check his pulse, choking out a sob as you realize it’s too weak to feel. 

You move one trembling hand and press it against your still bleeding side while your other hand makes its way to the wound on his neck.

After what feels like hours you finally see the flashing lights of the ambulance. You move your hand from your side to cup Yoongi’s face and see his eyes fall to your face as he looks into your eyes and blinks slowly.

” Yoongi”, you whisper as you feel yourself begin to black out, “please be okay,” you barely manage your last word before your eyes shut and you fall forward against him.

 A few blocks away...

 The man staggers through the empty alleyway, clutching his neck hoping to slow the blood loss. He was lucky that he drained as much of that kid’s blood as he had, otherwise the wound would have killed him.

What was he thinking? He had one job. One job: find the girl and bring her to the abandoned studio. One job, and he couldn’t even do that.

He knew that he shouldn’t have bitten that kid, but he just couldn’t help himself, it had been weeks since he last drank anything.

That bitch ruined everything. If she had just stayed inside a little bit longer, he would have sucked the kid dry and taken her without anyone noticing.

He didn’t understand what was so special about her anyways. The only thing not unmentionably plain about her was her eyes.

They weren’t beautiful or anything, but he couldn’t help but look at them and once he did, he couldn’t convince himself to tear his gaze away.

Shrugging off the thought, he makes his way to the meeting point.

Hearing the faint sound of sirens in the distance, he quickly ducks inside the dark building and hopes that his client is feeling benevolent.

He moves his hand from his neck and sees that his wound has already started to heal. Releasing a heavy sigh, he checks the wound on his head and finds it fully healed. The only evidence left is the dried blood it produced.

He walks down the quiet hallway and opens the first door to his right just as instructed. However, when he enters the room there is nobody there.

Looking at his phone he checks the time remembering that he was supposed to arrive by 1:30 am. He sees that it reads 2:00 am. 

‘Shit,’ he thinks to himself. ‘They probably already left.’

Walking further into the room, he begins planning his next move when suddenly he hears the door slam closed and feels a presence behind him followed by a hand wrapping around his throat.

“So,” the figure says from behind him, their voice sounding like a whisper brought by a phantom wind.

“Not only did you fail to deliver the girl, but you also managed to leave an entire shitstorm in your wake as well. There was a reason the word ‘quietly’ was included in your instructions.”

The man gasps for air and tries to respond but only manages to let out a grunt.

The figure releases its grip on the man, and the man sinks to his knees, gasping for air while clutching his neck.

“I’m sorry” he rasps,” Just tell the brotherhood I’ll get her for sure next time.”

The figure lets out a huff before walking around the man.

He stops just in front of the man’s bent knees and lifts him by the throat once more, this time squeezing tighter.

“There won’t be a next time,” the figure whispers before breaking the man’s neck and walking away.

[dannycathers]

My mother is doing what now!?

Danny was pissed. Now, this wasn’t a particularly new feeling for the Gryffindor who had spent a good portion of his life being perpetually angry about things he typically had no control over. Mina, his dad, annoying classmates, the tag in the back of his t-shirts that Grammy always had to remove completely by taking out the stitching, thunderstorms during Quidditch, Darcy up his ass about schoolwork or why he’d gotten detention again, when he outgrew his socks and they started to ride down in his shoes, the list went on and on. However, none of the upsets Danny had experienced in his life had properly prepared him for the anger he felt coursing through his body when that asshole Tofer pulled Ophelia into a hug when they had gotten back from comforting David. It had shocked the blond to see his mate touching his other mate but it had only gotten worse when Tofer had pushed hair back from her face, taken her hand, and led Ophelia to sit over in a corner with some of his mates. Danny had stood there in shock, mouth partially open as Ophelia had glanced back at him over her shoulder, her face red and blotchy from crying. What had made her so upset Danny wasn’t sure. She had showed up at Hufflepuff with puffy eyes that were all too familiar but when questions she had simply brushed it off. It was nothing, but the boys had been concerned. She hadn’t even told David what was going on and when the pair had left him fast asleep with caramel on one cheek and an apple slice in his hand, she still hadn’t talked to Danny. The walk back to Gryffindor had been awkwardly silent and things had only gotten worse when they’d entered the common room.

Word traveled fast, as it always did among gossiping teenagers. Tofer had asked Ophelia out and she had agreed. There was a lot of whispering behind hands, side glances at Danny before people went back to their conversations. The boy could have tuned in to pick up more of what they were talking about, but there were so many different voices that it would be difficult for him to decipher properly With his luck, he would have gotten one person talking to someone and then answers from someone in a completely different part of the room. No, crowds didn’t work unless he was listening for something specific, like a voice he recognized. Ophelia’s girl friends had beckoned to him but he’d ignored them, his eyes locked on pink ribbons that were dangerously close to coming loose from brunette curls. Soon though, Danny hadn’t been able to deal with it any longer and retreated up to the dorm and the quiet. The pair of other boys in there didn’t say a word, as if sensing the foreboding energy rippling off the blond. They knew better than to irritate Danny when he was already in a mood. It wouldn’t do well for either of them to get in a fight.

The Gryffindor tried. He really did. At first he attempted to act unconcerned about the fact that suddenly, Tofer was there joining them for breakfast, but it took a great deal of effort not to punch the guy in the face. He had told him it wasn’t a good idea! That Ophelia wasn’t ready for such things. She hadn’t even known they had been on a date until he and Kara had pointed it out for her, wasn’t that enough of an indication that Ophelia was still too… too… Ophelia? Besides, while Danny had always liked Tofer well enough, there was also the issue of the fact that he knew Ophelia didn’t like him. She had told Danny so in the privacy of the girls’ bathroom when she’d been fixing him up. She had someone she did fancy, but it wasn’t Tofer. So why the hell had she agreed to date him if she didn’t have feelings for him? At the end of the day Danny decided it was either because Ophelia was absolutely convinced this other person would never want her or because she had genuinely felt bad for Tofer and decided to make it up to him. Whatever the reason though, Danny began to cave after about a week of trying to deal with it.

The second week was worse. Tofer appeared to have gotten even more comfortable when it came to being with Ophelia. He would carry her books and hold her hand. They would sit together for meals and in shared classes. Ophelia spent time with Tofer in the evenings, studying or chatting in a corner among their friends. Danny had begun avoiding them. While at one point he had been comfortable just hanging out with the girls and Ophelia, it was much different now with the added boys in the mix. He didn’t enjoy seeing the way Tofer kissed Ophelia’s temple or squeeze her hand or rubbed the tip of his nose against her cheek affectionately. The way he lit up when she walked into the room, bouncing a bit like an excited puppy, giving her tight hugs that had, at one time, been reserved for him and David. And Danny, especially, did not like the way Tofer touched Ophelia’s ribbons and hair. After watching the boy give the brunette a gentle tug on one of her pigtails one evening, Danny finally lost his cool.

“Don’t fucking pull her hair!” The blond spoke up, his voice loud at it rose over the din of the common room, face full of anger. He was sitting with David, going over some homework on one of the couches by the fireplace, but he kept looking up to peek over at the corner with Ophelia was usually hanging out with Tofer and their mates lately. Tofer jumped slightly, startled as he looked up and then, with surprise, realized that he was the one Danny was staring at. “She doesn’t like it!”

And it’s my job. Danny thought silently to himself. He had vague memories of being very small, maybe two or three and spotting those bobbling pigtails tied with even longer pink ribbons on top of Ophelia’s head. Even back then she had been shorter than him and David despite being two months older. He hadn’t been able to help himself from reaching out, chubby hands snatching at her hair and toppling them both over backwards while she wailed. The reaction had pleased him and soon the shouts of ‘Dabby pull me ‘airs!’ became a regular occurrence and Danny learned what ‘time out’ was. While growing up Danny had continued to tug at Ophelia’s pigtails to blatantly annoy her because he knew it would get a rise out of her. As they got older though, within the past couple of years, it had become less vicious and more of a way to get her attention instead. Danny wasn’t sure why it was he liked Ophelia’s hair so much, but perhaps it was the way it curled across her forehead or how soft it felt between his fingers, or the deep shade of brown that turned golden when the light hit it just right or perhaps the way it contrasted so nicely with her blue eyes, making them seem to pop out all the more from her face… Whatever the reason though, Danny hated Tofer touching it. What right did he have to do such a thing?

[astrologista]

Kristoph Gavin Character Analysis I

Part 1 of... fucking infinity, I hate this bitch so much lmao.

Well, it's Halloween time and I just thought, why not. So let's answer this question.

What makes Kristoph Gavin a scary character/villain? A soft spoken gentleman with a deadly secret... the Devil, who lives in his hand, that crazy evil scar thing, his creepy music theme... damn, he’s a scary dude. But scariest of all? His psychology, as we all know. (This is mostly gonna be headcanons. but ya know what, I have a license (hands you a piece of paper that says ‘i can do what i want’))

Kristoph seems like a person who is very aloof, particularly when it comes to personal relationships. At first he kind of just seems like the typical anime glasses guy whose main emotion is like whooa he does the glare thing with his glasses sometimes. But... what is he really about?

You know, let me digress for a moment, what's really interesting to me about the AA characters is how much depth they have in their writing. Case in point, Adrian Andrews. There's a character who you assume is just going to be the typical "anime glasses girl" who is a career woman who don't need no man, and is very aloof, cool, and as she says, not concerned with irrelevant topics or things. Later you learn about the true depths to her personality. The fact that she is codependent, that she needs other people telling her what to do in order to survive. Just because she masks these emotions doesn't mean they don't exist. I felt that really gave a lot of depth to her character and added another dimension that stories in this genre don't often address as boldly or fully (especially when it comes to a female character). So the quality of the writing is always really top notch with only a few exceptions. Take this as context...

Now getting back to Kristoph Gavin. Typical anime glasses dude, right? But no, though. One of the reasons why he's so interesting to me is how his emotional understanding of personal relationships really works. Or seems to, anyway. Based on the endgame testimony and his crimes, Kristoph Gavin is extremely dangerous because, should you get involved with him in any way, he will never, ever let go of you, ever. Once you are entangled with him he wants you to stay entangled, not unlike an overbearing parent who refuses to let you go. It's partly that he thinks he knows what's best for you (that is, to stay completely loyal to him). And also partly... because he is pretty dependent on what other people think of him. So he needs to keep them around him closely.

Kristoph's biggest fear was his lying being exposed for what it was. That Phoenix was really the honest, straightforward attorney, and not him. Kristoph would do anything to perpetuate his own false reality. He kept it going for seven years. His absolute worst fear of all was losing his reputation. Being seen for what he truly was in front of others. He could never accept that. That fear drove all of his murders. Fundamentally, he sees himself as benevolent... when nothing could be further from the truth of how he was hurting everyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Kristoph has a need to perpetuate this false identity of himself above all else. A very adjacent second goal to that is to keep all of his personal associates very close and under his control in order to keep the first goal intact.

Reject him and he will stalk you until you are dead. By his hand, or otherwise. Slight him, and he will get you at the first opportunity, case in point, Zak Gramarye. (He only had to get a quick glance at the guy and his fate was sealed. Turnabout Trump is a chilling case.) Replace him, and he will tear your life and livelihood up into little itty bitty pieces. He will then continue to stalk you aggressively for seven years while pretending he is your best friend. Case in point, Phoenix Wright.

Create false evidence for him and you become a loose end. So does your daughter. Like I said, just don't get involved with him. If he feels threatened, Kristoph Gavin will not hesitate to end you. It's definitely an obsession. I mean the first word that comes to people's minds when it comes to Kristoph usually isn't "obsessed", because he gives off the aura of being calm and uninterested. But he is, he's obsessed. You have to be obsessed to do what he did. This shit consumed his every waking hour, and that's what he won't admit. That he was so sick, he completely lost the plot. Phoenix was already living in his head rent free the day he ordered the forgery. And even though Phoenix wasn't physically present at the Misham trial and was only watching everything by video camera, you can bet Kristoph was seeing Phoenix. Hallucinating him, images of him. Probably multiple images of him. That's how obsessive. Imagine letting something or someone control you to that extent. Imagine thinking that you're so important, that Phoenix taking Zak Gramarye's case at all was meant to be a slight against you personally. (It's funny because Phoenix mentions not even knowing Kristoph at all until after the disbarment. So Kristoph's own logic in thinking that Phoenix was just out to shame him absolutely doesn't track. Ob-sessed, dude.)  

It's actually pretty astonishing that someone like Apollo made it out alive. On a side note, I really think Kristoph enjoyed having someone to mentor. He sought someone like Apollo out. Someone naive and new to the field for him to indoctrinate. And maybe I have a post about that later, cuz that's a whole 'nother barrel of monkeys right there. (It kind of involves Apollo’s naivete (also, daddy issues, hello.) being a huge reason why he would gravitate towards having a mentor known for having a “caring” personality. And I think Apollo genuinely liked that about him, which makes the end result so much more awful for Apollo to deal with because to him, that was real.)

But now think of Klavier, right. Being forced to grow up with that. To live with that your entire life. To have a familial relationship that is that smothering, that suffocating, that strangling. That controlling, to criticize every single thing that you do or say right down to the way you say it. And remember... He's never letting you go. I would go on a world tour as a rock star, too. Anything to be anywhere he isn't. This is horror movie tier stuff. (now im imagining a horror movie trailer for aa4 focusing on gavins stuff... eep!)

And Kristoph Gavin markets himself as someone who simply doesn't care. He's the coolest defense in the west and he doesn't care for what you may think about it. Except... he does care. It totally consumes him. Your perception, your opinion, is everything to him. He has shitty self esteem, deep down, because he knows Phoenix is better than him. And tries to mask it with narcissism as the two duke it out. Appearances are everything, evidence is everything. What people think is true is the only thing that matters, truth doesn't. And it makes sense that his closest contacts and associates are the targets for his constant narcissistic abuse and gaslighting. Their opinions matter even more than the common crowd - of course, Kristoph hates them. Which makes it even worse for him when the jury decides unanimously that Vera is innocent (and by implication, he is therefore guilty). The jury verdict was kind of like the ultimate confirmation that guess what, the evidence doesn't matter. The common and boorish masses have passed judgement, no matter how "mindless, emotional and irrational" they are, even they can see behind his crappy little facade. Even a blind woman like Lamiroir can see that insecurity; even a common person can understand it just by looking at the facts. That's what absolutely wrecks him... that his “poker face” couldn’t hold a candle to Phoenix’s. And he loses the “hand” again (because of his “hand”... get it??).

The identity that he needs to maintain is part of how he sees himself in his mind. As Phoenix's protector, not as his stalker. As Klavier's benevolent big brother, not as his abuser. As Apollo's teacher and mentor, not as someone guiding him into ruin. He lives in a false reality.

Try to bring this up in any way, shape, or form and he will write it off. You're just imagining things...

Because at some level, Mr. Black Psyche Locks himself doesn't even realize. (I feel like that might just be basically canonical fact, based on Pearl’s explanation of how black psyche locks are supposed to work.) That’s pretty freaking terrifying.

At the end of the day this is a big part of the reason I think his character is just so interesting. In a very messed up way, Kristoph is one degree away from being such a good person. He could've been obsessively protective of Klavier - the way a big brother is supposed to be - instead of abusive, could've actually been very caring of Phoenix instead of manipulative. Terrible people can have good traits, just as good people can have awful traits. His attention to detail and understanding of psychology (like getting Vera those gifts she would like so much) could've been used for genuine good. He could've been someone who cares deeply about other people because he does care deeply about other people. But only in terms of their relation to himself, what do they think of him, how are they useful to him.

Maybe this is why I kind of like his character. Intelligent, semi-neurotic protective characters are just my ish. But, no, he has to have a narcissistic bent that skews everything into complete abuse. That’s what makes him awful... that he’s devoid of a moral compass or true compassion for other human beings.

So in closing, fuck off, Kristoph Gavin.

Postscript, he's also such a good foil for Phoenix for this reason. Kristoph does everything for himself. Phoenix does everything for Trucy, because he's a dad and he understands the weight of what it means to really care for someone. Kristoph couldn’t understand motives like that. And Phoenix can't help it if he's an order of magnitude smarter and more mature than Kristoph is. He was just born like that. Classy as fuck. You know what, Kristoph Gavin is like the dollar store version of Phoenix Wright as an attorney. Has many of the same functions but actually doesn't have a leg to stand on and will fail you when you need it. And is revealed to just be a cheap knockoff of the real thing.