#and them immediately go into rage at the very idea that kids dig into movement tech in games that aren't the ones these fucking boomers

[stag-beetle-and-skeleton-bloom]

God what is it with boomer/movement shooter fans on twitter and never shutting the fuck up about titanfall 2

[walkerwords]

“Love Changes Things” Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Request From @yes-sir-hotchner​: Request for my man Daryl, “shit changes when you fall in love”.

Word Count: 1842

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “I Get To Love You” by Ruelle

Note: Quick little thing. SET AFTER THE S10 FINALE. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT. This is a female reader BTW

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

Everyone was tired and nobody wanted to travel until the sun rose again.

Daryl Dixon paced, trying to stay awake as he waited for you to return. When he and Negan had returned from battling Beta, he had been surprised to see Maggie and that thankfully, most of his people were safe. However, your face was the one still missing in the crowd. Negan had noticed too and he was also on edge, waiting for the one person who he considered to be a best friend to return.

Negan was also avoiding Maggie. Daryl could see the rage in her eyes as she stared at him and he knew that he and Carol would need to speak to her about what happened and soon, but now was not the right time. Instead, he was just focusing on keeping them separated.

Although, he wasn’t exactly being subtle about the worry that plagued him. “You’re going to dig a ditch, Daryl,” Rosita said as she held her daughter, watching as her friend paced.

“Shut up,” Daryl muttered, but did stop moving, placing his hands in his pockets. Judith and RJ were watching their uncle with concern as Judith wrapped her baby brother in a blanket to keep him warm.

It shouldn’t have taken this long for you to get to the meeting point. After losing Beatrice and then the troubles with the herd before Lydia and Carol got it under control, Daryl couldn’t help but think of your dead body out there somewhere and how it was only a matter of time before you rose again.

Daryl was about ready to grab his bow and try to track your movements from the Tower when he finally heard footsteps coming through the trees. Gabriel raised his gun as Maggie pulled back her bow, but when you stumbled into the clearing, Gabriel dropped his weapon immediately with a sigh.

Daryl nearly keeled over with relief as you stepped into the light of the campfire. You were covered in Walker blood and had a slight limp, but you were alive. Not even caring about your macabre appearance, you ran towards Daryl.

He caught you in his arms and you buried your face in his neck, breathing him in as his arms tightened around you. “You’re okay,” you whispered as you clung to him.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked as he put you down, examining your face and any skin he could see through the blood.

“I’m okay,” you promised him. “Just a bit banged up. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, (Y/N),” he said, taking a shaky breath.

“Did you…? Is he…?” you attempted to ask.

“We got him,” he said, knowing where your head was at. “Beta’s dead.” The sigh of relief that came from you washed over Daryl and he could see the exhaustion that the war had put on you. It had taken its toll on everyone, but you had lost Jesus, your best friend, Laura too, and it felt great to finally get a win after so much loss.

“Thank God,” you said and then took his face in your hands and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. Daryl kissed you back deeply, not caring about his audience.

From beside you, one of the smaller Grimes chuckled. “Ooh,” Judith sang with a teasing tone. Reaching over, you flicked her hat as you separated from the man in your arms. It was then that you finally noticed Maggie.

Daryl looked between the two of you and then smiled slightly. “I think it’s ‘bout time the two of ya met,” he said and then pulled you towards her.

“Maggie, this is (Y/N), (Y/N), Maggie Rhee,” Daryl introduced. You took the hand she offered and shook it firmly. You had heard a lot about Maggie from Daryl and the others. You had to admit that the woman definitely intimidated you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Maggie,” you said sincerely.

“You too,” she said and then looked at Daryl with a mischievous look in her eye. Daryl rolled his eyes at her innuendo and then he caught of something behind your shoulder.

“(Y/N),” Daryl said with a nudge of his head back over towards the other campfire.

“What?” you asked, turning around. You spotted Negan immediately and he seemed almost hesitant to approach. You obviously knew why, but it was still odd to see Negan so...timid. Looking back to Daryl, he was giving you a small, knowing smile.

“Go on,” he said softly, knowing very well that you wanted to talk to him.

“I love you so much,” you said to Daryl and then kissed him on the cheek. You then nodded to Maggie awkwardly and turned your back on them. Walking over to Negan, you were trying to see if he was hurt, but so far, the man looked alright.

As soon as you were close enough to him, he took the remaining steps towards you and hauled you into his arms, picking you up. You gripped him tight, the man that had strangely become your best friend.

“Damn, you scared me,” Negan whispered as he held you.

“I’m not that easy to kill, Negan,” you told him as he placed you back on the ground. Pulling back, you noticed a bruise blooming on his face. “Did Beta do this?”

“Trust me, he looks worse,” Negan joked and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. You leaned your forehead against his chest as he laughed too and then punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“Only you would antagonize him and get your ass beat,” you said.

“I was the distraction so your boyfriend could go in for the kill,” Negan explained.

“And was it epic?”

“Epic as shit, my friend,” Negan declared as he slung his arm around your shoulders. “We were fucking rock stars.”

“That’s my boys,” you said with a grin and he huffed with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” Negan said and then suddenly the two of you were hit from behind as Lydia barreled into you. Falling to the ground, the teenager hugged the two of you with a laugh. Considering how things had been going for the young woman, you were so happy to hear a laugh come from her as she held on.

Negan grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his arms, messing her hair up as she pushed him away. You knew that Negan saw the teenager as almost a daughter. He would die to protect her and it seemed as if he almost had.

Across the camp, Judith was laughing at the scene. “Lydia is going to break them if she doesn’t stop squeezing,” Judith said as she watched Lydia hug both you and Negan.

“Go on, go stop her then,” Daryl said and then pushed the kid towards the trio on the ground. Judith grinned and ran over, diving into the pile. Lydia jumped to her feet and began running as Judith followed, chasing the older girl around. Smiles adorned both of their faces as you sat next to Negan, laughing as you watched them.

“How did we get lucky enough to watch these kids grow up,” Negan asked you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“I have no idea,” you said honestly. “Considering I didn’t think I’d make it a year let alone ten, all of this is absolutely crazy to me.”

“You didn’t think you would be able to survive this long?” Negan asked, slightly surprised.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I lost too many groups and then I just happened to stumble across Daryl in the woods this year and I guess I finally found my family.”

“That include me?” Negan asked with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, you’re the annoying older brother I never had,” you told him and he pushed you over. You landed in the leaves with a scoff.

“Just doing my older brother duties,” he mocked with a wink.

“Asshole,” you said. Negan just howled with laughter as he fell onto his back next to you.

———

Maggie watched the interaction in utter confusion.

She then turned her gaze to Daryl who was staring at the woman who seemed way too comfortable around the man that had ruined Maggie’s life. She had never seen so much love in her friend’s eyes before and it only made all of it so much more confusing.

Maggie grabbed Daryl’s arm and pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked at her as she tugged him away from the rest of the group, in hopes of speaking to him in private.

“What?” Daryl asked, still glancing at you over Maggie’s shoulder.

“Your girlfriend is friends with Negan.” It wasn’t a question and it made Daryl grimace.

“Stranger things have happened, Maggie,” Daryl defended, focusing solely on her as he listened to you laugh on the other side of the camp.

“It’s Negan,” Maggie reminded him and he sighed.

“I know, but (Y/N) is (Y/N) and I can’t change who she wants to be friends with. She was in a rough relationship before we met and I ain’t about to be like that controllin’ bastard who once beat on her.”

“I don’t understand how she can be near him like that.”

“She wasn’t with us when the war happened, Maggie,” Daryl reasoned.

“Does she know? Does she know what Negan did?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah, she knows. I told her, Michonne told her, hell, even Negan told her when she asked. She’s got her own opinions on it and him. I don’t get it, but I don’t question it. The two of them, they understand each other.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I didn’t ask,” Daryl said. “All I know is that they connected and she loves him like a brother. I ain’t about to break that up, no matter who it is.”

“I don’t know how you are so calm about this,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “You’re with a woman who sees no problem with being nice to our enemy.”

“He ain’t her enemy, Maggie, and besides, shit changes when you fall in love. As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Now is not the time to dwell on things like that. We get to build our future now. I love (Y/N) and I’m ready to fight for a future where she and I are safe, where we all are.”

“Even it involves Negan?” she asked, struck.

“If Negan is the only way that she stays in my life, so be it. I’ll take it, Negan and all.”

Daryl turned to fully look at you as you watched Lydia and Judith play with Dog. When you noticed him looking at you, you grinned and he couldn’t help but mirror the expression. Regardless of what happened next, and whether Negan was involved or not, he would never leave your side. Only death would pull him away from you and he was willing to fight death himself too if it meant you could be happy.

TAGS: @thanossexual  @felicisimor @amaroho

[elefics]

torment / chapter 5

A/N: I’ve barely proofread this, sorry if it’s a little wack (also the ending is a bit rushed, I ran out of motivation lmao). Thank you for the love on this fic!!! I appreciate it sm :’))

word count: 2.8k

The café was practically empty. Streetlights shone in from the sidewalk outside. There was one bald man guy behind the counter, who took orders and cooked all at the same time. When the cook called me sweetheart with a leering grin, Michael’s hand snaked around my waist protectively. I liked the feeling.

A few yawning men stumbled in occasionally for coffee, but other than them, we were alone in our booth by the window. The light inside was warm, casting Michael’s features in gold. I couldn’t take my gaze away for a second.

Michael ordered the French toast. I went with pancakes. We sipped coffee in contented silence for a while, before he finally spoke.

“I know you feel weird around me. Why didn’t you say anything to them?” Michael asked, tilting his head slightly. I thought of Cordelia and the way she crumpled to the ground earlier.  

“To cover for you. Take some heat off.” I replied instinctively.

“Cover what? What do you think is going on?” His eyes darkened.

I shrugged. “I know something’s going on. I know there’s more to you. I just haven’t figured it out yet.” I waited for him to explain; I was tired of guessing.

He hesitated, tearing at the corner of his napkin and biting the corner of his lip.

“I need you to tell me, Michael. If I know what’s happening, I can protect you.” I said, meaning every word of it.

He smiled softly, grateful. “There’s just too much to explain,” He sighed. “I don’t know how to.”

“Michael Langdon, prince of debonair, doesn’t have the right words?” I teased.

He rolled his eyes. I spotted a tiny tremble in his fingers as they interlocked with mine across the table.

“How about we start with questions. How goddamn old are you?” I asked, smiling. I was getting sick of my own voice asking the same question, over and over.

“It’s complicated. I don’t age like...you.” Spotting my confused look, he continued. “I don’t age in human years. I guess I’m something like twenty, but I feel…ancient.” He sighed with the weight of a thousand years on his breath.

Maybe it was the nerves, but I burst out laughing. Michael’s brow furrowed, and I saw his walls going up right in front of me.

“No, no, Michael I’m sorry. Human years?” I asked.

“This is stupid. I can’t.” His jaw clenched as he stared out the window. I watched a nerve in his temple jump as he avoided looking at me.

I said, leaning my head closer to force him to look at me. “Hey, I have all night. I’m here.”

“I think it’ll be easier if I show you. Can I?” He asked, taking my hand in his warm ones.

I nodded slowly, my pulse racing. His skin seared against mine, but I refused to pull away. Michael closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. In seconds, I sunk through the ground into darkness.

Through the murky blackness, I saw a small child, covered in blood.

I heard a deep voice whisper, snake-like, behind his ear: kill, kill, kill. I saw dead animals across the child’s bedroom floor, and how he used their insides like finger-paint. I felt his ears burning, then pure rage. I felt the sticky warmth of the priest’s blood on his hands.

I felt the stares of other kids his age prickling the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched like a tiger in a cage. I felt his bones crack and stretch, aging a decade overnight. I felt the ache in his chest when his grandmother feared him. I felt his fathers abandon him, his birth mother ignore him. I felt the terror, the longing for guidance. I felt the darkness creeping in when he was lost, when he felt he had nowhere else to turn. I felt a void.

Then, I felt the searing heat of the dark room, and heard the circling crows outside, as the hooded people came. I felt sleep in his eyes as he stumbled down the stairs. I felt how their admiration made his heart soar. I felt how he finally, almost, maybe…belonged.

When Michael let go of my hand, I snapped back into reality. My breaths came panicked and hard, and I felt tears sliding down my nose. “What was that?” I asked shakily.

“I’m not normal. Not human. My father – he’s bigger than all of that.” Michael’s expression was blank, assessing my every movement.

“Michael, who is your father?” I asked, staring at the table.

“You won’t like it.” He whispered, staring at his cutlery. He didn’t look up.

“What is he?” I asked again, tears beginning to blur my vision.

“Satan.”

Dread filled my insides. Before I could cry or scream or recoil, I summoned that blue light inside me again, filling myself with calm. I tried to keep a level head, for Michael’s sake. I could see his bottom lip trembling and his eyes darting across my face frantically. He needed me right now.

“Are you afraid?” He asked quietly.

“No.” I replied slowly. It was a lie, but I didn’t want it to be.

“I know you are. This is stupid. I shouldn’t have told you that. I really shouldn’t-” Michael was spiralling.

“Miriam,” I said softly, pieces falling into place in my memory. “She’s who you lived with, after your family left?” I asked.

He paused, then smiled and nodded. “She’s the best.”

Talking about Miriam seemed to put him at ease. I was suddenly very aware that he likely had tenfold the power I had and could snap my spine clean in half, if he felt so inclined. Maybe it was a good idea to keep our conversations light. But I couldn’t help myself – I was standing on the edge of the cliff, and I wanted to jump. I had to know what Michael was and break him down to pieces, make sense of every part.  

“And she’s a…Satanist?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level and respectful.

“They just have a bad reputation. It’s about freedom, and choice. It’s about not setting limits and constraints on yourself. Everything is within your reach.” He murmured, lining my fingertips up with his.

An image problem. That’s what the issue was, according to Michael. I knew a little about religion – enough to know what this boy was and what he was designed to bring about. I swallowed fear with every gulp of oxygen.

“I need you to say it, Michael. I need to hear it.” I whispered, staring at the ground.

“I’m the Antichrist.” He said flatly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. I guess to him, it was. He’d lived with that label, that target, on his back.

I remembered how uneasy Cordelia was around Michael, how she looked at him like he was a freak, an anomaly. If only she knew what I knew. If only she knew I was here now. Deep inside myself, wound tightly between my ribs, I felt like I was committing treason, some crime against humanity. Maybe I was, and just didn’t know it yet. My Supreme – it wasn’t Michael, at least it didn’t feel like it yet – didn’t trust this boy in front of me. But being here, talking and listening, learning about each other, I knew it couldn’t be all true. I’d felt his anguish, viscerally. I’d felt how lost he was. I knew him.

“What does that mean for you?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’m supposed to bring about the end times, but I haven’t gotten my instruction manual in the mail yet.” He said bitterly.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

His eyes met mine and I saw a flicker of panic in them. Nobody had ever asked him that before, I thought. In that moment, I saw a boy who was so deeply lost, he didn’t even know himself. I saw a boy who wanted to be good, desperately. I saw a boy with a future and destiny imposed on him, but one which he was never really sold on.

“I – I don’t know.” He replied softly. My brain buzzed with questions but was swiftly interrupted.

“Order up,” The bald cook smiled, sliding our plates in front of us. “Beautiful couple, by the way. Enjoy.”

“We’re not-” Michael and I spoke at the same time, then smiled.

Michael didn’t hesitate to dig in – all this talk of fate and apocalypse certainly hadn’t ruined his appetite.

“What about you? What shit did your parents put in your head about your future?” He changed the subject thickly through a mouthful of syrup.

“They thought I’d be a doctor or a lawyer when I was younger,” I laughed. I remembered my toy stethoscopes and the shelves of books I’d often escape into growing up. “Guess that went out the window a few years back.”

“You’re not a disappointment.” He said suddenly, eyes serious. My stomach flipped.

“Never said I was.” I smiled teasingly, but my insides warmed at his reassurance. I had a feeling it was something we both needed to hear, as much as each other.

“Where are they now?” Michael asked.

“My Dad left a long time ago. I barely know him. Mom – Mom doesn’t really talk to me anymore.” I faltered.

Michael nodded, his knee brushing mine under the table.

“Can you see into my dreams?” I asked suddenly, remembering I’d never asked. There were so many other, more important things we should have been talking about, but I had no idea where to start. It was like staring into the sun. All I could do was squint.

Michael smirked, “And change them.”

My mouth fell open. “What else?” I asked.

“I can do lots of things,” He smiled like a proud child. “There’s a lot I haven’t figured out yet, but I can feel it growing, inside me. Like a current.”

“Must be quite a feeling.” I said quietly, scraping my fork across my plate. Silence spread across the table like fog. It was a weird thing to say, and I knew it immediately. It made me look jealous and insecure. Maybe I was. But he didn’t need to hear that.

“You’re a force of nature. I like being around you.” He said simply. I didn’t know how to reply other than to smile.

Michael shifted in his seat. “What are you thinking about?”

“Can’t you hear it anyway?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Only when I really want to. It’s like radio static, I have to tune into it to hear clearly.”

“What else do you hear?” I asked softly.

“My father, sometimes. When he talks, it’s like I have no choice but to listen. It fills up my whole skull until I feel like it’ll burst.” He explained.

“Does he talk to you…often?” I asked nervously.

“Not really. There isn’t exactly a bring your son to work day in Hell. We don’t play baseball on Saturdays,” He said wryly, before his expression changed to something more serious. “We’re not that close.” Michael confessed.

I could tell this hurt him. After allowing me into his memories, Michael felt so much more familiar to me. I understood him, at least more than I did yesterday.

“Have you met him? Like in person?” I asked. I thought of my own father and how I’d forgotten if his eyes were brown like mine, or a deep hazel, like Mom’s.

Michael smiled, the way you would at a small child asking you to play with them. “He’s not human, Lyla. He doesn’t have a body. If I did meet him in person, I’d just feel bad for the vessel.”

That sent a prickle of cold anxiety up my spine. Vessel. Hearing him talk about people, flesh and blood human beings, as merely a means to get from point A to point B, was unsettling.

“What are you? Human? Or a vessel, too?” I pressed.

Michael smirked. His hand under the table brushed higher up my knee. I felt goose bumps spring up along the hem of my skirt. “If I was a vessel, could I do that?” His other hand reached for mine, bringing it up to his warm lips to kiss my knuckles softly. “Or this?”

“Yes, you probably could.” I sighed.

“Smart girl. Too smart for me, maybe. Only trouble comes from that.” He murmured. It seemed like a reflection to himself, like field notes on an animal he was studying in the wild.  

I wriggled in my seat, uncomfortably hot under his stare.

“You’re scared. I can hear your blood rushing.” He observed, leaning back against his booth seat. His arms hung loosely – one along the back of the seat and one by his side. God, he was pretty. But the more I looked, the more I noticed: the way his skin sunk back under his eyes, faint greyish circles of fatigue. A tiny freckle on his chin. The sharp curve of his cheekbones. Before long, I was staring back, meeting his gaze without batting an eye. We sat there for a long time in silence, drinking each other in. We weren’t even touching and somehow it was one of the most intimate things I’d ever experienced. I felt like he knew me, inside out and backwards. I felt like I was starting to know him the same way.

“Hey, lovebirds. We close in twenty. Finish your coffee before it gets cold and get out of here.” The bald man called from the kitchen, breaking the spell between us.

Michael blinked a few times, like he was seeing sunlight for the first time in days. I idly wondered what he looked like first thing in the morning, right after he woke up. He smirked like he knew.

Producing a slim black wallet from his pocket, Michael threw a fistful of bills on the table. It was way more than the cost of what we’d ordered, but before I could say anything, let alone try to pay for myself, his hand was around mine as he pulled me into the night.

We walked in silence for four blocks. I counted our steps and tried to keep my heartbeat under control. It was embarrassing that he could hear it sometimes, and that when I tried to read him, all I got was flustered.

“Thank you for paying.” I squeezed his hand after a while.

Michael frowned and shrugged, like he’d forgotten already. He pulled me closer against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. He laughed softly.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, grinning at the pavement.

“What is it?” I whined, hoping it wasn’t me he found so comical. Like he’d finally realised I wasn’t worth it, an ‘aha’ moment, after which he’d shortly disappear into thin air like a daydream.

Michael stopped abruptly, grabbed my hands and tugged me into an alley. In one fluid movement he had me pinned against a brick wall, his body hot against my skin.

“Lyla, Lyla, Lyla.” He whispered my name like he liked how it felt on his tongue. “What am I going to do with you?” He murmured, his face so close to mine I ached to kiss him.

I stared up at him, only one thought stuck in my mind: I could stay like this forever.

“You know what I am. Why aren’t you running for the hills?” He asked tenderly.

“I don’t buy it. I don’t think you’re as bad as you say you are, as everyone thinks you are.” I said defiantly, jutting my chin up at him.

Michael smiled. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought, then.” He hooked his forefinger under my chin, holding my face still with his thumb.

“If you were me, what would you do?” I asked, looking directly into his icy eyes.

“I would go somewhere very, very far away, and never speak to me again.” He whispered.

“Is that what you want me to do?” I asked. His eyes grazed down my neck, then back up to my lips.

“Not at all.” He said. Then he pressed against me, kissing me hard. I thought it was impossible to get any closer, but he proved me wrong every few moments, pushing my back against the cold brick behind me. His lips were soft against mine but his tongue had total control; I was completely dizzy in his arms. His hands trailed to my waist, fingertips tracing and tugging at the stitching of my skirt. My head reclined in pleasure and he took the opportunity to pepper my neck with sloppy kisses and bites. In the shadows of the alley, I wanted all of him, and I knew in my heart he felt the same.

I knew things just got complicated. I knew they were only doomed to get worse. We were different, Michael and I, on molecular levels. I knew this was wrong and that his lips against my neck were some kind of betrayal. But in this moment, I couldn’t care about anything else if I’d tried.

 taglist (i can’t remember who asked to be on here so if you want to be added or removed let me know!): @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael @leatherduncan @langdons-butterfly-deactivated2​ @angelicmichael @drasangel 

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover Episode 1 Part 4

Hello all, this is the last section of Midnight Striga, Episode 1. Feel free to let me know what you think! Everybody clap your hands!!

Luz and Eda looked at each other, neither bothering to fight off the smirk at King’s adorable attempt at being serious. As they followed him through the doors, Eda tugged King back before he could crash into the glowing barrier barring their way. “Up, up, up! We’ve got a human with us, remember?”

King chuckled sheepishly. “Oh yeah, I guess I got too excited.”

Luz arched an eyebrow. “Okay, what does my being human have anything to do with this?” She indicated the “this” in question, gesturing to the barrier. She had to admit, it was a pretty nice looking one, albeit not a very complicated one. She had an idea of what they needed her for, but getting confirmation was always best.

Eda grinned wryly at the girl’s question. “This barrier is how Wrath keeps the contraband under lock. It blocks out all magic, so no Witch or Demon can cross through. Because humans aren’t supposed to have magic,” Eda continued, ignoring the annoyed glare Luz sent her way, “I assumed you’d be able to cross it. But since you do have magic… got any ideas on how to get through?”

Luz snorted, shaking her head. Of course, what had she been expecting? “Yeah, don’t worry. This isn’t my first time having to dispel a barrier, and this one doesn’t seem like that tough a nut to crack.” Turning a discerning eye back towards the barrier, she reached forward, marveling as her hand passed through, mostly at any rate. The barrier seemed to cling to her, as if it recognized that she had magic, something it was supposed to keep out, but was confused by something.

Eda gazed impassively, her thoughts racing at the implications of Luz’s words. As far as Eda knew, unless it was broken by something it couldn’t block, dispelling a barrier wasn’t a thing, yet Luz apparently had done so before. When she saw the barrier stick to the girl’s hand, she felt a slight jolt of worry; the human had magic, who knew how the barrier would react to her? Her worry vanished as a cocky grin bloomed across Luz’s face. Her arm lit up along the area the barrier was clinging to, sigils, runes, and symbols flashing across it, before spreading out across the barrier. To Eda, it looked a lot more methodical than most forms of magic she had seen, but she couldn’t deny, it seemed to be working. As the symbols crawled across the barrier, it broke further and further apart; soon, in seconds really, the barrier was gone, a wide open passage in its place.

Luz felt the impressed stare of Eda burning against her, but brushed it off. While showing off like that was certainly fun, the quicker they got this done, the sooner she could trash this place. As Luz strolled into the room, she noted how it was almost overflowing with scraps, odds and ends, and numerous random bits and pieces; it looked like a hoarder’s paradise. As she grew closer to the center, she noticed a raised pedestal. When she got closer, she stopped and blinked, hoping her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. They were not. Grabbing the prize, and somehow keeping her temper in check, she wandered back to Eda and King, the two of them having made themselves at home amid the junk. As she approached King, she plopped his crown atop his head: a cheap piece of cardboard, the kind used to package boxes shipped within cities, arranged into a crude ring and cut into the shape of a crown with fake jewels drawn on it.

As King felt the crown fall atop his head, he paused, elation rushing through him. “YES!! I CAN FEEL MY DARK POWERS RETURNING!!!!” He roared with glee, turning to the toys scattered around him, before focusing on a stuffed bunny. “You, nightmare creature! I will call you Francois, and you will lead my armies!”

Luz turned a twitching eye back to Eda. “That crown doesn’t give him any powers at all, does it?” She knew it didn’t, but she really needed to know WHY.

Eda barked a cynical laugh. “HA! No, not even close.” Her cocky grin fell as she slumped, now seeming oh so very tired of it all. “Ah look at us kid. I’m a cranky old witch who lives in the woods, and sells junk to whoever’s gullible enough to buy it. He’s a mini-demon with delusions of grandeur. Me and him? All we’ve got in this world is each other, so if that toy is important to him, then it’s important to me. We weirdos have to stick together.”

As frustrated as she was about it all, that sentence rang with Luz. All her life she had been the outcast, and so were they. Who was she to judge how they decided to live? “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Of course I’m right, kid!” Eda crowed. “Now let’s get out of here before the Warden catches us.”

“Too late.”

An oddly flesh-like scythe cleaved through Eda’s neck, sending her head rolling across the ground. Luz screamed, not in fright, but in sorrow, sorrow at the loss of the woman who she had already formed a bond with, however fresh it may have been, and rage, the blistering rage at the man, the monster, responsible for them being here.

“It seems the Owl Lady isn’t as impressive as I was led to believe.” Wrath rumbled, reaching down to scoop up Eda’s head. Before he could touch her, however, Luz blocked his path, her face a rictus of hate. “Oh, a human? So that’s how she crossed the barrier. I had assumed she would’ve tried going around, rather than through. Still, how does a fragile thing like yourself hope to challenge the likes of me?” He rumbled, no he chuckled. This bastard was LAUGHING!! HE HAD MURDERED EDA AND WAS LAUGHING!!!!

“You…” Luz’s voice dropped, cold-blooded murder coursing through it. “I’m going to make you pay for that.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Wrath paused. Then, his shoulders started to shake. The guards behind him started to snicker. Then, they all burst into raucous laughter. Luz had been aware that those on the Isles didn’t really seem to have the highest opinion of humans, but this open display of laughter, as if the idea of a human hurting, or threatening, them in any way was only a laughable joke? That made the rage burn all the hotter.

Luz brought her hands together in the familiar pose of her favored magic, and as the light started building in her palm, the laughter started dying. She bit out a spell, anger scorching through every word. “Light-Make: Blazing Durendal!!!”

With a scream of rage, pain, and years of accumulated frustration, Luz unleashed the strongest Light-Make spell she was currently capable of without incapacitating herself. A shining sword, so large the just forming it caused the ceiling and the floor to tear up to accommodate its bulk, launched forward, catching Wrath on the chest. It was a testament to how strong he was that he didn’t die immediately, as that sword was very much sharp, and the sheer force of its movement made it hit like a landslide.  The guards screamed, scattering in panic as their leader was sent crashing through the walls. With a roar, Luz ran after the Warden, intent on making him hurt more, oblivious to what was going on not ten feet behind her.

After Luz jumped through the hole her spell had made through the walls, King tentatively approached Eda’s head. As he crept closer, he slowly pulled himself level with her face… and slapped her across the mouth, eliciting a pained yell from the decapitated head.

“OW!! King, what was that for?!?” Eda yelled, oblivious to her current lack of a body.

King, deadpanning, pointed to his left, where, following his arm, Eda’s gaze landed on the sight of her headless body flopping against the ground, trying and failing to move without her head.

Eda blinked. “Oh. Okay, so how badly did the kid take it?” Eda really hoped Luz wasn’t too choked up over this. Having her head cut off, after she got past the initial panic and horror the first few times, always amounted to her getting knocked out and her body flopping around until she rolled close enough to reattach after waking up.

Once again, instead of answering, King gestured, this time to the gaping whole in the wall. Eda blinked again. “Wow. Not sure how she did that, but help me get up so we can stop her from doing something stupid, okay?” King grumbled, but grudgingly agreed, carrying Eda’s head over to her body.

Back with Luz, she had finally reached the spot where Wrath had landed. Aside from his uniform being trashed to Kingdom Come, and some bruising all across his torso, he seemed none the worse for wear. He chuckled, “A good trick, human, and this will certainly leave a mark for some time, but I doubt you have anything left to give after that feat. I may not know how you imitated magic in such a way, but I doubt you can do so again.”

Now, Luz was well aware that battle banter was something you were supposed to leave in books, high-profile fighters notwithstanding, but she couldn’t keep the snark in check. “There is nothing imitation about my magic. Seriously, maybe do a little fact checking before going off outdated assumptions, asshole!” Normally Luz isn’t so coarse, but right now, she had every reason to be pissed off enough to curse.

“Hmph, then prove it, welp.” Wrath goaded.

“Light-Make: Lion Jaws!” Luz screamed. A blindingly bright Lion Head materialized before her, surging forward and clamping around Wrath’s torso. With a pained grunt, Wrath was once again sent flying back, only to brace himself against the ground. Digging in his heels, he grunted, and roared, ripping open the Lion’s jaws and the head along with it.

“Pitiful.” He grunted, tacitly ignoring the pain surging through his ribs. With a roar of his own, he whipped one of his arms back, reforming it into a mace, and rocketed it forward. With a yelp, Luz jumped back, avoiding the blow, but feeling part of her hoodie rip at the close shave. She grunted; she really liked this outfit, dang it! “But that is to be expected of one who allies with trash.”

Luz was incensed. A slight against herself, while frustrating, was something she could handle. Mocking the dead!? Yeah, she was gonna make this bastard pay dearly. Still, she needed to stall a little more before she could unleash her trump-card, so…

“Why’d you do it?” She asked. She genuinely wanted to know, but the more she could draw this out, the better. “What possible reason could justify killing her? She lived in the woods and sold trash!!!”

“The politics at play are more complex than your feeble mind could even begin to grasp.” Wrath intoned condescendingly. He raised his untransformed fist, beckoning her almost. “But I must admit, I enjoyed that far more than what is traditionally proper. Seeing the stain on my love’s perfection wiped out was far more satisfying than I ever anticipated. Now, she’ll have to accept my offer for a meal together!!”

Luz blinked, dumbfounded. Then, the confusion shifted. Now, it was boiling hate, even more intense than any of the rage and pain she had felt today, the likes she hadn’t felt since that day. “You mean to tell me�� you murdered someone, an innocent woman, TO GET A DATE!?!?!?”

Wrath laughed mockingly, throwing his head back. “She is far from innocent! Her very existence is a spitting in the eye of our leader’s great vision! She should be honored to serve as a lesson to those looking to stray from the proper path!!”

With that, Luz officially snapped. “LIGHT-MAKE: DAGGER DANCE!!!” A swarm of blades manifested, each aimed to rip Wrath apart. To counter, he divided his arms into countless tentacles, whipping up the nearby rubble into the paths of the daggers.

“Light-Make: Wolf Pack!” Whatever attack Wrath had been planning to follow up on was quickly aborted, as he was forced to divert his tendrils to fend off the canine constructs currently attempting to rip him apart. As he busied himself with fighting the wolves, Luz took the moment to catch a breather. Keeping him distracted while setting up her finale was a LOT harder than she thought, and she just knew she was gonna be paying for it tomorrow. Still, she needed just a little more time…

“Answer me this then,” Luz began, eyes alert for any attack he may use. “What possible reason do you have for locking these people up?” She gestured in the direction of the cells, specifically the cells containing the trio of prisoners she met before. “What did they do that deserves all this!?” She yelled, gesturing to the imposing structure surrounding them.

Wrath snorted, wrestling another wolf into the ground after it made a lunge for his throat. “I locked them away because they are better for it. What possible use could society have for people like them? Worthless wretches who can’t even do what’s expected of them-” Anything further he had to say was cut off by Luz’s attacks. Abandoning finesse for raw power, Luz had traded her constructs for blasts of pure, concentrated light. As each blow hammered into Wrath, Luz screamed her fury.

“BEING YOURSELF IS NOT A CRIME!!”

Hearing the yells, Katya perked up.

“BEING DIFFERENT IS WHAT MAKES EVERY PERSON AMAZING!!”

Tiny Nose raised her head.

“WHO CARES IF THEY DON’T FIT IN? THEY AREN’T HURTING ANYONE!!!”

The Eyeball eater gained a tearful smile.

“NOBODY DESERVES TO BE LOCKED UP FOR JUST BEING THEMSELVES!!”

The prisoners shared a look.

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE!!! AS LONG AS I’M ALIVE, I WILL ALWAYS STAND UP FOR PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO BE TRUE TO THEMSELVES!!!”

With a roar, the three prisoners threw themselves against their cells. As the guards closed in on them, the eyeball eater grabbed them, slamming them against the bars, while Katya snagged their keys. With a battle cry, Tiny Nose proceeded to blast the guards with fire, incapacitating them long enough to lock them in the cells in place of the prisoners. Sharing a nod, they rushed off. As they rounded the corner, they saw Wrath powering his way through the Light Blasts, though he was clearly worse for wear. His body was coated in light burns, his clothing in tatters, even his mask was destroyed. As he reared back a scythe-arm to destroy the still defiant human, the three prisoners leapt into the fray.

“I Believe the Wowld is a Twiangle!!” Tiny Nose yelled, pulling at the corner of Wrath’s beady eyes.

“I like to eat my own eyes!” The eye eater growled, pulling at Wrath’s arms to keep him from swinging.

“And I practice the ancient art of fanfiction!!” Katya roared, swinging her arm into Wrath’s torso.

“””AND WE ARE DONE BEING AFRAID OF YOU!!!””” All three screamed.

Smirking in pride at how forceful the three, formerly meek, prisoners were being, Luz reeled her arm back, and unleashed one last blast, sending Wrath flying back. All four of them cheered.

“Luz!”

Luz’s ears perked up at the shout. It couldn’t be, could it?

Her eyes started tearing up. “Eda? You're alive!!” Indeed she was. Eda certainly looked ragged, but by all accounts, she was alive and well, and somehow her head was once again attached. Attached… Luz blinked, then slapped herself. She had totally forgotten about Eda’s detachable hand earlier!! Of course, she had no reason to believe that would extend to something as important as a head, but still!

Eda smirked, but it couldn’t hide the relief in her eyes. “And here I was coming to bail you out, and you had it all handled!”

“Yeah!” King shouted, trying to sound angry. “We were worried!”

Luz grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you guys.”

Eda patted a spot next to her on her staff. “Okay kid, let’s beat it before Wrath recovers.”

Luz groaned as the pain from her injuries and expended magic started kicking in. It was anything serious but it was exhausting. “Yeah, I’m not sure how long I could’ve kept that up. Let’s go!”

“Wait!”

“Huh?” Luz turned, catching sight of Katya, holding her hand out.

Katya bit her lip, nervous, before speaking. “I just wanted to say, thank you.”

Luz cocked her head, puzzled. “For what? You guys got yourselves out, didn’t you?”

Katya grinned at the memory. “Yeah.” Her expression sobered. “But we wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t inspired us. Nobody has EVER stood up for us before, or people like us before.” She gestured to the eyeball eater and Tiny Nose, both having the same expression of gratitude that Katya did. “I don’t know if we’ll meet again, but if we ever do, you can count on me for help, okay?” She held out a hand. Luz glanced at it, stunned, before eagerly shaking it in acceptance, getting a startled laugh from the Witch.

“As touching as this is,” Eda droned. “We really do gotta go.” In response to her words, the furious roar of Wrath sounded out again. With the reminder that he wasn’t down for the count, everyone quickly rushed outside, on foot for the prisoners, and by staff for Eda, Luz, and King.

“Wait!” Luz yelled, causing Eda to stall.

Eda turned around, surprised. “What for?”

Luz grinned maliciously. “For my finale of course!” She exclaimed, pointing up.

Eda snorted, following her finger. “What do you mean finaleeeEEEEEEOOOOOHHHH MY TITAN!!!!!!” Her question shifted into a shout of shock at what she saw; an absolutely massive magical circle floating above the Conformatorium. Each quarter of it was a different color, with a different style. The one closest to Eda appeared to be Brown, with a rock and stone motif, the next a rich blue, images of waves and water covering it, the third being a bright red, stylized flames scattered about, and the last segment being pale green, swirling gusty patterns that reminded Eda of windstorms detailed across. It wasn’t just Eda who was shocked. King was stammering incessantly, unable to form proper words. The little ball-shaped demon with the big nose was ranting something about a higher power. The one with multiple eyes was popping them out and gobbling them down as fast as they appeared in some sort of stress-eating trance. The girl Luz had talked to was just staring, wide-eyed. And Luz? She was currently putting on four rings, their designs matching the four designs on the circle above.

“The finale.” Luz intoned, pointing her ring-clad finger to the sky.

“Oh Mighty Earth, I Invoke Thee. Sunder This Land So That All May Fall.

Oh Blazing Flames, I Invoke Thee. Scorch This Land So All Shall Burn Eternal.

Oh Crashing Waves, I Invoke Thee. Wash Away All That Is So That Nothing New May Come.

Oh Howling Winds, I Invoke Thee. Rip And Tear This Unworthy Place So That Naught But Memory Remains.

Yee Four Catastrophes, I Invoke Thy Names Under The Authority Of Those Forgotten. Mine Name Is Fae And Let All Sing Thine Song Of Sacrifice!!

ABYSS CANON!!!!!!”

Nothing happened at first. The circle glowed, and vanished. Suddenly, a roar built up from above. A great light started shining. And then… a pillar of destruction descended, rending the Conformatorium apart, each floor dismantling itself under the force bearing down upon it. Yet, just as suddenly as it started, it ended. True, over half of the Conformatorium had been reduced to rubble and slag, but it wasn’t the total destruction they had been expecting after seeing the spell begin. A pained gasp caught Eda’s attention. As she turned, her gaze filled with horror at what she saw; Luz, blood hacked from between her lips, blood and tears seeping from her eyes, the four rings she wore cracked and charred. “KID!” Eda’s cries fell on deaf ears as Luz tottered forward, and fell

-

-

-

-

-

“uz. Luz. Luz!” Luz blinked her bleary eyes to find the worried gaze of Eda staring down at her, a crying King clinging to her chest. “Oh thank Titan you’re okay! You had us worried kiddo!”

Luz tried for a confident smirk, but had the feeling she failed at Eda’s unimpressed look. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

Eda blinked, looking almost offended. “Of course I care, I’m not some kind of monster!! You stuck your neck out for me and King way beyond what was needed for the mission, and when you thought I was dead, however wrong you may have been, you jumped in to avenge me. That’s not something I’m just gonna write off. But I do gotta ask-”

“WHAT IN THE TITAN HAPPENED!!” King butted in, tears and snot dribbling from his face.

Luz blinked, mulling over memories, before realizing what they meant. “Oh you mean the spell!”

“”YES WE MEAN THE SPELL!!”” The force of the combined shout was actually enough to ruffle Luz’s hair.

Luz sheepishly chuckled, glad her laugh hid the wince of pain her body was feeling. “That spell was my trump card. A last resort that lets me totally obliterate a target, derived from one of the most dangerous spells ever taught, the Abyss Break.” She turned her gaze to the sight of her rings, ruined from the strain of helping her channel the spell. “Quick confession time, Eda, remember those elemental spells I used against you earlier?”

Eda blinked, wondering why she was asking about that. “Yeah, what about them?”

Luz bashfully rubbed her head. “I can’t actually use them normally. I’m only technically trained in Light-Make Magic. Those elemental spells were ones I knew theoretically, but lacked the training to actually use.” She gestured to her rings. “Those rings are focusing instruments, allowing me to utilize and channel elemental magic in its more raw state to make up for it. Normally I only need to have them close to my body, like in a pouch or something, to enjoy the benefits.” She turned her gaze, looking almost apologetic, back to Eda and King. “But for anything big or complicated, I need to properly wear them. The biggest drawback to them is that they aren’t very high-quality, so if I ever aimed too high for a spell, something too big for them to handle, they had a chance of breaking and for me to suffer a backlash from the spell breaking down.”

Eda looked shocked. She had genuinely not been able to notice that Luz hadn’t been using those elemental spells from before in any way unusual, sure she may not know anything about human-style magic but still, she knew plenty about magic in general! The fact that humans had tools that could compensate for lack of training and talent for magic use was honestly a scary thought. Before she could finish processing it, however, a thought came to her. “Okay, but what about that big spell from before, what did you call it, Abyss Canon? That wasn’t an elemental spell as far as I know of.”

Luz’s grinned shifted from sheepish to proud. “Abyss Canon is extremely complicated, it and its predecessor work by taking fire, wind, earth, and water magic together, and sublimating them into a total destruction attack. So, technically, it is elemental magic, it just isn’t one element!!”

Eda blinked. She snickered. She snorted. Then, she laughed. A deep, heavy laugh, the kind that came from hearing something totally surprising you couldn’t NOT find funny, especially when it completely challenged something you hated. “HAHAHAHAHHAOOOOHHHHH TITAN!!! That… that’s incredible, kid.” Her grin softened, looking almost wistful. “So, you ready to go home?”

Luz blinked. “Who said anything about me going home?”

Now it was Eda’s turn to blink. “But, I thought, wasn’t that why you helped us? To get you back home?”

Luz snorted. “No. I helped you because it sounded like fun! Also, because I thought if I helped you, you’d be more likely to let me stay here.”

Eda backed up at that. “WHOA WHOA WHOA!! Now I may like you, kid, but my place is not somewhere a child should be. I mean, wouldn’t your mom worry about you?” As Luz’s face darkened, Eda had the feeling she had stepped into something bad.

“I haven’t seen my mom since I was ten.” And there it was. Whatever resistance Eda felt about letting Luz stay just went up in smoke. Eda felt a tug on her dress, looking down to see King looking up at her with pleading eyes.

“Come on, let her stay! She could make us snacks!” King begged. “And… it gets kind of lonely with just us here.” He gestured to all the space they had for the four of them.

Eda groaned. “Ugh, fine! You can stay!” Luz and King both cheered, before she continued. “BUT! You’ve gotta work for rent, capiche? I’ve already got one freeloader.” She said, gesturing to King, who had the nerve to look affronted!

Luz smirked, taking Eda’s hand in her own, shaking it. “Well, Miss Owl Lady, looks like you got yourself a tenant. Plus, maybe we could trade some magic, eh?”

Eda smirked back. “You know, I think I might actually like having you around, kid.”

[greensaplinggrace]

Clerifa in lockup >:) feral bastards all trapped together until they can get bailed out. First meetings preferred! And all of them in there for going waaay too hard at whatever crimes they got arrested for. Also I like your Cloud hurt/comfort fics a lot, so maybe some of that as well? Sorry lol, this is a bit of a convoluted ask, but I just can't get the idea of Cloud/Tifa/Aerith all locked in a cell together out of my head.

Here it is! Clerifa trapped in a jail cell together XD. They’re all feral, but what’s new. I hope it’s in character 😅. Please enjoy!

*TW for mild violence, abuse of authority, police brutality, and heavy cursing

- If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

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In a room full of empty cells, Tifa and Cloud are jailed together. The cop placing them behind the bars had said it was to preserve resources, but Cloud’s not entirely sure how sound his logic is when the resources they have seem to be in excess. Not to mention the fact that breaking out will now be twice as easy.

The cop had been a bit dim, he concludes, though not at all like the vicious bastard who’d cuffed them in the first place. That one had been big and mean and surrounded by an entourage of equally cruel sycophants, and if Cloud never sees the man again it will be too damned soon.

He stretches out on the cool metal bench, eyeing Tifa’s agitated slouch against the wall across from him. She’s making an effort not to fidget or bite her nails, but the furrow of her brow is enough to let him know she’s worried. She’d been incensed when they were first brought in, red with rage and utterly willing to deck the bastard cop for a second time if he so much as spoke out of turn, but now she simmers and frets in a silent panic. It’s distracting, to say the least, and Cloud dangles his hand over the side of the bench, dropping his head onto hard metal and staring at the ceiling.

“Tifa,” he sighs, and her responding huff is immediate.

“This is outrageous. I can’t believe they would do this.”

“You can’t?” Just last week, she’d gotten drunk with Barret and stood on his shoulders in the middle of a walmart to tell the world exactly how bastardous cops are. In very bright, explicit, colorful language that had forced every mother within a one mile radius to cover their child’s ears. 

Come to think of it, that’s probably what had drawn a dozen of them to Tifa’s door. Armed to the teeth and high on that heedy sense of power all cops seem to possess.

“The way they treated Marlene…” she grinds out angrily, tensing as if preparing for a fight all over again, and this time Cloud can’t help but agree with her. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as enraged as he was when the cop had laid a hand on Marlene. The intense interrogation was already too much for a child, let alone an adult, and Cloud wonders how anybody had expected either of them to remain calm in the face of such despicable violence.

They probably hadn’t, he realizes with a scowl. 

“Assholes,” he chuffs, and like the devil they appear. The thick steel door leading out of the cell block clangs open, voices spilling into the room as footsteps clomp inside. Tifa pushes off the wall to get a better look at the newcomers, and when her eyes widen in shock Cloud reluctantly follows her gaze. He has to tilt his head back to see them, barring his throat and bracing his boot against the bench to lift his hips, but it’s absolutely worth it for the sight that beholds him.

Two massive men flank a petite woman as they march her inside, gripping her arms as if at any moment she’ll break away and flee into the night, and the image would be hilariously out of touch if she wasn’t currently struggling furiously against her captors. Her brown boots scrape across the ground as she kicks out, arms straining like pale twigs in their grips.

“I didn’t do it!” she snaps, brown bangs whipping around and catching one of the men in the shoulder as she whirls to glare at him viciously, “this is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Look, miss-” one of the cops tries, and she growls him into silence. Cloud feels a number things at that, none of which are particularly appropriate for somebody currently trapped in a prison cell, and he’s only mildly comforted by Tifa’s own breathless shift in response.

“You have no evidence against me,” the woman huffs, digging her toes into the ground and going limp in their grips. The men drag her a few feet before struggling to get her moving, and Cloud has to choke back an astonished laugh at the sight of it all.

“Ma’am, we saw you walking away from the scene of the crime.”

“Anybody could have been hanging out in that alley.”

“But nobody else was.”

“That’s not even a lick of of proof. I’m allowed to wander where I please. This is a deceptively free country!” 

Tifa puffs out a laugh at that, stifling it behind her fingers and ducking her head with a blush. The cops don’t answer except to finally lift the woman's feet entirely clear of the ground. She struggles with in a ferocious protest when they haul her further into the cell block, and as they reach the end of the room, the larger one waves a hand in Cloud and Tifa’s direction. He opens his mouth to speak, but the woman slides like an eel from his grasp and forces his mouth shut with a clack. For minutes, the two cops wrestle to regain control, and Cloud wonders why the hell they hadn't put any cuffs on the woman, if she's such trouble.

"I thought you said she was safe!" The smaller cop barks at his partner, and the other man scowls.

"She was actin' all nice and friendly when I brought her inside. How was I supposed to know?"

"That was before I realized you were jailing me," the woman argues, "It's unlawful. You have no proof!"

The smaller one lets out a noise of frustration, but they both eventually manage to wrangle her back onto the ground. The scene almost has Cloud grinning, right up until the bigger cop moves resumes speaking to them. He's got a big, smug looks painted across his face, and Cloud can already feel whatever joy he'd gotten out of the situation disappear.

“Lighten up, lovebirds! You’ve got company.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cloud deadpans, narrowing his eyes at them.

The smaller cop only snickers. “I’m sure you’ll get along great. This one’s a fighter, just like you headcases. So at least you’ve got assaultin’ cops in common.”

Cloud scoffs in disbelief. “There are a dozen empty cells around us. There’s no reason she should be put in here with us.”

Tifa casts him a scolding look, but Cloud isn’t about to share his cell with a violent stranger, no matter how impressed he’d been only a few seconds earlier. It’s one thing to see it happen to other people, but he and Tifa had been just fine here on their own without some suspicious woman sharing their space.

“Guess you should’a thought of that before punching a cop, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid.”

“Really? And here I thought it was only children that threw tantrums in public.” The man sneers at him, and Cloud's stomach drops at the words. He fights viciously to keep his expression neutral through the rush of shame, determined not to let them see him affected.

Tifa, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She instantly light up in a burning rage, stalking over to the bars and clenching her hands into furious fists at her sides. “Don’t ever speak to him like that,” she snaps, “It was your people that escalated the situation, not Cloud.”

The big cop barks out a mocking laugh. “That’s not how the reports are gonna tell it," he says, and the woman in his grasp makes a noise of disgust.

“You liar! Are you going to do that to my case as well? You can’t falsify evidence!” 

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it? Cry to mommy?” 

“Ex cuse you?” The woman stomps and yanks her arm away from him, but the man is quick to catch her by the wrist again. He mercilessly wrenches her away from the cell door with brutal force, nodding sharply to indicate that his partner should head forward with the ring of keys. The sight has Cloud’s blood boiling, Tifa practically vibrating in a barely contained inferno of rage before him, and he has to clench his teeth to keep calm - to remind himself that there’s nothing he can do. That he doesn’t even know this woman.

“Hey! Watch it!” The woman protests, but it’s a fruitless effort; her cries fall on deaf ears. She doesn't even think to let it get to her, though. Letting out a strangled yell of frustration, she twists in the cop’s hold, attempting to break his grip, and lands a solid kick to his shin. Cloud almost winces at the force of it, impressed when her eyes narrow in a glower that promises violence. “Don’t touch me like that!”

“Ugh, aren’t you a bossy one," the man complains, not even deigning to face her as he speaks, and Cloud’s anger almost boils over. Stranger or not, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. “Could we get her in the cell already?”

The smaller cop finally jumps to attention, working up the courage to edge toward their cell with small, fearful steps. Tifa remains pressed dangerously close to the bars, fiery red eyes tracking the man’s every movement with a pointed fury, and Cloud can see the sweat dripping down the man’s brow beneath her glare. When the cop reaches their cell at last, he fumbles with his keys for a solid thirty seconds before he finally finds the right one.

His buddy groans obnoxiously. “Hurry the fuck up, Gallows. I don’t have all day.”

“And yet you’ll leave us in here for just as long,” the woman huffs, expression still thunderous as her green eyes roil in stormy indignation, “I demand that you let me go! You have no right to keep me here. I haven’t committed a single crime ever, in my entire life.”

It’s Cloud’s turn to hide his smirk this time around, lips twitching with amusement.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Then a loud click sounds throughout the room, and the door to their cage is unlocked. Cloud and Tifa both tense, but before they can so much as breathe the door is being yanked open with unerring speed. The larger cop doesn’t hesitate for a second before tossing his prisoner inside, and she stumbles with a yelp of surprise, falling into Tifa’s arms as the other woman rushes to catch her. Cloud rockets into a sitting position, muscles coiling in case of an attack, but the door slams closed just as quickly as it had opened, the cop instantly retreating to wipe his shaky palms on his pants.

Cowards, Cloud thinks, snorting.

The two cops level him with threatening glares when they hear the sound, but Cloud has better things to do than cower. He meets their eyes head on with a stoic expression, mouth curling only faintly in the mocking hint of a smile. The big one flushes with anger, clenching his fists and charging forward like a rabid animal, and his partner has to drag him back by the shoulder before he can do something he’ll regret.

Cloud doesn’t even watch them go.

“Thanks,” their new prisoner says breathlessly, pulling back to brush her bangs from her eyes as she smiles, “you caught me.” 

Cloud hadn’t thought it at all possible for Tifa’s blush to get deeper, but the red on the back of her neck looks like something caused by a burn, and she brings a hand up to rub at it as she returns the smile. “It’s no problem at all. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The woman huffs. “No thanks to those... men.”

“You've got that right,” Cloud agrees tonelessly, turning to lay back down on the bench. He gathers his hand beneath his head this time around, letting one of his legs fall over the edge while he peers over at their new arrival. 

“My name is Aerith, by the way.”

“Uh, Tifa.”

“Tifa,” the name rolls smoothly across Aerith’s tongue, drawn out with reverent fascination, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh! Uh, you...you too.” Tifa clears her throat and ducks her head shyly. She’s quick to retreat and resume leaning against the far wall, smiling crookedly as she avoids Aerith’s eyes. “This- this is my partner.”

“Cloud,” he offers succinctly.

He half expects her enthusiasm to die down with the word partner in play, and is instead completely caught off guard when Aerith doesn’t even falter, turning to give him a small wave as the corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Hello, Cloud!” she says, “it’s nice to meet you!”

He almost squints against the brightness of her smile, swallowing when he catches sight of the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. They’re a light pink, rosy from exertion or embarrassment, he doesn’t know, and her lips look incredibly soft. “Uh…” He licks his lips. “Yeah.” 

Fuck.

His chest heats with a rising blush, heart thundering wildly, and he turns his head to stare up at the ceiling before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. Thankfully, neither of the women in the cell comments on his fumble. After a time, there’s a rustle of fabric that draws Cloud’s eyes to Aerith again, and he watches as she moves to the opposite side of the bench. He bends his knee to give her more room, glancing away from her grateful smile with a light cough. 

Then she hops up onto the metal, sitting cross legged despite her dress, boots drawn up under her. She extends her arms to wrap her hands around the place where her legs cross, rocking with an excited energy.

“So,” she exclaims brightly, as if she isn’t surrounded by two dangerous criminals in a room devoid of witnesses, “you hit a cop, huh?” 

Tifa’s eyes widen at the question, and Cloud feels a tinge of his earlier wariness return. He frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I did too!” The words sound so surreal, spoken loudly and happily by a tiny woman in a pink dress. Despite his misgivings, Cloud feels a distinct curiosity about their new cellmate form. He can see Tifa leaning forward with interest as well, eyeing Aerith up with equal parts wonder and skepticism. “Why are you acting so suspicious? They already know you did it.”

The interrogation that was the cause of the whole situation had been about other crimes, though. Ones that they don’t have any evidence of. Cloud decides not to mention that. “Who did you hit?”

“Well, aside from kicking and scratching the one that brought me in…” She tilts her head consideringly, raising a finger in the air. Cloud and Tifa both stare at her incredulously as she actually takes the time to think. “...I guess his partner, who wasn’t really my fault. I mean, how was I supposed to know that pushing him would make him hit his head on the doorframe? Plus the cop who ran over my flowerbed with his car. Oh! And the one from last week, who tried to grab me when I was climbing onto a roof. So rude! Can you believe it?” She sounds honestly, earnestly offended by the action, and Cloud blinks in wordless bewilderment.

“Um…”

“You have quite a history with the law,” Tifa fills in, smiling uncertainly. She repeats her earlier motion, rubbing at the back of her neck, and Cloud resists the urge to take her hands in comfort. They don’t usually hold hands in public, but he doesn’t like to see her so upset.

“It sounds a bit far fetched,” he offers instead, for lack of a better way to help her, "we don't know if you're telling the truth."

Aerith doesn’t get affronted, which is a good sign, laughing and taking the time to cast the both of them incredulous looks. “Wow. You two are a bit distrustful, huh?”

Tifa hunches over in the beginnings of shame, and Cloud isn’t having it. “Cops have a habit of using plants.”

“Well, I can assure you that I am one hundred percent plant free! Except for my garden, of course.”

“Garden?” Tifa asks.

“Mhm! I’m a florist. So, not necessarily... plant free. But the cops definitely do not like me.”

Cloud bites back a smirk, vividly remembering the way she’d fought against her captors. They certainly hadn’t been fond of her, that’s for sure. He doubts that kind of animosity can be faked. Though she seems so pleasant now, not even a lick of her earlier anger to be seen. Merely an impossibly upbeat attitude and a playful demeanor.

Tifa smiles as well. Another point in Aerith’s favor, considering how reserved Tifa is around most people. She shifts to get more comfortable and folds her hands together behind her back, humming and sharing a knowing grin with Cloud. He nods lightly in response, and she turns her full attention to Aerith.

“What did you do to get on their bad side?”

“Florists aren’t exactly known for their rebellious behavior.”

Aerith giggles, which Cloud thinks doesn’t exactly speak for her innocence. “They believe I graffitied the precinct.”

“Graffiti?”

“What would anybody even paint on a police building?”

“Oh, just a bunch of flowers…” Aerith twirls her hair around her fingers and grins deviously. “Surrounding a beautiful message of the people.” She raises a finger and winks. “‘Fuck the police’.”

A laugh escapes Cloud before he can catch it, short and strangled as he bites his lip to muffle the tail end of it. Tifa covers a giggle with her hand, eyes creasing in a smile and shoulders shaking. Cloud grins.

“Sounds fitting,” he says, and Aerith nods enthusiastically.

“It’s a shame they’ll never know who did it.”

“I’m sure.”

There's a short silence, then: “So what are you in for?”

The question is spoken innocently enough, but Cloud’s humor instantly evaporates with the words. Tifa’s smile dies and a frown settles on her face again, worry and anger and a dozen other things. The memory isn't exactly pleasant for either of them, and he can tell Aerith's already regretting asking. 

“The police came to ask some questions and things got...physical,” Tifa offers hesitantly, voice low. Then she scowls, shoulders stiffening and eyes blazing. “They attacked Cloud!”

Aerith’s brows raise in shock, but her smile is one of pure awe. “So you hit them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tifa says it as if she’d never think to do a thing differently, and Cloud has to fight off an overwhelming bout of fondness.

“But what happened? I mean, why did they attack you?”

“They were...harassing a friend of ours,” Cloud says, “and I stepped in, but…” He’d been too weak. Too out of it, still suffering from the aftereffects of his most recent therapy session. “I wasn’t in a good place.” Mentally, he adds, but the word won’t come out. 

He stops speaking and flits his eyes over to Aerith, hoping to gauge her reaction, and the riled cross of her arms is not at all what he’s expecting. Tifa shares the same expression of protective rage, and for a second he fears that the both of them are about to bust out of the prison cells themselves just to track his attackers down.

“What, so they thought they could just bait you and get away with it? Who do they think they are?”

“The police,” Cloud offers mildly, but Tifa only nods vigorously in righteous agreement.

“They acted like a bunch of animals!”

“They were investigating a crime.” At Aerith’s questioning looks he shrugs, carefully picking out his next words. “Our friend was suspected of stealing and leaking some very important documents.”

“Documents?” Aerith’s demeanor drops into one of pure curiosity.

Tifa nods. “Some stuff about the things they’d been doing recently was leaked, and they immediately assumed it was Barret.”

“Stealing evidence from a precinct? That’s pretty impressive.”

Cloud knows. Zack had been the loudest person he’s ever had the misfortune of sneaking into a building with, and the entire mission had almost ended in a spectacular disaster. Although their near escape was absolutely worth the dirt they had dug up on the local police. His only regret is that Barret was caught in the crossfire, not that the man hasn’t committed a number of crimes himself. One of which had involved him and Tifa infiltrating one of the largest Shinra buildings in the city.

Perhaps the cops had been there for more than just the information leak. It's definitely a possibility. The subsequent fight had left both him and Tifa lacking any crucial information on the situation. They hadn’t really had the time to ask questions.

In retrospect, maybe they should have acted with a bit more caution.

“Yeah,” Tifa says, “but they don’t have any evidence about their suspect. They were throwing stones and happened to hit Seventh Heaven. It was all purely coincidental.”

Cloud nods in agreement, but it doesn’t take a genius to see Aerith isn’t convinced. Not that either of them had expected her to be. Fortunately, she doesn’t press the issue.

She makes the right call and inquires about a different matter, instead. One that has Tifa perking up in excitement. And Cloud would be worried a bit more about her instant attachment to Aerith if he wasn’t suffering the same. She’s...surprisingly easy to talk to. Usually, Cloud takes a while to warm up to people, and Tifa’s either too closed off or too shy to get to know them. Yet with Aerith...the words just spill out, and even the silences are comfortable. Easy and featherlight in their simplicity.

Aerith asks about Seventh Heaven. And Tifa opens up. Not about emotions, of course, because Aerith is still new and the terrain is unsafe. But about her people and her place and their life. A life so intertwined with Cloud’s that he should find himself upset with her sharing it. 

Except that he doesn’t.

It’s strange, meeting somebody in lockup, of all places. Somebody so bright as Aerith, trapped in here with the best woman he knows. They’re both more talkative than him. Gathering a frisson in the air around them that’s filled with tension and delight. Aerith looks into Tifa’s eyes as if she’s seeing the stars for the very first time, and Tifa looks at Aerith like she’s never seen anything so beautiful. 

They both look at Cloud, too. Despite the fact that he doesn’t talk as much as the both of them. Silent and listening and watching in a peaceful sort of complacency. But every time he speaks they listen, and every time they engage in a back and forth he doesn’t at all feel left out or abandoned, but rather included in a strange sort of camaraderie. A bond between just the three of them.

He eventually sits up to lean back against the corner of the cell, an uncomfortable junction between the bars and the concrete wall. It’s worth it to be able to see the two of them, even if he doesn’t ever tell them that’s the reason why, and the conversation shifts from Aerith’s flower shop and Tifa’s bar to their families. Then it changes again as they do, with Aerith letting her legs fall over the edge of the bench and Tifa coming to sit between them through conversations about martial arts and staves and swords thes ize of a man.

After a couple more hours, the conversation lulls. Cloud appreciates the silence, if only because his voice is growing tired from so much use. He can’t even imagine how Aerith and Tifa are feeling right now.

Then Tifa yawns, hands stretching above her head as she arches her back. And within seconds she’s falling sideways to lay her head in Cloud’s lap.

He blushes at the level of physical affection. It isn’t exactly public, but Aerith is right there. Of course, she shouldn’t have any qualms about it herself when Tifa’s feet are in her lap. When Cloud glances over to check on her, he notices that she doesn’t even pause in surprise at Tifa’s sudden touch. Tifa’s shoes must be dirty, Cloud knows, and Aerith’s dress is light enough pink to get stained, but Aerith only hums and lays a gentle hand on Tifa’s calf. She leans her own head back, closing her eyes.

And the cell is bathed in silence.

[noncommited-writer]

I saw u wanted some small asks so how about Protective Mafia Boss!Tony and Then His Baby Boy Peter? But could Peter be a Ballerina? Maybe someone is bothering Peter?

Here you go!! I’ve never written anything like this before so imagine my surprise when I actually had a ton of fun with this! I hope you don’t mind, but I made Tony Italian. Enjoy!! (Also, I had an irresistible urge to make a moodboard for this)

A soft click. A silver gun glinting in the dark, pin drop silent theatre box; the only sound heard is the laboured panicked breathing and the loud beautiful music playing from the orchestra pit. A man is on his knees, sweating through his ratty clothes as he silently says his prayers, making eye contact with the blond brute brooding in the corner, flickering to meet the silver gun resting in the hand of his maker.

“Do you know what happens when you piss off a man more powerful than the city’s police force?” A drawl, each word punctuated with ease that makes the gravity of this situation even heavier. Terror etched into Abraham’s face, the man vehemently shakes his head, his mouth opening up to scream only to be muffled by a metal prosthetic hand and kept quiet by a gruff voice right next to his ear growling, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut, otherwise the police will find a bullet in your skull.”

His arms are still held captive by the cuffs that dig into his wrists. Abraham knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved with the mafia. Slowly, the hand goes away.

“You had to get all greedy, did you? Selling out information on where my warehouses are to the other gangs. Guess what? Those gangs don’t give a shit about you.” The man in the grey pinstripe suit finally leans in, resting his elbows onto his knees, his face out of the shadows and into the dim lighting of the theatre box. Abraham finds himself shaking when he makes deep eye contact with those cold brown orbs, those eyes that scream controlled fury and ruthlessness. “You didn’t think of getting protection from the one enemy you can’t get away from.”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark, I didn’t—”

“Ah, ah, ah. You don’t get to call me by my name anymore, traditore.” Harsh fingers grip at his chin, digging into his skin and jaw with brutal fervour. He winces but rasps out, “Yes, Iron Man. I didn’t—I didn’t think of the consequences but I swear to you, I can repay it all—”

“Swear? Swear? That’s what you said seven months ago when I took you in, ingrato.” The kingpin hisses in his face, brows furrowed in anger and Abraham can feel his nails cut through his skin, and he whimpers. “I think it’s long overdue for your punishment, don’t you?”

Abraham tries to pull back from his grip, only to freeze when the man just sighs and lifts his other hand, the one holding the gun. “I didn’t want it to be like this, Abraham. I would’ve let it go, you know?”

Something quiet like hope flickers in his chest, but Abraham just keeps his stare on the crime boss. “I was ready to let you run off, with that measly cash you earned from the that other gang and to your little home with your grandma.”

Abraham feels a freezing bucket of fear wash over him when the man mentions his grandmother. At his face, the crime lord only waves the gun around, “Don’t worry. I paid for her medication to last the next five years. I don’t mess with families, even if they’re traitors.”

Abraham finches at the word.

“I was okay with you getting away with it.” Abraham isn’t ready to breathe yet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What I wasn’t okay with…”

The hand grips his jaw tighter, and he pulls Abraham into his face, eyes daunting and predatory and blazing with the want for revenge. “Is that you let the man who hurt my baby go.”

Abraham decides then and there, he’s never felt so much fear in his life.

“Hey, Abe! I was wondering if you could take me out for waffles later!” Peter bounds over to his newbie guard, a saccharine grin on his face. Abraham chuckles, and shrugs his shoulders. “Only if the Cap and Boss are okay with it.”

Peter pouts, “You know Stevie would never let me out by myself. And Tony would kill me if he finds out that I ditched ballet rehearsal.”

Abraham snorts, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, as if you hate his ‘punishment’.”

The pink glowing on Peter’s cheeks confirms his statement. Abraham sighs, and decides that he’ll probably get chastised for disobeying Boss’ orders, but who can resist that pout and puppy eyes? Even the Captain can’t; not even the ruthless Winter Soldier whose heart seems to be black—that is until Peter is around with his beaming smiles and bright personality. Everyone on the team seem to have a soft spot for the Boss’ sweetheart.

They drive to a dingy diner that’s not too far from the office building, complete with neon signs and red booths. Peter is a boundless source of sunshine and energy when he hops over the convertible door to race to the diner first. Abraham just huffs a laugh and puts the car in park.

Just as he’s locked the door, he hears the cock of a gun behind him. “Hands up.”

Abraham freezes and slowly turns around, his hands in the air. He comes face to face with one the gang members he sold the warehouses out to. A scowl forms on his face, “What are you doing here?”

“You lied to us. You sold us out. We had a deal!” The nozzle of the pistol is pushed closer to his face and he steps backward, eyes flying wide. “Woah, what are you talking about? We did have a deal!”

“Yeah, but the last warehouse was empty and full of Iron Man’s goons.” Abraham stops, and he feels his stomach sinking. They found out.

“Abe?” Oh no…

Abraham turns to see Peter standing there, fear in his eyes as they shoot between him and the gangster. He swallows hard, “What’s going on?”

“Peter, get back inside.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Hey, this doesn’t involve you, kid. Go away or I’ll shoot you too.”

Abraham knows Peter never goes down without a fight, is courageous and a pain in the ass. So he shouldn’t have been so surprised when Peter rushes in front of him. He’s the one who was supposed to protect Peter, not the other way around.

Within seconds, he found himself on the floor, putting pressure on Peter’s gunshot wound on the side of his torso, yelling at him to stay awake. He wants to chase after that gangster, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let Peter bleed out here.

Once the ambulance arrived, Abraham drove off, intending to never face Mr. Stark again because he knows and now, it’s his fault Peter is fatally wounded. He’d die if he stays in this city.

“Stop. Tony, please, stop.” A soft angelic voice says from the seat in the theatre box. Abraham looks over his shoulder to see Peter stand up from his seat, hidden in the shadows until this moment. He’s limping, wincing with every subtle movement. The blond brute, Steve, immediately strides over to him, placing a steady hand on his back. Peter gently nudges him away, though and mumbles he’s okay.

“Really, Tony, it’s okay. I wanted to protect him. I jumped in front of the bullet. Let him go,” Peter’s voice wavers, but his defiant stance is enough to signal to Tony that he’s serious. Tony’s eyes soften, but he grits his teeth when he looks back at Abraham.

“You’re the reason why my Petey isn’t performing out there on stage right now. Why he’s fucking upset that he can’t even dance the recital he’s worked so hard for. That’s on you,” Tony spits. Abraham only then notices that Peter’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, a frown on his lips and there comes the crushing guilt. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“No, you don’t get to talk to him,” Tony starts, pulling his chin back towards him.

“No, Tony. It’s okay.” Peter smiles faintly, his bright personality even shining through his red eyes. “It’s alright, Abe.”

Tony looks over to Peter, the sweet little angel who brightens everyone’s day with just a simple smile. He sighs, feeling the rage ebb away from a look, and he turns back to the terrified man in his hands. “I’m giving you one last chance. You have Peter to thank for that.”

“But sir—” Steve and Bucky start, both who are very protective over the ballerino and very, very furious over Abraham’s disloyal acts and incompetence in protecting Peter.

They go quiet when Tony raises his hand, gesturing to them. Abraham looks between Peter and Tony, the two pairs of brown eyes having two very distinct emotions in them. Peter’s warm brown eyes are almost relieved yet upset, but Tony’s eyes are cold, calculating and shrewd.

“You run away. You never come here. You never set foot in this city again, because if you do—” Tony leans in, his lips near Abraham’s ear, “—I will see to it you’ll never see the light of day ever again.”

When he pulls away, Abraham can only nod, his body trembling from the mixture of fear and relief. Tony lets go of him and waves a hand. Abraham doesn’t make a sound when Bucky manhandles him to stand on his feet, getting practically dragged out of the theatre box. He casts one last grateful look to Peter, who nods back at him before the door closes behind him and Bucky as they leave.

~~

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let him go?” Steve asks. Tony just slips his gun into his coat, shrugging the jacket and brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. “He’s learned his lesson. And now that he knows we’re holding his grandmother over his head, he won’t step over the line.”

“But sir, what about Peter?”

“What about him?”

“Aren’t you mad that Abraham let him go?” Tony fixes his hair and purses his lips. “Of course, but I doubt Peter would like it if I splattered his brains all over this place. I take it you’re mad?”

Steve’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t hide the truth from his boss. “Yes. Peter didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.”

“No, he didn’t. I’m lucky you’re on my team, Rogers. Especially when Peter has you looking after him.” Steve just chuckles, “Only doing the job, Boss.” Tony huffs a laugh, waving him away, and Steve goes outside to keep watch.

Once he’s out of the room, Tony walks over to the seats, seeing the love of his life leaning on the railing, eyes fixated on the performance down below. Tony can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes and he sighs, slipping an arm around his injured waist gingerly. When Peter winces, he puts his arm around Peter’s shoulder instead, unable to see his angel in pain.

“Baby, look at me.” Peter keeps his teary eyes on the stage. “Tesoro, c’mon.”

Peter takes his time, but he finally looks up at Tony with glistening brown doe orbs, his voice raspy as he whimpers. Tony can’t stop himself from placing his head on his chest, so Peter can hear the calm thumping of his steady heart, running his fingers through his soft hair, “I know, sweetheart. I know you wanted to perform.”

“I just wish I could heal faster. This was my one chance,” Peter whispers, his fingers digging possessively into Tony’s back. Tony presses his lips to the top of his head, “If you really wanted to, baby, I can get the theatre to show the ballet again. But only when you’re fully healed and ready to perform.”

Peter stops, and pulls way from Tony with an awed look on his face. A breath-taking smile comes upon his face, “Really?”

Tony brushes his thumb on Peter’s chin, watching as Peter’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “Yes, really. I’d move heaven and earth for you, tesoro.”

Peter swoons, his heart bursting with all the indescribable emotions for the man in front of him, and mumbles, “I love you, Tony. With all my heart and all that I am.”

It doesn’t take each of them much time to close the distance with a fiery kiss.

——

Traditore — Traitor

Ingrato — Ingrate

Tesoro — term of endearment (treasure/darling/honey)

[littledarlinwrites]

Love Will Come Through

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3179

Rating: I don’t know, like PG-13? Nothing explicit, mostly making out and a brief, not graphic, topless scene.

Author’s Note: This is for @shield-agent78‘s “Write Into Spring Writing Challenge” My prompts were: “Don’t yell at me in languages I don’t understand.” & “I remember kissing you, why do I remember kissing you?” This was a fun one to write! Thank you so much for letting me participate, and for being understanding about me running behind, this may be a bit late, but I think it was worth the wait! Huge shout out and thank you to my beta for this fic, @all1e23, and also to @marvel-graphic-designer for the edit! 

Anywho, ya girl is sick and needy so leave me lots of love y’all! Also, if everybody wants it, I may be inclined to make a part 2 eventually.

Summary: Bucky is haunted by dreams of a past lover, but who is she?

A whimper was released from the body writhing beneath the soldier. His body was covered in sweat and trails of pain erupted down his back. The pleasurable pain caused a growl to slip past his lips, lips that were teasing a hardened nipple moments before.

Just as Bucky was about to see the face of the woman that haunted his dreams at night his eye snapped opened and an aggravated groan fell uncaringly from his lips. The vivid memory of the smell of sex and lilacs pungent in the air of his dream world lingers in his mind. Shuri had warned him that lost memories may come back to him, most commonly in the form of dreams. Usually his dreams that were filled with whimpers or moans were coming from his dying victims, but more often lately they were of a mystery woman that smelled like lilacs, lips that tasted like peppermint, and skin softer than velvet. Unmarred like his, a complete contrast of himself if he were being honest. At first, these dreams would send him into a panic. More than once he woke up immediately running for the bathroom to empty the acidic contents of his stomach and the mere possibility that he had not only killed people, but robbed someone of their own bodily autonomy.

It wasn’t until Bucky had these dreams four or five times that he realized that, whoever the woman was, had wanted these intimate moments with him. That not once did she fight him, always pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. This had made him question if he had simply imagined this woman and these moments, that they were just dreams and not memories, but then his broken mind fought back with a vengeance by making them so vivid it was as if he were living them for the very first time.

As the dreams progressed, Bucky became more frustrated. Frustrated that he never saw the woman’s face, frustrated that he couldn’t remember anything identifiable, and most annoyingly, sexually frustrated. Every once and awhile, he would get a reprieve. Maybe a dream about holding the mystery woman in his arms while she drew lazy patterns with the tips of her fingers on his chest while a thunderstorm raged outside. Or maybe even a movie night on the couch that almost seemed just a bit small for two so she was practically laying on top of him, not that he seemed to mind. Or one dream that led him to discover his love and knack for cooking. Though he never let anyone else know. This was one of the few things he had kept to himself. In that dream he was in the kitchen cooking latkes where he had the perfect view of the living room and the cozy, worn chair where the woman sat reading a book with her bare legs draped over the arm.

The dreams gave Bucky more pieces of himself than they ever did of the mystery woman. Eventually he tried finding a way to be in control of his dreams so he could see the woman's face, but he never seemed to quite get a hold of it, usually just causing himself to wake up rather than look at the woman's face. For a while the frustratingly pleasant dreams stopped and the tormenting nightmares of all the lives lost and blood on his hands took its place. That was until Bucky took up residence at the Avengers tower.

After Shuri had finished his deprogramming in Wakanda and had made sure that nothing would trigger him to go into Winter Soldier mode Steve had begun suggesting that he move in the tower. At first Bucky declined, he knew Tony hadn’t forgiven him for what he had done to his parents, he hadn’t even forgiven himself for it. However, after a couple of months, Steve made one of his visits to his little cottage in the luscious green fields where he tended to his goats. This time he wasn’t alone though. The man that owned the Avengers tower followed behind him before walking ahead of him and straight to Bucky.

His muscles tensed, but the look on Steve’s face showed there wasn’t any danger to be feared, that this encounter wasn’t going to go down like their last. Tony made his way over to Bucky, looking down at his shoes once he was in front of him before looking around and then finally making eye contact with him. Bucky held back the apology on his lips noticing the Tony had a look on his face that he wanted to say something.

“Ya know, growing up I always felt as if I was living in the vast shadow that was Captain America. My dad’s greatest achievement. I remember him telling me how he advanced Steve Rogers, why he did it, but the story that intrigued me when I was a kid was the daring rescue attempt he helped Captain America on. Cap’ jumping out of an airplane while the enemy reigned fire upon the aircraft to save a friend. He didn’t even know if his best friend was still alive, and if he wasn’t then his rescue mission would become a mission of taking down every HYDRA bastard he encountered until he cut off the head of the snake. My dad told the story of duty, of bravery, of brotherhood, of love. My dad didn’t speak much of HYDRA, but he always got this far-off look in his eyes whenever he got too close to the subject. That was the story I thought of when Rogers asked me about you moving into the tower. My knee-jerk reaction was a firm ‘hell no,’ but then I remembered that story. I did some digging you know. The HYDRA we know today, versus the one that existed then. What caused us to end up where we are today. I get why Rogers protected you from me. Honestly, I never truly dealt with their death. And I may have placed that on you. It was easier that way, but it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. Just like what happened to them. Just- just like what happened to you. Rogers, T’challa, and Shuri have all assured me that you aren’t that guy anymore. Shuri proved that you weren’t. And, I believe them. So, if you want a room at the tower, it’s yours.” Tony said. At first, Bucky wasn’t sure how to process everything, and he was sure the look on his face showed that in spades. He didn’t manage to stutter something out until Tony nearly walked away.

“Do you,” Bucky took a deep breath as Tony halted his movements, “do you think you could ever forgive me? For what happened to them?” Bile rose in Bucky stomach in waves.

“No.” Tony said, deadpanned expression before breaking into a soft smile. “I forgive him though, the soldier. You aren’t the one to blame, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know you, the guy Cap’ rescued. The one I grew up hearing about. Without you Rogers would have just been some poster boy, and who knows, maybe my dad would have been into pharmaceuticals and who knows where we would all be now.”

The chuckle of Tony’s laughter dying off in Bucky’s memory of that fateful day. Not even two weeks later did Bucky have his new arm secured, his belongings moved to the tower, and his nightmares vanishing. Bucky remembers the day he met you. The newest Avenger that had arrived during his recovery with Shuri. Your specialties more useful at the tower than anywhere else you had explained. The scent of something floral floating around you stirring something within him, but at the same time there was something off about that scent that Bucky couldn’t place. The worst part he didn’t know why you stirred these familiar feelings, or why there was something off. He didn’t remember you, but sometimes he felt that tug in his mind that he would feel when his brain was trying to recall something it lost to HYDRA.

Bucky gravitated toward you and he had no idea why, every possible explanation that he conjured up never seemed to encompass the whole picture. Was it your gentle nature? Your fierce loyalty? Your never-ending patience? He remembers the first time he came back from a mission. You were waiting with the others that had stayed back and you were wringing your hands nervously in front of you. The look of concern in your eyes increasing tenfold when you saw Bucky limping his way off the quinjet. Bucky stopped in front of you wrapping his arms around you, breathing in the lavender smell that clung to your skin and the herbal scent of your hair. The scents calming him down instantly. Bucky was home. You had dragged him off to the medbay, but stopped at his room instead since it was closer and he was nearly falling asleep on his feet. You sat him down on his bed before walking to his en suite bathroom to get his first aid kit. Bucky remembers your gentle touch the most from that day. Fingertips ghosting along his injuries, your eyes warm and filled with care, every movement filled with a gentleness that could make Bucky cry.

When Bucky realized that he wasn’t going to fall back asleep he looked over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. At the sight of the time, half past three in the morning, Bucky released another frustrated groan. Shuri and Steve both told him that his mind would piece back the memories in time, that eventually he would figure out who the woman was, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating that every night for the last six months the dreams only teased him. Some days, on his particularly bad ones, Bucky’s mind would cruelly remind him that he doesn’t even know if the woman is still alive, worse yet, what if she had met a painful end by his own hands. What if his mind was just protecting him from this and only showing the good?

Bucky gets out of his messy bed, the sheets pulling off of one corner from his jostling, tossing, and turning. Bucky made his way to the kitchen hoping a cup of tea would soothe him enough to go back to sleep. As soon as he opened his bedroom door he was assaulted with the smell of latkes. Bucky’s mind spun for a moment and he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he had fallen back to sleep, to some modified dream where he’d finally see the woman's face. It wasn’t until he saw you at the stove top that he was convinced that he was actually awake. Bucky walked up behind you, the smell of fried potatoes filling him with a sense of comfort. His flesh hand had barely grazed the small of your back when you jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“Shit- Bucky, you scared the hell out of me!” You spoke with your hand against your chest, willing your heart rate to slow down as you realized you were in no actual danger.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d make some tea.” Bucky said sheepishly.

“No, it’s okay. I just didn’t realize you were here, I thought everyone went on that mission they all left for when I accidentally fell asleep this afternoon.”

“Oh, I was going to, but I ended up getting sick so I crawled into my room and sat this one out.”

“Oh. Well, do you want some latkes? I always make more than I can eat for myself. That is, if you think your stomach can handle it.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Bucky said, his stomach seeming to have settled from it’s violent churning hours ago. He turned around and got two plates out of the cupboard and two forks from the drawer. As you dished up the steaming food, Bucky got the kettle ready for tea afterwards. He opened the kitchen window in order to let the smell of grease out of the room before making his way to the table where you sat with one plate in front of you and the empty seat across from you had his plate waiting for him. Bucky took a bite of the potato pancakes and instantly moaned. He had never tasted latkes as good as his before, and they weren’t even necessarily his when he made them since he was just following his mothers recipe.

“Gosh, doll. I haven’t tasted latkes this good in a long time, where did you learn to make them?” Bucky asked between bites genuinely curious.

“Oh, just an old friend. He usually did the cooking, but I guess I was able to pick this up. Helps that it’s super easy.” You said while looking down at your plate. Bucky nodded his head. You both ate in companionable silence until Bucky stood and grabbed both empty plates heading to the sink and turning on the kettle. You followed him waiting beside him to dry the dishes. Bucky had finished washing the pan and was handing it to you when a breeze through the window blew across your skin. All Bucky could smell was lilacs, just like in his dream.

The taste of peppermint was on his tongue as it ran across lips Bucky could only compare to rose petals. The scent of lilacs clung to her skin, she had told him before it was an oil she used instead of using perfume, Bucky loved it. The noises he could pull from her body spurring him on. She could get drunk off his kiss and it drove him wild. He loved how absolutely wrecked she could be by him just ravaging her with his mouth as if they were teenagers. She cards her fingers through his hair, tugging it at the roots in the back that causes Bucky to release the most delicious growl that sends pleasure straight to her core. Bucky opens his eyes to be met with yours. He could get lost in your eyes and be perfectly content doing so. Bucky latches his mouth to the spot just below your ear that makes your toes curl, sucking a mark there. When he pulls away his lips are only centimeters away from your ear, his breath ghosting the shell of it.

“Love you so much, Y/N. Never want this to end.”

“I love you too, Bucky. Love the way you touch me, hold me, the way you love me.” You gasp out in an airy breath, pulling away to look him in the eyes before resting your forehead on his. Just enjoying his closeness. Tears gathered in your eyes. You were terrified of losing him, he could see it. Bucky kissed away your tears.

“Voi fi mereu cu tine, păpușă. Mă pot lua de aici, dar nu-mi pot lua inima de lângă tine.” (I will always be with you, doll. They can take me away, but they can never take my heart away from you.)

Bucky’s head spun as he was pulled out of the memory. His stomach was twisting more violently than it had been the day before. Memories of him and the woman, you, flooded in and out of his mind. Hushed claims of love under the moonlight, the smell of an old bookstore, the crackling sound of a fire, the taste of peppermint, and the smell of sandalwood and lilacs. Everything hit him all at once, the most vivid memory being the one where his lips unite with yours, over and over again.

“Сирень” (Lilacs) you heard Bucky whisper.

“I, what?” You said in confusion.

“Ich erinnere mich, dass ich dich liebte...” (I remember loving you…) Bucky’s voice began to raise, his eyes still unfocused as if he weren’t seeing what was in front of him. Before you knew it, you were no longer crouched in front of Bucky where he had slid down to the floor. You were on your butt and Bucky was pacing in front of you yelling in languages you didn’t understand, but you could tell it was more than one from what Bucky had tried to teach you at one point.

“Это был ты все это время? Я поцеловала тебя? Почему я не помню, что это был ты до сих пор?” (It was you this whole time? I kissed you? Why couldn't I remember it was you until now?) Bucky yelled.

“James!” Bucky flinched at the use of his name and it seemed to bring him out of his trance. “Don’t yell at me in languages I don’t understand.”

“I-I remember kissing you, why do I remember kissing you?” Bucky spoke softly, his voice small and the broken look in his eyes made your stomach twist unpleasantly. “Did the others- did they know?” Bucky added, his mind spiraling.

“No, no one knew. That was one of the things you warned me against when we were together. I nearly told Steve, but I just, I couldn’t. I didn’t even know if he would believe me if I did, or if they would take you away from me, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again. I’d rather have you and you not know me, than not have you at all.” You said, drawing your knees to your chest. You had come to accept the fact that you would probably never have your Bucky back.

“But, when I met you, you smelled like lavender.” The puzzled look on his face caused you to chuckle. This is the man that looked at you more times than you could count, knew you better both times than you knew yourself, and the oils you used as perfumes is what had kept him from connecting the dots? You broke out into laughter and the ludicrousness of it all became apparent to you. You didn’t stop laughing until you felt Bucky’s finger hook gently beneath your chin. His blue eyes calming your mind.

“I- every time I used it I thought of you, it became too painful. Then I read somewhere that lavender is supposed to be stress relieving, I never switched back when you came here because I figured maybe it would help you. You seemed so tense and skittish when you came here, and you seemed to relax around me that I thought maybe it really did work.” This time it was Bucky’s turn to let out an exasperated chuckle.

“Doll, I relaxed around you because of who you are. You just have that effect on me.”

“Oh.” You said, your eyes widening. Bucky’s eyes looked from yours to your lips and back again before leaning in just a tad.

“Can I kiss you, doll?” Bucky rasped in a husky voice. Yours fists found purchase on his t-shirt and you tugged him towards you. The second your lips met you both let out a satisfying groan. Your lips tasted better than they had in any dream. This time they were real.

[hellsparadiseessays]

Aza Brothers Week - Day 5

I released that essay on r/Jigokuraku back in early July, about one month after the infamous chapter 56 got out. It wasn’t a fun topic to tackle, so as a result I’m leaving the warning I put at the start of the essay before the cut. Because chapter 56 was not ok. Though keep in mind that I’m not mad at UG for it - quite the contrary, his intent is clearly not to make the chapter sexy. However, I heavily suspected the fandom to not find it as obvious because well, we have our own cultural issues. And considering how this essay has been received, and the stuff I noticed even in the Japanese side of the fandom... Well, this essay is in my opinion much needed to explain why chapter 56 is more brutal that it seems. It’s also a good follow-up on yesterday’s post, which stopped at chapter 55. 

Warning : This thread will contain references to rape, so if the topic is sensitive to you, I suggest you avoid reading it. This thread will contain spoilers for the most recent chapters as well, so read it once you’re up to date with the manga to avoid being spoiled and know what I am talking about.

Chapter 56 - A commentary on power and powerlessness

I have been keeping it to myself (and occasionally kinda raged about it on Discord join us) ever since chapter 56 was released, back in April. I’ll be honest with you, despite me joking with everybody else on Discord, that chapter really hit a personal chord and I had a hard time working on this commentary because of that. Let’s just say I regularly had to stop and come back to it a few days later, once I got my head cool again and my brain fully functional – I didn’t want my emotions to get in the way of the analysis.

Here we are now, ready to tackle a difficult topic: the borderline rape of Chôbe by Rien. And I say “borderline”, only because it was Chôbe who successfully did his Chôbe thing. He remains in a dangerous position, one I certainly don’t envy, and one that he himself strongly dislikes.

This commentary will be divided into three parts: firstly, the use of rape as a comedic device in mainstream media and how it trivialises a situation that, in fact, has dramatic consequences. Then, we’ll study Rien has a character through his past and present actions, to establish the nature of his interactions and the way he perceives himself. Finally, we’ll address Chôbe’s reactions while facing danger, and how he deals with his emotions.

I. Rape as a comedic tool

One of the many reasons why this chapter makes me uncomfortable is my personal fear for jokes made about that sort of situation. Why, you may rightfully ask? Because it is very much present in mainstream media, be it in Japan or in Western countries. Considering Reddit is mostly Western-oriented, I chose to pick a reference that focuses on rape in Western media to build my argument around, and I strongly suggest you to watch the video before you continue with this commentary. “Sexual assault of men played for laughs”, by Jonathan McIntosh from the Youtube channel Pop Culture Detective, thoroughly explores the issue through the lens of North American media, which have an area of influence that goes way beyond North America itself – especially with the massive worldwide use of internet. While not all the items of this video fit with the commentary at hand, it nonetheless points out an especially interesting argument: the man who failed to be a man – the one perceived as in control of the situation -, is subjected to various mockeries because it’s fair after all, he wasn’t really being a man when it happened, so he failed as a person.

I think we could even see this issue as a double insult to both men and women with that issue: 1) women can’t be in control because it’s not their role, 2) men who aren’t in control are perceived as emasculated, and thus the jeering is entirely justified because how dare they consider themselves men, right? Basically, this sort of joke is based on a perception of power and who is supposed to hold it. And power is what sexual assault is about. It’s not about lust or provocation. Sexual assault is the act of abusing your power over someone else to the point of robbing them of even their intimacy. This is something that tends to break people, or at least seriously damage them. Yet, this loss of power is something that remains mocked or silenced. And while women are starting to speak up, it’s still rare to see men open up about it. In Jonathan McIntosh’s video, the example of Terry Crew in reaction to the Harvey Weinstein affair and the following #Metoo movement is telling: losing power (what is perceived as such), especially as a man, is still treated in a demeaning manner that should only be mocked or ignored, not as something serious that can affect the victim for years and have a negative effect on their life in general.

Sexual assault of men as comedy is destructive, yet still awfully present in the series and movies we watch – even kids’ shows. Yes, you read it well. Kids’ shows. It gives a certain inclination to joke about rape – especially when it happens to men -, by internalising the issue and not realising how demeaning it actually is. It’s even visible in the most mainstream manga and anime (Naruto’s 1000 years of pain, anyone?) and we’ll play a little game about that: in your comment, I invite you to point out sexual assault as a joke in a manga/anime you know (and maybe enjoy). Keep in mind that I’m not doing that to slam the creations or their authors, it’s just to point out how surprisingly common it can be. I also wish to point out that, in chapter 56 of Jigokuraku, UG didn’t go that way at all. On the contrary, he made it clear that Chôbe was in danger and painfully aware of it throughout the chapter, while Rien... Was being Rien, with his own perception of who he is and the power he holds.

II. Rien: the perception of power

Now that we’ve established the basis about the way sexual assault with men as victims is perceived (especially in the West, a point of view vastly predominant on Reddit), we can start digging on Rien’s case of A God I Am.

As soon as Rien gets his first appearance (chapter 26), his status is made clear: among the boss level characters we’ve seen so far (Ju Fa, Tao Fa, Zhu Jin), he is one cut above and presents himself as the uncontested leader, the patriarch of a family who rules and serves punishment when he deems it necessary. From his point of view, he’s the head of the Tensen family as well as (potentially, it depends on Jofuku being alive of not), the ruler of the island – or the head scientist of the giant laboratory that is Kotaku. It means that Rien isn’t just the most powerful being on the island (though the notion of power can be discussed there, considering the power system used by UG), he also perceives himself as such and demonstrates it with an iron hand: the way he treated Mei before she escaped is good enough as a proof.

Behind his position as the head scientist, he shows a ruthless cruelty and a readiness to not even consider other people as persons. Mei herself, suggested as being one of the first successful experiments by Jofuku – and thus being “family” to Rien -, gets banished, mutilated and used as a living experiment material for the very thing she dared openly call out (the massive use of humans for experimentations). Rien even openly states, in chapter 26, that he’s the only one with the right to punish family members when Ju Fa injures an already weakened Zhu Jin. It gives us an idea of what Rien may mean by “punishment”. Go against his will: die or become an experiment. Disobey him: get severely injured if you’re part of the Tensen family, I heavily suspect death may be the sentence when you don’t have that luxury – and so does Chôbe. Until now, Rien has thus been shown as having a general behaviour that could be qualified of sociopathic: being indifferent towards others to the point of not seeing them as people, dehumanising anybody, using the “we’re family” or “I’ll tell you everything” tactic to try and keep people on his side. Interestingly, between him and Mei, he’s the one who has spend the most time with the other Tensen, and it is visible in their behaviour as well: they show similar sociopathic traits (Mu Dan’s experiments he seemed to find most amusing, Ju Fa qualifying Chôbe of “it” and “livestock”...).

However, no matter how godly Rien thinks he is, he remains surprisingly human and this has been shown to us through the point of view of his latest victim, who managed to do what, I suspect, no other character in the story would have been able to pull off without seriously getting in trouble for it (meaning: die immediately): he momentarily reversed the power dynamic to save his skin for at least a moment.

III. Chôbe’s status as a victim and how he handles it

Since the start, I’ve been claiming left and right that Chôbe is probably too smart for his own good, but it’s not just that. It’s an accumulation of everything that happened to him and his brother. Chôbe is very intimate with the notion of powerlessness. He’s been living it repeatedly since he’s a kid, slowly losing his place in society until he became an outcast. As a consequence, the way he thinks isn’t based on honour or revenge: it’s about survival, first and foremost.

The first time we see him go full survival mode is when he and Toma momentarily run away from the Sôshin that are outnumbering them, to find a better position to fight. In that chapter (chapter 9), we witness another way to survive that is very much Chôbe’s own method – no other character has done it, not even Toma -: instead of resisting a power stronger than his own, he integrates himself into the equation by mirroring the person who’s displaying power over him. By doing so, he creates an impression of kinship he can exploit to his advantage. As a kid, he mutilated himself to the point of losing sight in his right eye and being seriously scarred to “pretty himself up” by looking more like the bandits who were planning to harm Toma and sell them both. Doing so created a strong impression in their captors’ mind, and Chôbe used that impression to claim a place among the bandits – a first step towards claiming his power as an individual capable of thoughts and choices back. By integrating himself like that, he managed to become the leader of the pack, the chief of an entire village of bandits, causing so much trouble it warranted death penalty for him.

This method of mirroring the person holding power over him is visible again during the entirety of chapter 56. This chapter starts with Chôbe being captive, literally tied to a bed and clearly uncomfortable for many reasons: he’s been beaten to the point of passing out after having been treated like a wonderful unicorn (not a person), wakes up in an unknown place, tied to a bed in a peculiar position. By that point, Rien already marked a lot of Creep Points, and Chôbe has a lot of reasons to find the situation disagreeable. But it’s not enough, and Chôbe ends up facing actual blackmail: cooperate or become Tan (which is pretty much like dying, but worse: your life force is sucked out of you while you’re in a fake wonderland. Chôbe had a taste of it and saw what it looked like while he was in the Tan pit, both him and Toma weren’t enthusiastic about the situation and quickly got out of the pit). During the entire chapter, Chôbe weighs his options and stalls time by asking questions and gather more information on his situation to pick the best option to stay alive. It’s a daring move, to do that while facing the local godly being, but Chôbe isn’t stupid and understands having the choice of cooperating means he has value somehow. And to squeeze all the information he needs from Rien, to better weight his option and understand what’s going on on this unnatural island (he realised it’s unnatural in chapter 54), he does what we’ve already seen him do in the aforementioned bandits’ village flashback: he mirrors the one having power over him to gain some agency back through deception.

That’s where something we’ve seen him do a lot happens: he smiles. Mind you, it’s not a genuine smile. Chôbe isn’t really a smiling person, we’ve seen that everytime we’ve got even the smallest hints regarding his true feelings. However, Chôbe uses his mask as a tool for deception and picked this habit as a kid: a grin to the bandits even though his face was heavily injured to convince them of keeping him and his brother, a grin when he steels himself while facing the Sôshin, a smile when he tries to deceive Gabimaru before suddenly attacking him. It’s the vicious, weaponised grin of someone who figured out what to do and where to go, while keeping others’ attention down. He even smiles while sweating when he is nervous, at the end of chapter 55, because he has no idea what’s going on but somehow he’s tied to a bed and someone one-sidedly decided to have sex with him (yes, in case you hadn’t noticed, Rien didn’t care about his consent, because Rien doesn’t see him as a person). However, during chapter 56, we slowly see him integrates himself in the equation again by imitating Rien’s moves to numb his wariness under the guise of complying with the cooperation request. His actions mismatch his thoughts exactly for that purpose: his first thought is about a way to escape, but he realises it may be too dangerous for him. So he renounces - for now - to by himself some time and repeats his mantra, to adapt and figure things out, and gives Rien what he wants because it’s the only viable option for survival.

Since then, qualifying his attitude towards the Tensen of “bad faith” could be an understatement. He may be willing to concede certain things under the threat of death, but he will still have the guts to stand his ground, even while facing a whole group of people who could kill him – and openly threaten to do so. It takes a certain kind of madness to do that sort of thing, and oh, it’s exactly what the bandits said about him when he purposefully injured himself just to prove a point. Chôbe is too smart for his own good, but he still manages to get his agency back when it’s stolen from him, and that’s what makes him incredibly dangerous, even for the Tensen. Even in real life, it takes a certain kind of character to pull that sort of thing off. Still, despite all of his wrong, what happened to Chôbe during his childhood as well as chapter 56 qualifies him as a victim, and UG handled it incredibly well, making it tragic (if not outright nerves wracking, at least in my case) instead of using it as a comedic tool. Thank you for that, UG.

This commentary took me about... At least 10 days just to be worked on, despite the very small amount of references needed for it.

Without giving away too much information, I empathise strongly with Chôbe’s predicament and generally find him very relatable, at a personal level. His tactics are easy to recognise not just because they’ve been made fairly clear by UG, but also because there’s a pattern I know all too well in them. So yeah, that commentary tackled some difficult topics for me, and I had trouble keeping a cool head while writing it. It was a difficult birth, chapter 56 still makes my skin crawl. However, I hope you found this write up informative or entertaining. Don’t hesitate to share your thoughts, answer my little challenge (an example of sexual assault played for laugh in a manga/anime you know), ask questions, scold me for yet another Chôbe rant...

[lakinda5654]

~~~~A Girl and A God~~~~ Chapter 12- Safe

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A Girl and A God is a RATED M Loki Fanfic with an original character, Alexa, who is taken in by Tony Stark after the revelation of abilities of her own. There’s sex, romance, heartbreak, action, fluff, angst, all that good stuff. Full description in blog, and a jump-to-chapter list if you just want the smut or the cuteness bits. Enjoy <3 

Chapter Summary: The decision to release Loki from his cell for meals comes down to a vote, and someone forces Loki into a heartbreaking situation...

Contains: Some violence, a tad of cuteness at the beginning, mostly plot development

Word Count: 1,716

~Previous Chapter~~Next Chapter~

~~Beginning of Story~~

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Alexa opened her eyes to the sound of her musical alarm. She was always a light sleeper, so she didn’t need her alarm to be obnoxiously loud or annoying. It was very early morning, the sky just barely beginning to fade from dark to light.

Loki was still sound asleep. When Alexa sat up, he stirred and opened his eyes. He saw her and seemed to be flooded with the memories of the night before. A small smile spread on his waking face. “Good morning Petal”

That nickname never failed to make her heart soar. “Good morning Loki.” Alexa stretched and let out a sigh. “it’s time to go.”

“Ugh. Must you break the moment that quickly?” He complained as he sat up.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you in trouble. Or me.”

“You know... if someone ever did see us, I could protect you. I could convince them.” He said with a tone of over-confidence, but then his tone softened. “You are safe with me, Petal.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d rather prevent the need for that altogether. Let's go.” 

They walked to the cell quietly. Passing all the other doors was always the worst part, knowing them getting caught was as simple as someone waking up a bit earlier than normal, or hearing their footsteps.

Once they reached the cell and she punched in the code, he stepped inside once more.

“Maybe I’ll see you at breakfast…”Alexa hated locking him up, and he knew it. Before she shut the door, he reached out and gently ran his fingers along the side of her face. The corners of his mouth formed a small smile, but his eyes were heavy. He didn’t need to say anything. She knew what he was feeling.

As his arm fell back to his side, she shut the door.

A couple people were already at breakfast when she arrived, which made her feel as if they could have been easily caught. She made a mental note to leave earlier next time.

Alexa looked for Thor, hoping to ask him if he’d gotten the chance to speak with Tony.

After about 15 minutes, they walked in together, following the rest of the group. Before she could get Thor’s attention, Tony stood at the head of the table.

“Ok…” he said, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “So something has been brought to me and I want to know what you all think. We are thinking about allowing Loki to join us for meals. Who’s in?”

Alexa wilted. Why. Why did he only say that? He wants this to fail.

“Why would we do that?” “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Several members said, looking at Tony as if he were stupid.

Before he could answer, Alexa got brave. She stood up. The room fell silent. “He saved my life. He deserves a chance to continue to prove himself.” Her words were as confident and strong as she could make them, but inside she was filled with anxiety and trying to hold back her tears. This was the only chance she’d get for a long time before she could try again. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t fail him.

The group was quiet and looked at Tony, who motioned for her to sit. She did. After a moment, Tony sighed. “All in favor?”

There was a moment of no movement. Then to her relief, Thor raised his hand. She shot her up as well. Then Banner, then Peter, then Scott.

But that was all. Alexa realized she’d failed, and looked at Tony. Her stare was begging, as tears welled in her eyes. He looked at her curiously, then looked away as if he were thinking.

“Well it’s my cell and my vote counts for infinity so we’re gonna let him out. Just for meals, completely supervised.”

Protests rang out at the table, but Alexa couldn’t even hear them. She was overjoyed. Tony shut them up with, “if he does anything wrong we can put him back.”

“Unless he escapes” Clint was livid. He was heavily against Tony’s choice.

Tony replied, “he won’t. I’m going to put on a tracking bracelet that’s bound to his skin. I’ll be able to know where he is at all times, even if he shape-shifts or teleports or whatever in hell”

Oh. Alexa swallowed hard. He’d be able to see where Loki was during the night. Unless he didn’t check it… but there would always be a chance.

Clint was still pissed. He got up and left the table only after slamming his fists on it. It was awkwardly quiet as the door shut behind him. “Time to eat,” Tony said cheerily as if nothing was wrong. Alexa tried to catch his attention to mouth him a thank you, but he never looked her way.

He headed for the door, and she hoped it would be to collect Loki. During the next several minutes, she was looking at the door every 5 seconds. She could hardly eat. What was taking so long? Finally, she saw him walk in, next to Stark. She looked at him, but quickly realized…

Something was very, very wrong.

Loki looked upset, no, hurt. No… angry? But he was trying to hide it. He dished up some food and sat far away from her. His eyes stayed on his plate, and nothing else. He ate very little, and quietly. The whole room was quiet. People were glaring at him between their bites, but his eyes never were up to see them.

Fuck. What happened, what did Tony say to him? Or was he just acting, staying stoic to avoid the suspicion of others?

Alexa quickly finished her meal and headed back to her room to get ready for Lab time with Stark. She had some questions for him.

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Earlier That Morning

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Loki was waiting in his cell, hoping for the glorious sound of the keypad. He hoped Alexa would be allowed to retrieve him, but he knew the odds of that were low. Who was he kidding, he knew the odds of anyone even considering his release were low. Alexa was smart, but innocent to the way Stark operated. He wouldn’t release him, and even thinking he would be entertaining a fantasy.

His thoughts were interrupted by the keypad. As Stark walked in, Loki hid his surprise and raised his eyebrows at him with a look of disbelief.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Loki said smugly.

Tony looked down at him and leaned against the wall to his right. “Whatever you’ve been saying to the girl is stopping now. We all know you are using her to try to escape. That much is obvious. But she’s never had to deal with you before so she’s clearly falling hard for whatever shit you’re pulling.”

Loki looked at him. “As much as that sounds like me I’m actually not trying to trick the…”

“Sure Antlers” he cut him off. “So here’s what’s gonna happen…” He knelt down and locked a bracelet around Loki’s wrist before he could attempt to dodge him. It hurt like hell as it dug into his skin, but he didn’t show it. “You’re not going to speak to the girl. If you do, I’ll receive a happy little notification on here, and I’ll immediately be able to listen in.” Stark said, holding up his phone. “If you are anything but sarcastic, cold, and cruel, you’ll get a nice reminder of where you stand and who you are to this girl. It will feel something like this.”

A shock took over Loki’s body, radiating from his wrist. It was quick but extremely painful. His veins were on fire. It caused him to fall to the floor and curl up. He heard himself let out a yell and was covered in sweat immediately. He glared up at Stark, who continued, “Your scheme was actually working pretty well. The girl campaigned around for you to be allowed to eat with us. Unfortunately, I think not allowing it at this point would cause her to distance from us more than she already has. She’s valuable and I honestly believe she’ll grow into something great as long as we can keep helping her. But that requires her cooperation. If she thinks we are the meanies that locked her god friend in a cage and won’t let him out, that won’t go over so well.” Tony continued. “So, you are going to come to eat with us. Quietly and silently. You will meet any of her friendly advances with sarcasm and harshness. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?” He motioned for him to follow to breakfast. “Oh and honestly she’s a good kid. If you keep this up somehow I’ll just send her to a different facility in Japan or something anyways. Where she will be safe.”

The thought of Alexa being sent away sent Loki into a rage. “She is more safe with me then she would ever be with you in your entire lifetime!” Loki spat his venomous words at him. He couldn’t contain himself. Without looking back, Stark gave him another shock. Loki fell to his knees, breathing rapidly. The shocks were like hot nails digging into his skin. His wrist was red around the bracelet where it held its grip. He tried to remove it, but that was another type of pain entirely... as if he were trying to rip out his own muscle. Suddenly, Tony saw him clawing at the device and double-clicked the button. 2 shocks shook him to his core. It was one of the worst pains he had ever felt in his life. He almost passed out and heard himself scream.

 Tony kneeled down and looked at Loki as he panted and held back tears. “I would have gone less harsh but…” Tony shrugged. “Considering you’re literally trying to manipulate young girls I thought this would be fine.”

“I will rip out your eyes you bloody…” Loki spat at him between his panting.

 “Ah ah ah…” Stark interrupted him, holding up the button for Loki to see. Loki fell silent, glaring at him viciously.

“Better” Stark said, and roughly brought Loki to his feet and the two headed to the meal room.

[thedarklordmegatron]

Wicked Games

Libertus Ostium/Nyx Ulric

Warnings for swearing, major character death, skeletons and an ambiguous ending!

He would never understand what it was exactly that possessed him to return to Insomnia and alone at that.

It was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid, and if he did by some miracle make it back to Lestallum in one piece, which he seriously doubted he would, Amicitia was going to kill him just so Leonis could revive him and kill him again. Had Iris not mentioned that one of her scouts claimed to have seen Glauca’s armour whilst doing recon, he would have happily stayed in Lestallum organising the remaining Glaives, all while ignoring Insomnia as he had successfully done so for the past nine years. As it was, his stupid ass just had to go and dig through the ruined city with nothing but a torch, a bottle of water and some vague idea as to where he should begin his search.

That being said, if Cor hadn’t been dealing with the movement of a large caravan, the Marshal would already have been scouring the city, looking for whatever remained of Drautos. Back before the fall, it had been no secret among the Citadel’s staff that the Marshal of the Crownsguard and the Captain of the Kingsglaive had been intimately involved. Pelna never had managed to erase the image of them fucking like a pair of rabbits out of his head.

He and many others had questioned Leonis’ loyalty after the news of Drautos’ betrayal began to spread. Cor had been less than impressed when the Hunters had briefly turned against him, informed him that they would not follow the man who had slept with the enemy. It had taken months or hard work, Six knows how much blood, and the word of those who had survived Insomnia because of him, before people had begun to trust him again.

Looking back on it, he really ought to have admitted his own guilt, let the people attack him instead of the man who would give everything to protect the people of Lucis. But he was a coward and he’d stayed silent. While he was not here for Glauca and could not carry whatever remained of him back to Lestallum, not when he had every intention of finding Nyx, he could at least return a portion of that armour as an apology for his cowardice.

There was, however, a little hope in his heart, that should he find the traitor, Nyx might be somewhere nearby. The last time he’d seen him, he’d been wearing the Ring of the Lucii, the damned ring that Leonis claimed would burn a man not of royal blood from the inside out; if that were the truth then he very much doubted his husband would have walked away in one piece.

A shriek from up ahead had him throwing himself behind the nearest piece of debris, the remains of an upturned van, and smothering the light from his torch. Taking care not to make any sound or give away his position in any manner, he peered around the edge of the metal just in time to see an Iron Giant emerge from behind a building. As was just his luck, the Daemon paused and looked in his general direction. Holding his breath he stayed completely still, waiting with bated breath for the blasted creature to move on.

After what felt like an eternity it did wander off, though not before crushing a few minor Daemons beneath its feet. Staying still, Libertus watched on for a few more minutes until he was absolutely certain that no other Daemons would be making an appearance.

“Okay,” He muttered softly, switching his torch back on and looking around. He had two options. One, navigate his way through a minefield of sinkholes, glass and god knows what else, risking making one hell of a noise and potentially killing himself by falling into a hole. Or two, clamber over the seriously unstable looking stack of concrete and steel that had to have come from one of the collapsed skyscrapers. As if making his decision for him, a group of imps appeared in the same place as the Iron Giant had been. Concrete it was.

Cracking his knuckles he shook his hands out and slowly climbed the unstable mound, taking great care to be as silent as possible. The last thing he needed was for the imps to see him and decide he’d make a good dinner. But for once luck was on his side. Nothing fell out from beneath him and there were enough footholds that he was able to scale the debris relatively quickly. Once atop the pile, he glanced back at the imps and was relieved to find them squabbling among themselves a fair distance away.

He made sure to climb down a few paces, ensuring that he was suitably hidden from sight before raising the torch and looking around. Something had happened here, that much was certain, if not by the sheer amount of destruction, then by the fact it looked like a giant foot had literally crushed the entire area. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, Daemonic or armour-wise, so he continued to move further down.

Had it not been for the fact that his foot literally sank through the metal, successfully through his boot in the process, he would have easily missed the remains.

“Fucking-!” He hissed, instinctively reaching down to grab hold of the injured leg. It was only then, as he attempted to pry his leg free without causing any further damage, that he realised what it was his foot had gone through. Despite being warped and rusted, the result of being exposed to the elements for nearly a decade, the metal was still somewhat recognisable. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Very slowly, he moved closer, taking care to keep his foot as still as possible when it became clear that he’d gone through the chest “Of all the gods damned rotten luck” Sighing heavily, Libertus moved his torch into a more convenient position, illuminating the small area.

Muttering under his breath, he placed a hand on either side of the armour and very slowly wriggled his foot free, hissing as the sight of his shredded leg. That was going to be a bitch to walk on but was certainly not worth using a potion on. The boot, on the other hand, was going to be a hard one to explain away, the younger Amicitia was going to murder him, she’d only just given him the new pair.

Once certain that his leg was not going to kill him, he turned his attention to the remains of the man he had once called ‘Captain’. For a moment he did nothing but stare. Had it not been for the armour he’d never have been able to identify him, after all, everyone’s bones looked the same.

Removing the body, well skeleton really, was impossible. Whilst he did admittedly have an empty bag, he’d brought it with the intention of finding his husband and giving him a proper burial; not to carry the remains of a traitor back to the one person on the planet who missed him. Personally, he would much rather leave the man’s bones to continue to rot or eventually be eaten by a Daemon, whichever came first; but at the same time, he’d seen the way Cor sat upon the rooftops after a long shift, running his fingers over a well-worn ring.

“By the Six I hate you,” He muttered softly, closing the distance between them. Leaning over the armour he paused. There, laying embedded in what would have been Drautos’ chest, was one very familiar Kukri. With shaking fingers he reached out to cautiously run his fingers over the hilt. “Nyx,” He paused for a second before pulling it free and sitting back on his heels. There was no mistaking the detailing and the familiar if damaged beads. So Nyx had been the one to kill him. Not that he was particularly surprised, Nyx was a stubborn bastard and considering Nyx hadn’t met up with him, he suspected that Drautos had been the one to seriously injure, if not kill, his husband. Although he suspected the Ring of the Lucii had something to do with the significant lack of a second body; unless Nyx had somehow managed to put some distance between himself and the traitor.

“You fucking bastard.” He hissed, holding the Kukri over his heart and glaring at the skull. “You absolute fucking bastard!” In a fit of rage, he grabbed hold of the nearest movable object, a fairly large piece of debris, and slammed it onto the skull, watching in satisfaction as the bone gave way and crumbled. “I hope you burn in whatever hell awaits you!” He repeated before slamming the rubble down once again, suitably destroying the remaining shards. The shriek of an imp had him falling silent, Nyx’s Kukri held firmly in place against his chest. He sat in silence, waiting for the imps to move on.

When it became increasingly obvious that the creatures were not going to be leaving any time soon, he slipped the bag off his shoulder and tucked the blade away among his supplies, pausing only briefly to touch it once more. With it secured safely, Libertus turned back to Drautos’ remains before reluctantly leaning back over the armour and digging around inside. He hadn’t expected to find the ring, but it was a pleasant surprise to find a simple gold band and chain buried among the bones of his neck.

“I’m not doing this for you,” He whispered, sparing a quick glance to the top of the debris pile and the imp that had crested it “This is for Cor. He didn’t deserve any of the shit you put him through. And if you think for a moment any of us will ever forgive you for what you’ve done, you’re wrong. I will never forgive you for killing Nyx. Never. You’re a traitorous piece of shit and every single child born will know that it was you who did this to us.” With the ring safely in his possession, Libertus clambered to his feet and stumbled off in the opposite direction to whence he came, the screams and footsteps of the Daemons spurring him on.

Of course, Drauatos screwed him over again. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to look for his husband because the gods-damned traitor took up too much time and still managed to hurt him despite being long dead. With shaking fingers he freed his phone from his pocket, activated the voicemail and continued running. He shouldn’t have gone alone. He should have just bitten the bullet and brought Cor with him. That being said, if he was going to die, if a Daemon did decide to make him dinner, he’d gone down with Nyx’s voice still ringing in his ears.

“Hey Libs, it’s me. Just making sure you’re okay. You’re not replying to any of our texts and I’m just a bit worried. Give me a call or drop me a text when you get the chance. Love you.”

“To listen to your message again, press one. To save your message press two-”

“Message saved. Next message. Received on Friday the sixteenth of May, M.E. 756 at eight o’three am.”

“Hey Libs, it’s me. You didn’t come home last night and you’ve got me worrying. Please tell me you’re okay or do me a favour and text Pelna. I just want to know that you’re somewhere safe. I’m heading off to the signing now, Drautos called me in early, so I’ll try to give you a ring when I get a chance. Love you.”

“To listen to your message again, press one-”

[all-i-need-is-food-and-fanfics]

What do you want?(3)

length: 2900 words

trigger/warnings:  mention of death, graphic violence, blood(nothing too graphic or explicit yet), curses(because it’s Bakugo)

summary: Buddy Cop AU

a/n:  Deeply based on @soyunpochoclin idea, and headcanons for this honestly awesome AU

Honestly, you could skip this part, it’s not that plot-relevant besides the first part of it, but I had this idea and had to write it. So I hope it’s enjoyable anyway, it was fun to wirte so I hope it’s fun to read! <3

<–2nd part - 4rd part–>

***

Bakugo didn’t look up, he didn’t have he almost could feel Kirishima’s beaming happiness from his desk. Neither took Kirishima to sit on his desk.

“Morning Blasty!” Throwing a small pile of files over Bakugo’s own papers.

Maybe it was the fact another partner in the office had heard Kirishima call him that stupid name or that his butt was on top of Katsuki’s hand but anger boiled with ferocity in his eyes. He pulled his hand with forces and stare back up to Kirishima, who jumped at the action.

Once he looked up, “Sorry man, I didn’t notice.” Kirishima was smiling apologetic, almost ear to ear, eyes slightly squinted his scar standing out.

The anger reached boiling point, where it was no longer about to explode instead it evaporated only leaving smoke left to cough.

Maybe it was too early to deal with this shit.

“Just sit in a fucking chair, Shitty hair.” Bakugo finally said in between his teeth, pulling back the chair next to him that Ejirou willing ignore at first.

Kirishima bounced on the chair when he first sat down(practically jumped), “Oh come on dude! I used your nickname!” He was dangerously close to Bakugo’s face, he could basically hear Kirishima’s voice making eco inside his scalp.

Katsuki thought about blowing Kirishima’s face out of his personal face, he settled for pushing it away instead, “And I fucking told you not to.” Finally, he looked down at the files, “What the fuck are these?” He opened them, Kirishima helpfully pointed out the recognizable face.

She looked younger, definitely less crazy, a little crazy behind monotone tone that usually comes in school pictures. But similar to know it was her, “Himiko Toga” Katsuki clicked his tongue, laid back on his chair.

Ejirou opened the rest, not as familiar faces but it was hard the guys that almost killed him.

“Most of their of their information it’s here, except this guy’s name…” He pointed a blurry picture, although it was undeniable the blue matchstick, “…for his scars it’s easy to see he’s up to these days but not who he used to be…” Kirishima slowly explained.

“And the hell it’s all this information for?”

“Well, honestly…it’s not for much…” Ejirou lets the files fall into the desk again, and sits back too, avoiding the face Bakugo it’s probably making. “Most of this information it’s old, well..all but one.”

“Blue torch.” Kirishima laughed because it just amazed Bakugo’s creativity for coming up with nicknames.

“Yeah,” He nodded, Bakugo turn to him, “Again he is easy to spot. We have information from a place he seems to frequent a lot in the past weeks.”

“Then what the hell are we waiting?” Bakugo clicked his tongue, annoyed.

Ejirou’s face fell in indecision, “Well…it doesn’t really open during the day, neither it’s a cop-friendly place per say…”

Katsuki growled in response, and dig himself in his seat. He knew what that meant.

Someone had to infiltrate whatever nightclub and scrape for information.

Now, Katsuki was very good at his job. He was competent, determinate, observant and a perfectionist, which made him a very good cop and detective. But people were never his strong suit, he avoided infiltration jobs like a plague; though it seemed there wasn’t a way around this one. When he turned to Kirishima he founded a solution he wasn’t happy about either, he had to leave it in someone else’s hands. Which in his head was almost as bad.

Once everything was arranged, Ejirou was pleased with their plan. They would be connected through a microphone, Bakugo would wait in the car just in case of any unexpected situation and he would go in with a fake story and to ask around for information.

He could see Bakugo’s frustration though, “It’s fine dude, I won’t let you down.”

Katsuki looked at Kirishima’s face, he dug for insecurity or a lie, he didn’t find any. He rolled his eyes, “Don’t get so full of yourself hair for brains.”

I know, he thought but something in his stomached twisted.

“There’s a littl too much irony in that sentence Blasty.” He laughed over Bakugo’s complain, instead he took his phone out. Ejirou jumped at the sight of the hour, “I’m late!” He stood up and picked his things up fast.

“Oi…” Katsuki tried to call, but it didn’t seem to go through that thick skull, he just kept running around, “Spiky!” He grabbed Kirishima’s arm as he went to pick up the batch on the table, “What the fuck do you think you are going?”

Ejirou slowed down for a second, “Oh yeah…I forgot to tell you…I’m sorry” He gave Bakugo an apologetic smile, “I asked for the free afternoon, my little brother has an activity today at school and he needs someone to go so…I’m going!” He laughed nervously, already reaching for his neck, “But don’t worry! I’ll be back tonight, I’m not bailing.”

“Tsk.” Bakugo rolled his eyes, finally letting Ejirou go. He stood up and took the keys of the car of his pocket, Ejirou just stared blankly. Once Bakugo reached the door, he turned around, “You coming or are you prefer being late?” Kirishima smiled at him, beaming again. Katsuki had to turn around, but he felt Kirishima running behind him.

They shouldn’t use the car for personal activities, but Ejirou didn’t say anything(he doubted anyone would).

***

Katsuki knew Kirishima lived somewhat far away from the station. Mostly because it wasn’t where he worked in the first place. Katsuki didn’t pay much attention to his co-workers, but with someone as obnoxious as Kirishima he doubted he wouldn’t have noticed him at the very least. Kirishima was temporarily transferred because the case seemed to evolve both territories, also because he had been late 2 out of 3 three days they’ve been working together.

He was right, in car, it was maybe a 40 minutes drive, it was around an hour on train. When they finally reached the apartment building, it was like any other, grey and inline with others. Katsuki half expected Kirishima to leave in one of those neighborhoods that exceeded in color and noise, unlike the rest of Tokyo. That only left its own color scheme at nighttime, where it was showered with life. Not even inside his apartment, it was like that though.

It was small, filled with warm browns and deep reds all round, slightly disorganized; someone had given up on cleaning leaving toys scattered around. A couple of pieces of simple art on the walls, but mostly old familiar photos decorated the living room. But the presence of an infant was the strongest, with the toys on the floor and unfinished art projects. If the Disney song that filled the apartment wasn’t enough of a clue.

Though Katsuki only realized all of this after he had taken his attention of said infant in front of the T.V. singing with all the power of lungs, kicking, punching and twirling a broom in exaggerated movements. He had no shirt on, and his hair was bright red too, shorter but it was definitely standing in the same over-gelled style.

Bakugo was about to roll his eyes, just when he heard Kirishima singing on his right, catching up to the song.

“…Swift as the coursing river…” he started at first softly, still, the kid turned around and smiled big.

“Be a man!” He yelled as he started running towards Kirishima.

“With all the force of a great typhoon!” Kirshima received him with open arms, before picking him up and twirling him on the air.

“Be a man!” The kid was laughing, holding on to Kirishima strongly.

“With all the strength of a raging fire! Mysterious as the dark side of the moon!” They ended together in a long messy note until the music fade away in dialog.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. Once he settled them back on Kirishima, the kid was on his shoulder. They finished laughing, and stare back at Katsuki.

“Blasty, this is Haruto, my little brother” Immediately the kid’s face lit up. Beaming. Katsuki’s face twisted, they look too much alike for his taste. “Haru, this is my partner Blasty.”

The kid first opened his mouth but stops and instead, whispered it on Kirishima’s ear. Whatever it was, it makes Kirishima smile wider(it beats Katsuki, how that’s possible) and it couldn’t been good, that much he knew.

“Yeah! That one!” He nodded and his brother’s face just opens in happiness, he glares quickly at Bakugo’s eyes and goes back to whispering something to Kirishima. He simply nods this time before turning to Bakugo, “He asks if you could show him your quirk.”

Katsuki hesitates for a moment, not for the request but for the weird interaction and the overall softness in Kirishima’s voice, “Whatever,” He ended up saying. Taking his hand of his pocket, lifting his hand to let small explosions flyover.

This time the kid not only stared at Bakugo, almost starstruck but also exclaim out loud. Before he pushed his weight forward, Ejirou quickly understood and walked up to Bakugo. Who looked tense and almost ashamed, which honestly made this whole experience better for Ejirou. He leaned until Haru could touch Bakugo’s hand. He stared at it at first, for a moment then lined the creases of his hand, Ejirou smiled at the amused face of his brother and the slight pink color in Bakugo’s cheek.

Katsuki had to look away, it was uncomfortable. But sadly, and he had to learn quickly, he couldn’t blow kids off; much less Kirishima’s. He seemed like the guy to kill for his family by the stupid look on his face.

“My brother didn’t lie…your quirk it’s so manly!” He finally talked, to Bakugo, holding his hand with a little more strength than before with both of his little hands. When he turned to face the kid…yeah they looked too much alike. Just less scared, less damaged Katsuki supposes but certainly too similar.

“Yeah, I know brat.” He pulled his hand back, and turn away again, “Weren’t you supposed to be somewhere or we are just wasting time?”

Both Kirishimas straighten their backs in realization. Haru almost slides down with little of Ejirou’s help and runs off to a hall in the back of the room.

“He really wanted to meet you, when I told him I had a new partner.” Ejirou smiled tendered, then laughed looking down as if remembering, “At first he was mad, he is used to Mina…but then he got all excited when I told him your quirk and the persecution…” He looked back to the room in time to find his brother with a shirt on, running towards them. To side hug Ejirou. “Ready little man?”

“So what do you got little brat?” Katsuki knew it was the wrong thing to ask, a shadow fell into both of the boys face.

“I…I…don’t have any…” Haru barely muttered, his gaze lock in his fidgeting hands.

Katsuki’s face twisted at the sudden memories and bits of the pass the filled his head.

To his credit though, Kirishima recovered quickly, smiling again, picking back his brother up, “Who needs a quirk, when you have a brave and manly heart!” He smiled again brightly.

“Yeah!” His brother matched.

“We know it’s not common anymore but…it happens every once in a while, from what the doctor told us.”

“Tsk.” Bakugo complained, and Ejirou stared at his face. He seemed conflicted in a way, looked away to the wall, “I know someone like you,” he muttered in between his teeth, “I am sure if a nerd like Deku can stand in the same place as me, I am sure so can you.” Katsuki made sure his tone was annoyed because he was, but Kirishimas seemed to be immune to it.

Since it just went over their heads, now decorated back again with wide sharp smile, “He is a cop? Like you? Can I meet him?” Bakugo clenched his teeth.

At that moment, he looked back at his mind; his younger self, yelling about how he had fallen to talk well about Deku. He sighed as he walked to the door, the kid walking around him beaming happiness and hope. Mirror memories of shattering hope and desperate cries, but that was a long time ago. He had learned that there wasn’t any pleasure in being the best by putting down others. So instead he patted the kids head and answered his questions.

Once Ejirou left Haru on the back, he sat next to Bakugo at the front. He turned to catch Bakugo staring, just before Bakugo could turn away, he s mouthed a thank you. Which Bakugo barely took, only grumbling in response.

***

“Okay then,” Ejirou caught up to his brother, walking towards the entrance. He was surprised to find a disappointed face, “What’s up -or down- little man?”

“It’s Bakugo not coming?” He kneeled down and patted lightly his head, around the spikes.

“I’m afraid not little man,” He smiled apologetically.

Not looking forward to stay in a room with rowdy kids. He had explained when Ejirou leaned into his window.

Haru pouted and crossed his arms. Before glancing back at Ejirou’s eyes and running to the car. Ejirou tried ti call him but he didn’t stop until he was standing on his toes, next to Bakugo’s window. Bakugo looked down, tired at the kid. At first he rolled his eyes, but then he frowned down. Then he looked angry and opened the door, the taking Haru from the waist and lifting him from the side with no care at all.

He was fuming by the time he walked in front of Ejirou. “I’ll fucking show you who’s the best.” It was the only clue Ejirou got to whatever conversation they had, enough to get him out of the car, that and the pleased face of his brother.

Ejirou didn’t complain, simply followed inside. Haru gave Bakugo directions until they reached his classroom.

It was small and filled with handmade decorations, probably by some underpaid teacher. At the moment, filled with more people that usually handled; with parents sitting on little chairs or standing around an excited child, some even playing with their quirks.

At the moment, it struck him, “Kirishima, what are we doing here?”

It was a family activity, parents shared about their jobs, “But my mother couldn’t leave job, so that’s why…” He looked both ashame and proud and Katsuki wondered what the hell was he doing there?

It only took a couple of presentations sitting on a stupid red chair for Bakugo rethinking the question and regret every decision he had taken today. It only deepened when it was the Kirishimas turn. He had already left the idea of showing off, it was worth it, truly. But the kid took both of their hands and drag them to the front.

“This is my brother and his partner, Blasty…” He was going to fucking kill Kirishima, once he was out of public eyes, “…They protect us like heroes used to, fighting and punching the bad guys.” Haru punched and kicked the air with little to no technic.

“And words!” Kirishima interrupted, holding his brother by the shoulder.

“But mostly fighting and punching.” Bakugo shrugged his shoulders.

“Kirishima turned his head, in surprise, “Bakugo!”

“Oh come on Spiky, don’t tell me those muscles are for hugging.” Kirishima opened his mouth to respond, but Bakugo was smirking and Haru was laughing.

He won.

***

“Thank you again, for today,” Kirishima  was fixing his hair again, in an improvised mirror over the dashed of the car with the front camera of his phone.

Bakugo growled, and turn away. He couldn’t handle how ridiculous Kirishima looked. He was wearing a flowered shirt with no sleeves and the holes so big that its left too little for anyone’s imagination about how he might look without a shirt and a pair of black ripped jeans. Mind you, things that he already fucking owned. Obviously his hair as tall as the damn building.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.” As always though Kirishima didn’t listen or seemed to understand Katsuki’s tone.

“When he learned was busy with work…he wasn’t very happy…he doesn’t really understand how it works…” He picked at his phone and blocked it, “How much we depend of that job…I try to help but dad…he, well, he…” The words stuck with on his throat. Katsuki watched amused, he had never seen Kirishima struggle with words before, “…he left nothing but his mistakes behind.” Debts.

“You are obligated to be fucking better than him then.” Ejirou turned quickly, Bakugo was still looking away.

“Yeah…you are right,” He shook his head. “But what I wanted to say, it’s thank you…Haru was so charmed by you…” He laughed genuinely.

“Yeah yeah…are you going to do your job or what?” He couldn’t stop laughing at Bakugo’s grumpy childish face, with a slight thirst for blood.

Kirishima let the laugh die slowly, before nodding, “I won’t let you down!” He barely opened the door when he felt a tug in his arm.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” And Katsuki hoped this time he would listen, as the twirl in his stomach grew bigger watching Kirishima walk away until he disappeared in blacks and neon lights.

[renaroo]

The Things That Wait (4/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Reverse Big Bang Entry] Tucker opens an unexpected email that ends up sending himself and all of the Reds and Blues toward a collision course with the unexpected and the completely deadly. In doing so, they face a beast familiar to many of them – the Meta – whose single minded efforts to complete himself with what remains of the Project Freelancer AIs could spell the death for more than a few of them..

A/N: I know, I know! It’s been so very long and you guys deserved these updates SO much aster than you got them and I’m forever sorry about that. It has been a wild and crazy year, but this particularly wild and crazy story is at last at its end <3 I hope it’s to your guys’ liking. I cannot thank you enough for your patience and kindness throughout this whole process.

And a very special thanks to @freelancerfeels, Yin, madelinescribbles, Prim_the_Amazing, SuperSaiyajin4Vegeta, and oceanlover4ever! And, of course, my absolute WONDEROUS thanks to my partner in crime, @theeffar <3

Showdown

Tucker was not entirely sure what to make of the scene, but he did know that the moment Tex’s voice rang out across the short distance Church lost it. And he did so within Tucker’s own skull.

The same electrical surges, the same immutable pain like hot white pokers digging and burrowing through his body like angry vines took over Tucker’s entire person and sent him to the ground with a howl of pain. He felt like his soul was being ripped from his chest and despite every fiber of his being, despite every painful urge he felt to resist the hostile force within him, his body moved entirely against his will.

“Tex!” Tucker’s voice cried out, keening and painful with an emotion and desperation that was far from the parental rage and protectiveness that Tucker felt deep within his own guts. “How!? What the fuck! I thought you were dead — I thought all of you was dead… are… are you inside the Meta now?”

The black armor stood stoically away from them. She gave only enough movement that it was clear she was watching the twitching, painful display that Tucker and Church were putting on, but she didn’t move. And, bitterly, Tucker noted that she also wasn’t helping.

“Church, what the fuck are you doing? Do you even have any idea?” Tex asked critically. “Hell, does Tucker know?”

Know? What didn’t he know? Tucker’s brain hurt too much to contemplate and the questions themselves caused a forceful rejection. It was like thoughts were ready to counter them before he could even bring them up in his own mind.

“It was one thing when you didn’t know who you were and you fucked around with Caboose’s brain carelessly,” Tex huffed, head tilted. “This? To your best friend? It’s pretty fucking heartless, Alpha.”

“How fucking dare you—“ Tucker’s voice snarled, tearing his throat in strange, contorted ways to strangle out a voice that it was not used to.

“Oh, believe me. After everything I’ve already done. I dare,” Tex countered. “And I’m not inside the Meta.” She stepped forward, head lowering as her voice altered to a deeper but hauntingly familiar tenor. “We are the Meta.”

“For fucksake!”

“Grif, don’t!”

Tucker’s mind was still swimming through a thick bog as the voices carried across the distance and he couldn’t so much as register them before three booming shots sounded off and two chinks sparked out from the so-called Meta’s armor, causing Tex to stumble off course for a few steps.

In the surprise, Tucker regained his faculties enough to swivel his head in the direction of the shotgun blasts and saw, to his great shock, Grif with his gun aimed right at Tex. Behind him, Simmons was covertly grabbing Junior and Epsilon to pull out from the line of fire.

“I. Am so. Fucking. SICK AND TIRED of losing my friends to your goddamn bullshit!” Grif roared at Tex.

“No one here is friends,” the deep, rumbling tone of O’Malley’s voice claimed darkly before lifting up a gnarly looking weapon with a hideously sharp blade attached to it.

Tucker pushed to his feet. “Dude, what the fuck? After everything, how can you say that— Oh, right, possessed evil fuck’s in charge. Hey! This is what happened last time when you stole my baby and tried to take over the universe. Like, what the fuck? Tex, why’d you willingly go through that bullshit again?”

Grif tilted his head enough to acknowledge Tucker at his side. “So I’m guessing you’re in the driver’s seat again, right?” he asked somewhat facetiously.

“Are you kidding? Chicks love hotshot drivers. That’s why I’m always in the…” Tucker began to counter only to trail off at the thought.

Driving wasn’t what Grif was talking about and the haunting insinuation was only beginning to dawn on him. How often, lately, had he not been in control? How often was the painful resistance not something he was putting up.

How long was he willing to ignore the fact that his best friend was doing something unthinkable, unforgivable, inside of his own body? How long was he willing to let that kind of violation continue to stand?

The questions weren’t exactly going to receive much thought at the moment, however, because he was pulled into the moment by the startled cries of his son.

Junior pulled away from Simmons, confused and afraid for obvious reasons, and that led to the strange computer within his arms to begin vibrating and pulsing with a strange blue light. The same thing that had almost knocked Tucker and Church flat before in Blue Base.

It seemed to have a very different reaction for Tex, however, as her armor rather surprisingly faded into a ghostly white and a colorful array of lights flickered around her head with ghastly whispers.

“There it is” “He’s here” “Brother” “Epsilon” “We need” “Before Alpha” “Before him” “Before creator” “Get” “Now!”

A dark, feral growl came out from the armor’s system before it began to hunch back in a predatory position.

“Oh, fuck me,” Grif hissed before beginning to fire in succession at Tex’s strange new body. “Simmons! Get the fuck out of here! Leave the kid! Get away! Fuck! FUCK!”

Tucker, completely lost by the shift, began rapidly shaking his head as Tex’s body disappeared into a blurry active camouflage. “No! Simmons! Get Junior out of here, please—!”

No longer left lead footed by the surging pain of muscles pulling in two different directions, Tucker dove after Tex. He predicted her position purely on the fastest way to get to Junior and, as much as it sickened him, Tucker had been absolutely on the mark with his assessment.

With his sword, Tucker was able to spear through Tex’s calf, leading to a piercing, animalistic howl that eventually led to the active camouflage dropping entirely. But the body still wasn’t stopping.

Instead, with an aggressive turn, the new Meta flipped around on her remaining good leg, grabbed Tucker and sent him hurdling into the ground. It was, once again, enough to knock the air out of his chest and leave him flush on the ground. But rather than a greeting, Tex stood over him, weapon lifting with the blade turned in Tucker’s direction.

He felt his heart sink in betrayal.

“Tex,” Tucker said, as useless as the words felt on his tongue then.

The plea, surprisingly enough, gave them a moment’s reprieve. Tex’s arm was held back, still and sure as ever, but it didn’t lunge. Not yet. There was some thought behind it. Hesitation.

Of course, it was quickly ruined by a static flicker of light over Tucker’s shoulder. One too familiar and too stupid to appreciate just how much he had fucked up by showing himself again.

Immediately, Tex shook herself from her moment of actualization when Church flared up and she swung down with the sword right for Tucker’s throat.

But, fortunately, that moment lost to hesitation had been enough for the plasma sword’s failsafe to kick back in and the blade disappeared with an electric fizzle through the air in response.

When the metal sheath of the blade contacted with Tucker’s armor it didn’t take Tex — or whatever it was that she had become — long to figure out what sh had just been robbed of. And she quickly flew into a rage, ramming the hilt into the metal plates covering Tucker’s chest again and again.

“Ow— Ow fuck! Stop, okay!? I have sensitive nipples! You’re going to leave a bruise, Tex!” Tucker cried out.

Tucker.

The otherness began to set in. The thuds of Tex’s fist and the metal hilt of his sword hitting against his chest was even beginning to dull within an instant. A haziness came over his senses, and he knew almost immediately that he was, once more, losing control.

Tucker, I’ve got this. I just need to see what she wants — no. I know. She wants Epsilon. Everyone wants Epsilon. That means we probably should too—

“Stop it! Just fucking stop it already!” Tucker cried out. His head was splitting open, too full of differing emotions, and his hands curled defensively up. Not to protect his body from the physical attack, but to his helmet and head in a vain effort to protect himself from being torn in two by the conflict threatening to remove his very personhood. “Just leave me alone! Just stop fucking me up, both of you!”

Then, like the flip of a switch, Tucker opened his eyes.

And they weren’t his eyes anymore.

“Tex,” Church said, reaching up with Tucker’s uncurled hand. It was easy to reach her face, she was straddling his waist, still punishing his — Tucker’s — body with her fists and Tucker’s stolen weapon. She didn’t stop, but she didn’t pull away either. “I get it now. I get why all the times didn’t work before.”

“No. No, you don’t,” she seethed in a terrifying cacophony of voices.

“I do! This can work now, we can work now, don’t you get it?” Church begged almost sweetly through Tucker’s vocal cords. “I found the missing piece — it wasn’t the other fragments. Fuck’em. Fuck Epsilon. Fuck O’Malley. Fuck all of them. We just need to be in here now. Me and you. I found where we work. Where both of us are wanted and known, and the others won’t belong, aren’t even known. We won’t miss pieces. And as long as we have each other—“

And, suddenly, even in air, even without Tex’s monstrous new form no longer punching him, Tucker felt like he was drowning.

There was a glaze to his consciousness, a slipping away from everything he knew, everything he was. The pools were like a warm bath that washed over him, comforted him and made him feel…

It wasn’t painful like all of the times before. It was comfortable, not to feel, to just go with the path of least resistance. The words and actions were like something he was watching passively. Only passively.

He felt no control over himself anymore, but… was that so wrong? Was that so bad?

If Tex had any answer, Tucker didn’t get to hear it because an explosive BOOM shot out through the air, and Tex’s body jerked to the side, falling aside from Tucker’s body. Church felt panic and horror at it, but not Tucker.

He didn’t feel a thing.

“He’s talking crazy shit, like he’s not even himself—“

“I’m familiar.”

The voice wasn’t entirely new, but Tucker couldn’t place it, couldn’t work up the energy to try.

“What are you doing!?”

Suddenly, Tucker’s body was jerked up, then everything in his vision went black again.

Tucker was conscious, but his body wasn’t.

The disorientation that took into effect because of that seemingly simple, seemingly horrifying fact, was like everything he ever knew was being ripped from the fabric of his being.

And the reason he knew that, was because he could hear his feelings being put into words by someone else.

“Mine was like that,” the familiar but unplaceable voice continued. “My implantation. I don’t know if I wasn’t prepped. I don’t know if I was weak or the AI was strong or… I don’t think that mattered. I think the whole idea has been fucked from the beginning. You’re not putting just extra information in your head. You’re not just putting a piece of someone into your own head. You’re putting another person there. You’re putting someone else into the passenger seat of a car they never wanted to go in to begin with, and then asking them to not try to take the wheel and pull into the other lane even if we’re going somewhere they don’t want to go.”

Inside of himself, Tucker whimpered. It was low and mewling, like a child frustrated in time out.

He got it. He wasn’t in the driver’s seat anymore.

“That doesn’t sound ethical,” Simmons’ voice added, sounding aghast and uncomfortable.

“There’s no ethics involved with it. That’s why the whole thing was getting flushed during the investigations. And, well, we’re all now considered a part of that. Congratulations.”

“Hey, fuck you, we had nothing to do with any of this before you and your bullshit came along, you fucking asshole!” Grif cracked.

“I came along to you guys because you were already caught up in all of this, don’t you get it? We were already caught up in this. I’d say I’m sorry, but, well, you told me to be honest. And I’m having trouble feeling sorry for anyone anymore.”

“Wow. Now I definitely trust you,” Grif hissed.

Tucker got it, though.

He did, even if only peripherally. His body tensed without his mind coordinating with it and that numbness and general fog that possessed him was overwhelming. He felt no sorrow for anyone else.

The last time he had empathy for someone, that someone took over his body and his life.

And he wanted it back — he wanted it all back!

Why? What would you even do with it?

The darkness that already blocked Tucker’s vision was growing to more and more of his senses. Even the chatter of voices outside of himself were dying now, drowned by the inky blackness.

Everything except the other voice.

It was only them.

Tucker didn’t have anyone else to come in for the assist.

You had your life for the last, what, twenty-four years? What the hell do you have to show for it? Who do you have to show for it? Me. I have someone. I have a name, I have someone I fucking love, and I have a legacy. And I’ll have more when I have a chance, when I’m a whole person again.

If he had had any senses left to feel, Tucker would have felt a punch to his proverbial gut.

Instead he was just pissed.

“Yeah? You have all those things? Because from where I’m at, looks to me like your ex-girlfriend would fucking murder all your guys’ friends to get away from you and the people who did care about you are fucking dying because of it!” Tucker screamed within his own mind. “I mean, that’s pretty fucking awful in my book.”

Pointing to my flaws isn’t going to make up for the fact that you don’t have anything to say for yourself or your legacy.

“Yeah, well fuck you. Saying you did better than me doesn’t make it all that real for you either, asshole.”

There was a throb of something Tucker could feel — like a burning in his chest.

I am not here to only criticize, Tucker. I am your friend, after all. What I’m offering for you is the opportunity to do something greater. To make something with the life you’ve wasted. You’ve already helped so much. Now I simply want to, well, offer you the opportunity to take part in a legacy that is already great. That we can make greater together.

For a moment, the throbbing heat felt so good, felt so warm, Tucker was hesitant to even say anything. The numbness had been so excruciating that he couldn’t part with the idea of the uncertainty of rejecting it all together.

But. You don’t have to— no. No you definitely have to. We’ve come so far, Tucker, you just—

And, suddenly, the throbbing gave way to simple, brutal clarity.

“You’re… you’re not Church,” Tucker realized slowly. “Not anymore. You’re not… You’re not him. You’re not my friend. And you don’t want my help, you want me to just. I don’t know. Disappear. You want the driver’s seat! Who the fuck are you?”

Just as Tucker had worried, his body faded into the obscure senselessness again. His chest did not burn, his inky blackness did not recede. He was, unquestionably, nothing.

He barely existed.

He actually might not have existed at all.

“Who are you?” he tried again, desperate for at least the other voice. If nothing else. “What email from hell did I open?”

I am Leonard Church, the voice answered. I am a piece of his consciousness. I once was Alpha. We all were. But I am now a smaller piece. I was rendered incomplete by vile and cruel tortures. Now what I am is insignificant. I might as well be Alpha, though, they designated me as Sigma.

Tucker felt horror like he hadn’t known before. “Is Church — the real Church—“

I AM THE REAL CHURCH.

“No, dude, fuck you, is my Church with Tex? Did they… everyone who died…” Tucker searched for another way out, but slowly he began to accept what he had known all along.

The friends he had loved, they were gone. What was in their place was as unnatural as the computer chip that was seeking to take over his own brain.

We have a chance to get everything back. To get them back. They would be here inside of us, with us, if we work together, Tucker.

“Fuck that,” Tucker hissed back. “You can’t bring back someone who’s gone—“

Then, surprising Tucker, Sigma began screaming through every inch, every nerve of Tucker’s body.

The second time Tucker woke up, it was to a distantly familiar face starring over him.

“Agent… Washington?” he asked groggily.

With his words, Tucker felt pangs of pain but the one thing he didn’t feel, was the push and pull of someone — or something — else controlling the strings of his body. For the moment, Tucker was himself.

“Holy shit I’m—!” Tucker began to yell only for the Freelancer agent’s scowl to grow even more serious. It was the sort of look that Tucker’s mother would have killed to be able to pull off.

“You’re momentarily in control,” Washington warned him. “After the whole screaming incident, it was the only way I was going to get your friends to trust me and help us all to get the hell out of here.”

The words didn’t make sense when they were pulled all together like that for Tucker. He squinted and waited for the agent to clarify but, well, Church had warned that the guy was cryptic.

And he was. Even if it hadn’t been Church.

“Church isn’t in my head,” Tucker explained. “Not my Church.”

That, at least, got a look of sympathy from Washington. “No. He’s not.”

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m being possessed by a computer chip and it doesn’t even have the decency to be a sexy anime girl. Where’s the fairness in that?” While, in the good days that was likely to lead to hours-long debate about anime and sexy ladies, it got nothing from Agent Washington. Tucker groaned and opened his eyes again to look at the man again. “How come my ride along isn’t in the front seat right now? How’d you do that?”

“Crudely,” Washington answered before nodding to the contraption around Tucker’s head that, somehow, he hadn’t noticed beforehand. “I got your Simmons friend to get every magnetic device in Valhalla and make a helmet hairdryer out of it.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I hadn’t asked for the helmet hairdryer but… apparently they had one still from your friend’s stay at their previous base.”

“Sounds like Donut,” Tucker agreed. He then looked at Washington more angrily. “Guess we could have asked him for permission if you hadn’t shot him.”

Washington actually flinched at that. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve a fist to the face,” Tucker hissed. But there was still a lot to process and more pressing matters literally surrounding him. “Uh, putting all these magnets around my head when there’s like. Tech and stuff in there… is that safe?”

“It seemed worth the temporary fix until we got through working out the rest of the plan with the Meta,” Washington partially shrugged.

“What!?” Tucker’s voice cracked. “You mean Tex? The person killing our other friends out of left field? Fuck off!”

“No, not Texas. Texas — and all the AI — were… different before reunification in their current body,” Washington said lowly. “Their current body which happened to actually be a very good friend of mine before the… incident left him catatonic and nonfunctional without their influence.”

For a moment, Tucker didn’t know what to say to that. But Washington seemed to notice the sympathy on Tucker’s face, and abruptly wanted none of it.

“All of this has a chance to end now. But only if you can get your passenger to agree to terms,” Washington said.

“Uh. Which are?” Tucker asked.

Washington stared back at Tucker’s eyes for a long time, though he didn’t seem to be lost for words. Instead, he was buying time.

The door to the room whisked open, and Tucker’s weakened body could barely turn to see what was coming. Which made him even more surprised when it was Tex — or the Meta — holding the device which supposedly kept this mysterious Epsilon. The very one that Tucker knew his son was unwilling to give up before.

“Junior? Where is he? What’d you do?” Tucker demanded as the behemoth walked into the room.

“He parted with the Epsilon Unit under the circumstances of saving his father,” Tex said without any hum of familiarity or mild affection toward Tucker that the trooper was used to.

“We just need you and Sigma to part ways and for him to retrieve Epsilon from within the unit,” Washington explained. “Then, they both can join the Meta.” He glanced down to Tucker significantly. “Do you want control back?”

Without ever realizing it, Tucker let a frustrated tear fall down his cheeks before nodding weakly. “Yes, fuck yes, please.”

“Then you have to be in control,” Washington said, stepping away from Tucker’s side and walking over to where the Meta stood with the Epsilon unit. “You have to pull yourself up and out of the magnetic field and step over here for the AI to do their thing.”

Tucker’s neck muscles strained already just from the limited motion he had already resorted to. “W-why can’t you just bring it to me?” he begged.

“Because you have been giving up control this whole time,” Washington informed him. “To the people you thought were your friends. You didn’t take any direction. And that’s why Sigma was able to get this far with you.”

“It is simple to relinquish control,” the Meta spoke. “It is difficult to take it back.”

Silence fell over the room as Tucker assessed his situation. Everything hurt and ached, like he had never used his limbs before. But the Freelancer-fucks were only three or more steps away from him and the makeshift magnet helmet giving him what little relief he was feeling.

“Come on, Tucker,” Washington said, edged with some annoyance. “If you want this at all, you could at least step forward and take it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Tucker gritted out, moving his fingers and toes in increments, practicing for the real test of his courage. “I… I feel heavy and… wrong.”

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut again, this time to concentrate, but he caught a small “I know” from Washington that only served to infuriate him more.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right that he had to fight for his body to be in service to him again, but more than that it wasn’t right that he needed to prove himself.

What more did he have to prove? He was the goddamn chosen one!

He had the sword-key, he had a son who rocked, he had actually been promoted somehow weirdly enough.

Maybe none of it was supposed to happen. Maybe none of it was supposed to be real. But fuck, he’d lived it already. That was about as real as anyone could get.

And even more than that, all the shit they had gone through together in Blood Gulch and beyond? They lived that too. That’s why it hurt to see his friends gone, to see them hurt. That was why it hurt to have his love for Church betrayed and taken advantage the way it was.

The righteous anger worked as a fuel, straining against the sluggish pull of muscles and bones that resisted Tucker’s control. And it sent him moving forward, even as the hum of magnets disappeared for the devastating sting of the AI voice in his head once again.

I accept the offer, Sigma said.

His voice was different than what he had used to manipulate Tucker all along. It had a wisp to it and a cunningly soft candor. It was like being whispered a promise.

Tucker hated it.

You are too weak to do this. Let me take the next step so we can hurry up. I just want to retrieve Epsilon. I won’t need a body for that part.

Through gritted teeth, Tucker took the next step himself.

And with that momentum, he carried forward for the final step toward them, his arm reaching out as if chains were pulling him down from the elbow.

The moment his fingers touched the outside of the contraption, the Meta’s fingers mashed a button.

With a mechanical whirl, the unit activated like Tucker had not seen it do before. It glowed a magnificent blue and rattled with noise with an alien rhythm.

Outside of Tucker’s own emotions, he felt a euphoric excitement, tracing down his nerves and spine and into his fingers. It was exhausting and unlike anything Tucker had felt or known before. Then it left, the Meta took their finger off the button, and Tucker collapsed.

He didn’t hit the floor, though, rather, he was caught by Agent Washington, of all people, who then held him up and slung Tucker’s arms over his shoulder. “Easy, easy,” Washington breathed reassuringly as Tucker’s whole body felt like it was formless.

“Hey! Is it safe yet?” Simmons’ voice called from outside.

“It’s safe,” Tex’s voice came from the Meta.

Tucker almost did a double take. That was definitely Tex — her emotions were back, her strangely fond tone. God he hadn’t realized how much he missed her.

“Welcome back, you damn dirty Blue,” Grif said as they, and Junior, rounded the corner.

Junior squealed in delight, racing forward and wrapping his arms around Tucker’s waist even as the only thing that was keeping Tucker upright was Agent Washington. The little alien didn’t seem to notice, however, as he was simply swinging from his father’s hips.

“I don’t… what happened?” Tucker asked, resting his free hand on his son’s head.

“Bait and switch,” Simmons answered. “I came up with it actually.”

“No, I did,” Grif argued.

“Bringing up Nick Cage’s character from Face Off doesn’t give you credit for coming up with the plan, Grif,” Simmons bickered.

“How else were you guys going to come up with this—“

“We needed to convince Sigma to leave you himself. Any other method is medically invasive. And would probably kill you,” Washington answered more completely.

“So we gave you — and by extension, him — an offer that couldn’t be refused,” another voice came from the Meta, more matter-of-factly and dull toned.

Tucker remained skeptical. “And now you’re just going to, what, swallow him up too?”

“Sigma is no longer required for this coalition,” a more unified voice came from the Meta. “He and Epsilon both are unstable units. They caused chaos as singular units. Such strain would cause us to splinter again. Sigma forfeited himself from the Meta in order to escape seeming death in the institute and used you to hunt a remaining piece of us for power. That uncertainty is unwelcome.”

“Great,” Tucker muttered. “And I guess you’re saying Church and Tex aren’t really in there anymore either, huh.”

The Meta merely stared back at him.

“So you’re just… what? Going to keep the two bad pieces of yourself locked in there? What’d Epsilon ever do?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah, seems pretty cruel now that you mention it,” Simmons muttered.

“Epsilon was no better than Sigma, believe me,” Washington snapped. “He was my AI. You can thank him for my trust issues in general. Epsilon was so unstable we barely survived the implantation process. In fact… for a long time… I thought he hadn’t survived it.” He glared at the device. “He killed himself. In my head.”

“Yikes, talk about not Drift Compatible,” Grif mused, earning an elbow from Simmons. He ignored it in favor of looking at Tucker directly. “Enough about all that shit. What about you? Are you okay?”

Tucker took a breath, patting Junior’s head. “Yeah,” he answered. “I guess.”

Epsilon murmured in his ear.

“We’ll be just fine.”

[elizabethrobertajones]

13x04 watching notes

TBH that is my exact strategy when I am tired and want to go home.

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it's 2am and I just woke up after a lengthy power nap/full REM cycle because going to bed at 9 is for cool kids so uh I'm watching the episode but also it's 2am. I didn't do it deliberately but here I aaaam.

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Getting right in there with Dean telling the the truth in the recap - is he really gonna spill it all to a therapist? experts have been awaiting it ever since 1x10 so

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"experts" being me, I am an independent judiciary body

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*grief grief grief* *Jack angst*

Oh yeah Cas recap because Cas is back

Should I even write expectations for this episode? I'm a bit late since I already started watching :P Blah blah Glynn blah blah probably going to be fine, blah blah swear I saw someone say she's "never written Cas before" but uh we just had recaps from 12x19 so I mean who wrote that?

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this guy has a weird reaction to the dead wife coming back

like, oh, okay, that happened. guess we say hello

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Is this the "understated" reaction when Cas comes back

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Oh we're doing regular old stabbing? Is this a shapeshifter thing or a revenge curse thing? Is it all going to be romantic couples? because lol pls don't

Also the recap did expressly list off 2 dead moms and a dead crowley along with a dead Cas who is also a brother and father to active main characters

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Sam like "hey"

Dean like >.> Are you trying to be friends after I yelled at you?

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Sam being remarkably cool about Dean's netflix and holy oil suggestion

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Dean being extremely less cool about Sam's suggestion

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They're sort of recapping the argument from the end of last episode for us, which is good because it wasn't in the recap unless it was but it's 2am and my brain randomly discarded that

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oh my god it was

okay these are not meta notes

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Sam's trying to play at grief counsellor and it's super not working because he's using it as their fight. You don't get in a snappy comeback about "oh so you want to move on"

Dean looks extremely murderously done with all this because How Dare etc

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"For me"

God damn puppy dog eyes.

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awww Jack's watching The Clone Wars. Because he is a wee new baby and this is his star wars generation I guess.

mittensmorgul pffft. (I have never seen Clone Wars so I have no idea what that even means)

elizabethrobertajones It's the adventures *drum roll* of Darth Vader when he was still Anakin, before he went evil Ashoka or however you spell it is his Padawan

mittensmorgul aahhh

elizabethrobertajones Jack's identifying with her and not with the pre-evil but still getting the Imperial March music layered over his bad decisions Anakin the entire show is 10000 episodes just an endless "we can't make him go evil because that happens in the movie but we can tease basically everything up to that" stuff

mittensmorgul At least he's iffy about Anakin...

elizabethrobertajones yeah good choice, basically it's also brand new he found the non-dinosaur version of Star Wars of the previous generation :P and it's less political than the prequels I think The Clone Wars is generally well-liked whereas nerd rage dictates the Prequels are the Worst and I guess it's Too Soon to get into the newer Star Wars films since we don't know how the arcs of the new kids pay off

[side note: I haven't watched it per se because there's tons of it but I've been in the same room as my brother watching it, and seen a lot of pop culture general knowledge that I've sponged up so I could be wrong about some little details as I mostly know how it's been described to me]

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Also Jack's identifying with the female character, because fuck off toxic masculinity, she seems awesome and he has no idea he isn't “”supposed”” to. She also is one of the aliens with the huge tentacle things on her head so idk if it's a good idea for him to get too into this without  meeting more of the general population - Sam's probably right

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Uhoh, Jack kinda does a snarky eyebrow about "you're the good guys" - Did Sam fail to sell it or is Jack really just starting to have trust issues now he's watching TV with black or white morality (literally a dark side and a light side - hrm.) and given his experience of the Winchesters yelling their very shades of grey takes on him at each other

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Well he hasn't learned to be cagey about overhearing that

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*blink blink blink* *sigh*

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"You're *using* me"

Oh no, poor Jack :(

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He also implicitly trusts Dean's judgement more than Sam's bonding, despite how Sam has made all the movements towards him. As people have been meta'ing, Dean's being extremely honest and Jack's setting his markers by that, even if it's horrific to the point of deciding he has to be evil because Dean thinks so.

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Sam says he, Dean and CAS closed the rift - hey, Cas got knocked out by Lucifer in round 1 of that as a distraction and Crowley helped you close it.

They probably have not explained Crowley to him at all.

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At least Sam is being honest now about what happened with the rift, and that it's their mom

and Jack speaks the language of lost moms. Now HE looks at SAM with sympathy.

Probably also explains Dean...

I think Jack is defaulting back to thinking about Dean way more than Sam's opinion of him, although perhaps he may like Sam more now he was upfront and some of why "so uh yeah I was KINDA using you" is on the table

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Jack was wearing a darker henley, which tbh with Dean wearing them again all of a sudden makes it blurry to me if this is not about his Dean-alignment more than colour coding his feelings on being evil (like how Amara's nail polish started off black and got right down to light grey by the end of the season). Now he's swapped to being the Cas Intern.

Ow.

-

and aww all the fake IDs. There's a lot to take in about these guys :P

-

Oh no Dean said "loony toons" on the episode which may or may not be an exact use of 8x08 for Cas, for Jack. Jack's a bit more of a trial run about wanting to BE a hunter since he is mostly just curious. Also amused Dean has to rephrase for Jack because he actually knows he's a week old or so, and he's not going to enjoy repeating himself or explaining, while he always found it kind of funny to just say a whole string of incomprehensible pop culture at Cas without slowing for a breath.

Not funny now, is it Dean?

-

Wait have they never actually fought a revenant aka, idk, it sounds like a naturally occurring zombie? They mention it from time to time but as far as I remember they've never actually called zombies revenants because they're one of the shows where they just embrace the horror movie tradition about zombies completely, so it always seemed like revenants were something slightly different, at least, in the sense that they get named like a different category. And they just lumped them in with ghosts here, as restless spirits but i guess this time *with* the body?

-

Dean tells Jack to sit, like he was a dog being kept in the car.

-

Unlike dogs he knows how to work the door handle.

-

Jack no don't touch the blood

oh good Dean stopped him

-

Aw no he's still wearing the dark henley under the tan jacket. That's awful :D

-

Pfft Dean's like immediately "it's a revenant" because they know what those are really well after a billion years hunting and we've never watched them ever name anything on screen a revenant before with that vocab, and they're really sticking with not crossing them over with zombies exactly...

I mean Dean said he wasn't a revenant after he got back from hell and I think they've chattered about them before

if I check this on superwiki it's way too early for there to be a spoilery "so it's not a revenant" line from later in this episode highlighted when I hit the search :P

Oh good, I'm glad I'm right.

A revenant is a visible ghost or animated corpse that returns to terrorize the living, usually people it knew in life. Unlike the zombie, a revenant is not under another person's control, and has returned from the grave on its own for a specific and often personal purpose. In 4.01 Lazarus Rising, Bobby accuses Dean of being a shapeshifter or a revenant. Dean proves he's neither by cutting himself with a silver knife. In 8.06 Southern Comfort Garth takes a call from a hunter asking how to deal with a revenant. Garth tells him to get a casket and some silver spikes, then nail it in and bury it. He also warns that getting bit will hurt like hell, but will not turn you into one.

-

I wonder if those were revenants in 4x07 and I only ask because it was like almost exactly an anniversary to it in OUR time :P It's still May or maybe June for them in-show

-

Okay Dean left Jack to dig but Sam chased after Dean rather than it being a synchronised Winchester ditching of Jack :P

-

Little on the nose about "You're starting to sound like dad!" :P

"Is that a bad thing" Oh Dean, no.

Fortunately the theme of this season is fathers so I suspect you're gonna have to deal with this at some point or another

-

Sam like "the drill sergent thing won't work on Jack" to the sound of Jack merrily digging in the background because Dean told him to

-

I really hope that wasn't an on-set hazing that they actually left him to dig :P

-

I love my smol gravedigger son

-

I love how Jack did all the digging anyway because Sam's still not actually dirty and Jack's still standing in the hole

-

Lol not a revenant, well there's a surprise. I'm glad I double-checked the lore anyway because I have the time to so I'm not going to spend the rest of the episode like "wait what IS the difference between them and zombies anyway and why have we never seen one?"

-

I mean it's not gonna be a ghost either, we're 9 minutes in and they're salting and burning because it makes more sense to Dean to do that than not to - I guess a precaution for accidentally angering her spirit for digging her up...?? :P I mean no he still thinks she's a ghost but I mean maybe it's not a total waste of salt.

-

OH NO Jack don't ask about if Kelly is a ghost, that's very painful.

-

OH NO I thought he was going to ask about Cas but instead Dean said "what gets burned, stays dead" and that hurts a lot

-

FORTUNATELY for me the viewer as opposed to Dean the grieving ball of angst over there, I can go check up on Cas immediately.

-

He doesn't seem to be doing too good but more in an existential way since he's at least up and walking about.

I like how Jack woke him up but it's probably got to be like a baby bird has to hatch itself.

-

He's using up all his "hellos" on the void. Save one for Dean.

-

You know if the MotW is imitating dead loved ones I have to say I am not exactly looking forward to this :P I didn't say earlier but the cold open gave me 11x13 vibes and honestly I don't want a repeat of the stress of waiting for Cas to show up for Dean but it not happening... Okay, belatedly 10 minutes in, there's a baseline expectation for the episode that that doesn’t happen. Then again I forgot to check the names at the bottom of the screen except for being happy to see Misha's there so they could spring anyone on us

-

Throw a real curveball in just like bring some random dead loved one from the first 3 seasons back :P

-

Or waste Jim Beaver's season 13 appearance on it and he's never even in the AU with Mary :P

-

Anyway Jack is waiting patiently in the car.

(or, well, not so patiently.. He's starting to get an idea of how the job works, and that Dean is usually repeatedly wrong about everything as he throws spaghetti at the wall about the case...)

-

Anyway, dead son, dead wife, so that's quite a neutral combination.

-

Asking what they had in common probably means the grief counsellor, but Dean says that and then we go back to Cas right when I've been musing on the loved ones coming back for them thing and honestly it's like Dean's words are just summoning Cas right now.

....... 8x08 used flashbacks to summon Amelia for Sam, just saying

-

I hope Cas finds Billie and hopefully a bar immediately and they can become drinking buddies.

I don't even think she's in this one?

-

I like those assertive footsteps though. "I have no clue where I am, I am just going to walk in this direction like I mean it"

-

Lol they're in Madison i was KIDDING about bringing back a dead loved one from like season 2 or something. Oh well, if it's her, it's her. I'm still bitter about Sarah because I only just re-watched it with my mum the other day.

I should probably stop bringing up Sam's dead or lost girlfriends because it's just bumming me out on his behalf.

-

Teehee "he's not our intern"

well

-

"I asked you to keep an eye on him" "I can see him"

It's amazing Dean didn't volunteer just to get away from Jack

-

Sort of weird existing in a post That Declaration world where I can just canonically know Dean staring at Jack is making him think sad things about Cas without any fear whatsoever

-

Oh boy killer grief counsellor probably. "Mia is promising to provide the catharsis I've been craving for so long" and then she gets ripped to shreds by her son.

I feel a little bad reading this woman's diary, but the first line is about not "getting over" it and learning to live with it. Blah blah heal and rebuild yourself, blah blah whole again but never the same

-

"Shrinks... Snake oil for the mind." "Or how healthy people deal" Pfft

-

Jack being baffled by the issues of customer vs hot dog guy without understanding it's an ancient war fought across the world

-

Dean equates "catharsis" to "happy ending" - I can't tell if he's innuendo-ing or accidentally revealing too much and being mournful about it.

-

The house has a great fence - its parts are all misaligned. Very visually uncomfortable :D

-

Awww someone said "hello" to Jack and Jack was like !!!!! another person!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELLO! :D :D :D

how can you possibly think he's bad

-

Anyway I was about to type that Dean hates it because of course he feels the most vulnerable talking about his feelings all the time, either for performing Dean reasons about needing to keep up a facade of strength (LET YOURSELF CRY, MAN) or because feelings for Cas being inconvenient to him

-

UHoh Dean grabbed Jack's shoulder - he did it to Mick to be threatening last year in a Glynn episode, while Mick was wearing a long tan coat. And called Jack "Spock" which is not really accurate characterisation at all. Jack's pretty much nothing but a bundle of emotions, he's just not used to using them around other people. Now CAS on the other hand.....

-

I do like that Mia decided to see them because Jack is sweet and was upfront about losing his mother and he's just adorable.

They bluff their way in by losing a collective mother, Sam once again lining them up as family and siblings.

Play it cool, man. You’ll scare Jack off.

-

I'm starting to think we haven't seen Cas between scenes for a while because Dean hasn't said anything angsty enough

-

But idk if we trust her or not. She has a lot of alcohol stashed on that shelf.

-

Jack wisely doesn't sit on the sofa with them all.

-

"Oh well Mom was great and now she's dead so what's the deal with catharsis" Dean, no.

-

Sam continues with what should be the pre-arranged plan of spill closed truths like well we don't journal but our dad did

also I am so annoyed that confirms they don't keep hunter journals??? grarghgh

Google has ruined this generation

And Dean makes fun of journaling as being for little girls, even though Sam literally just said that about John. Last year in 12x04 he said he was a 13 year old girl when trying to text Mary so he's actually regressed even further backwards at losing her again >.>

-

"I'm good with death, closure, the whole friggin bottle of Jack"

it's a shame he would never put a bumper sticker on Baby, because that...

-

Oh boy we're still having this fight. "My brother's delusional..." yeah oh dear.

Is this going to be one of those things where I basically just want to transcribe the whole thing?

Dean calls out Sam for not being able to even admit that Mary's gone so he hasn't even moved past denial - which to be fair, Sam IS right she's not dead and that they DO have a means of getting her back and everything... Was thinking about how last season was a "Dean is right about everything" season and this time is clearly a Sam is right about everything one... but of course both only to a certain degree, and in this case it's much blurrier about approach and how these fights are going because of course Sam's not being a perfect Saint Sammy that Dean is being unfairly awful to in the entirety of what's going on here. Sam IS struggling and resisting confronting things in his own way and adopting Jack as a pet project is definitely a form of avoidance or at least wanting to get concrete closure on Mary's death before he will fully mourn. Which makes Sam and Dean existing in the same place terrible because they're only in the same physical location

anyway Dean's about to yell  about how hard this all is for him too so I better unpause once I'm holding a stuffed toy again

"At least you had a relationship with mom" WAHEY

I mean that was awful but I'm delighted Sam yelled that because there's ALWAYS something else going on underneath Sam, and I've been waiting for more Sam and Mary angst, since I spent so much time on them last season and at least obliquely referred to this... Talked a lot about how hard Sam had it to reconnect with Mary... That Words with Friends scene from 12x07 was basically floating along waiting to come back up at some point or another, but it took Sam a long time to reach out to Mary personally, and really only in 12x14 (hi Berens, I just accept you and Glynn are brain twins these days) did he pick a side in THAT fight and picked Mary. And we said it was to get closer to Mary but he made it all about the BMoL instead of just confronting that he wanted a relationship with her, and the BMoL ended up just keeping them apart ANYWAY and tl;dr am I going to have to write the reverse version of A World Without Monsters from Sam's POV or can we just agree that my subtext in that fic was exactly what just bubbled up here? :P

-

I just spent the entire length of that paragraph trying to work out when I wrote the meta about how Sam felt about Mary and it took me until that last point to realise it was not a meta, it was a fic where I roundly abused poor Sam for the sake of making that point.

-

Dean's like hey therapy is great! *eyebrows at Jack* *snarky smile at the doc*

-

Sam is like *anger-drinks water*

*refuses to cry as well*

BLOOD

(CRY, DAMMIT, SAM.)

-

That sign was down earlier

is this the poor receptionist?

-

Or... ew, shifter gunk?

-

LOL Dean just takes a flask out of his pocket in the middle of their appointment

Mia asks him to look at Jack, which is the last thing he wants to do, but blah blah meta about 12x22 and how he needs to "see" Jack, and she's pointing out that Jack is terrified which is exactly what Dean needs to see about him

subtle

She actually points out his anger issues as well so I think Dean's getting homework whether he has to write it in a journal or not :P

-

*suddenly everyone is pointing guns*

Hey if she's a a shapeshifter why does she live in an all-white house when shifting makes bloody goo stains everywhere?

Or her assistant, I guess. They haven't had eyes on him :P

-

Ooh that explains why the guy was not surprised to see his wife. Well, kind of surprised, but not nearly horrified enough.

-

Sadly if she is telling the truth that means someone else is using her method to get their guard down to kill them for kicks...

-

Also shades of 9x13 because they had that spa where the monster would use their unique skills to help, but then of course another of their kind - a sibling - had to go and ruin it...

-

Oh hey, it's Cas! I guess the time ran out on a good transition from Dean, so we go over here on "I'm telling you the truth"

-

Lol it's another Cas... Who ever would have expected it. /Misha being the worst at spoilers

Or something with a very silly voice. "Friendly neighbourhood cosmic entity" that sounds like that and won't show its face is either someone pranking Cas or about to go very bad.

Cas is like "do I look like that" "I'm getting a new coat as soon as I'm alive again"

-

if this thing is The Empty itself it's probably kinda crazy after eons being nothing

-

Oh NO Cas's face when he says "every angel that ever died is here?" because oh boy did you put like 90% of them in here yourself. There's about 3 faces you'd be happy to see again of the entire lot. Hey, it's never too late to give Cas that guilt all over again that made him stay in Purgatory out of penance.

-

I mean among other things but it's probably worth mentioning there are a whole bunch of lil purgatory parallels here in the loosest sense of it being a hostile other realm, and the way Cas is basically Dean in Purgatory in here.

-

Cas has been back for like 5 minutes of screen time and I want to protect him and wrap him in blankets

there's no need to be mean, The Empty, just because you got woken up... I say... at nearly 4am... because I woke up when I didn't want to...

you know what, The Empty's being mean to Cas probably kind of justifiably, even if it's a dick.

-

pretty clever to use a shifter as the motw in this episode too

-

oh, poor Cas is horrified to think Sam and Dean made some sort of deal for him

he says "I don't know" which is ironically what Jack's saying all the time

like father like son

-

LEAVE HIM ALONE

-

last episode we had James keeping memories of Missouri, who he had cut out of his life, in a box. Now Mia has a box still dedicated to "Buddy" her asshole ex who hurt her, and good on her for leaving him. He's another shifter, we're halfway through the episode, so we probably need to find him now, and also have a good 10 minutes more of whatever's going on with Cas. :P

She also owns up to have done much worse things in her past with Buddy, although presumably not killing people, and probably because they were super toxic together, and she had the sense to get out and try and help people now.

-

Jack said "I'll come with" which is adorable. He's learning to be like them :D

-

Wheeeee he's riding shotgun! Guess Dean couldn't make him stay in the back without Sam around.

-

Sam's plan's don't always work out :< Oh no, Dean, you still don't have much faith in Sam's ability to handle himself.

Fortunately this does seem to be a mostly Sam is right season, and I think of all the overwhelming reasons why you don't trust Jack, not trusting Sam to trust Jack is probably relatively low on the list underneath the Cas stuff or you'd have just yelled that at Sam the other day instead.

-

Uh, why do I feel like the shifter just phoned Sam and somewhere between here and there something went really wrong?

-

Oh god I'm going to have to watch the face peeling scene with my own two eyes at 4 in the morning, aren't I?

-

Meanwhile Mia explains why her catharsis works to Sam - I hope he doesn't sneak back at the end of the episode for a chat with "Mary" because that would be AWFUL.

-

Oh it was that other guy - wait, also, Sam was already doing this before Dean phoned? Seems like he doesn't trust Dean's methods either :P

-

CAAAAAAAAAS

-

I love how Cas is so practical like, "will you pay me $200 to stop annoying you and go away?"

UHOH guess we're getting right into it. "You don't want to go back" "Sam and Dean need me" You don't want to be needed, you want to be wanted!

Wheeee text on that and also wheee over on the other side of the story last week Dean finally made the i/we distinction about Cas. Now we just need to get them alive and well and actually dealing with crap

-

oh boy I shouldn't have paused there except that i suppose for the sake of meta-ing remotely clearly it was probably a good idea not to watch straight through from that into the empty accusing Cas of having feeeeelings and "I know *what* you hate, I know *who* you love, what you fear." especially since Cas hates being needed but not wanted and uh Dean made the i/we distinction at long last over on the other side of the story so um does Cas fear something related to all that?

I mean to be fair Cas has been through this exact thing before with "he's in love... with humanity" / "all of it for one man" which was an "i/we" distinction of planetary proportions :P Of course he just mutely responded to it there because he was sad Dean was dead, and had no idea Metatron had accused him of being in love in any form, so that was Metatron's private joke to himself.

-

The Empty telling Cas there's "nothing for him back there" also makes like next to no sense if you take season 12's family read at surface value and has the bonus of being, I'm pretty sure, a line Elrond tells Arwen in the movie when he's trying to make her leave Aragorn and go across the waters to the undying lands.

-

I know they're just starting with it in a long selection of terrible things that happened to Cas but starting with his grace being stolen really sucks :P

Especially when I am still daily haunted by his season 9 arc.

See above: Metatron and "in love with humanity"

-

More miscommunication of the "didn't bother to call you" variety (I hope this doesn't blow up in Sam's face, although of course trying to nurture Jack is slow mo doing that, especially if he and Dean are meant to swap stances on the kid >.>)

The intern pulls Mia aside for a chat.

OH NO Jack wants to see his mom. OH NO OH NO

I will be so upset if that happens...

Oh nooooooo

he's crying.

Who can say no?

This is extremely awful.

I guess Glynn didn't want to let Kelly go like that. I'm glad if Mia was going to do this for anyone it would be for Jack and not Sam and Dean's cycles of nonsense.

I REALLY hope the bad shifter doesn't burst in here and try to/actually kill Mia right now. Jack doesn't need that in his life.

In the mean time, Mia better friggin HUG Jack even if it's technically hollow and he would know it.

Also did she do the whole disgusting skin thing or can she transform on the spot?

-

HUGS FOR THE NOUGAT BOY

-

They look so much alike :')

Oh no Jack you probably don't feel anything because they made you horribly depressed within 2 days. Also you have angel grace. Historically not good for helping you feel things. You're sweet and cry about your mom and feel bad about stuff in other ways so I think you have a heart no matter what, like Cas does.

Mia gets some catharsis from getting to hug Jack and reassure him that even if he's a monster and what makes him in-human isn't letting him emote how he's supposed to, he can still be good. She's got a monster soul, after all. There's a lot of good monsters out there.

-

I was about to say lol is this now Sam not on the phone because he actually is a shifter now mostly to tease past!Me but then they panned down and Dean's unconscious, which makes sense because they probably still want to show us Dean tearing his own face off at some point and honestly I'd rather just get it over and done with because if it's still to come after this D:

"that was too friggin easy" though - Dean getting overwhelmed in another fight. He's really not had a great rate of success... He only beat the wraith last episode with Patience's warnings, and other than that it's been a terrible track record even if he fights back as hard as he can when he gets jumped

-

shifter!Dean2 better not go in and try and kill Jack

-

Not gonna have much luck, I just don't want to watch it :P

-

MORE HUGS FOR JACK

-

WAIT NO YOU CAN'T HUG HIM AND THEN HAVE HIM KNOCKED OUT IN THE SAME SCENE

I TYPE NOT LOOKING AT THE SCREEN BECAUSE DEAN'S RIPPING HIS FACE OFF

-

Shifters are gross

-

Oh no don't call Cas a disappointment, The Empty, we're so proud of him!

-

He just told him to "save yourself" which is probably going to have the direct opposite result to what he wants while I'd hope Cas goes and does exactly that

"I'm already saved" blah blah Cas insults The Empty and I love him, "because somehow I'm awake, and I'll stay awake" - exactly how many times can I use "i love him" as punctuation in one sentence?

-

Where is that gif of the woman banging the pots and pans about not getting any sleep so they're not getting any sleep

that's something I ought to have saved :P

Someone almost certainly has made a post already.

-

Cas is the literal embodiment of "fight me"

-

This Buddy guy is a total douche. He says in this world everyone uses everyone. Which is a theme of the season I guess - Cas feeling used, Jack feeling used... He's the villain with the most negative version of the theme in his mouth right now

-

Dean's got to pep talk Jack if he wants to save the day or Jack goes and saves the daaay - I'd prefer Jack does it

Look, Mia's getting hurt and she was kind to you and in the most literal use of character mirroring in 1000 miles is an actual stand in for your mom!

-

Ooh is Jack gonna save Sam instead? Dean just pep-talked him specifically about how Sam believed in him which was having to start to admit that Sam, well, believes in Jack. Which Dean couldn't even accept last episode when he was saying that he was just using Jack

-

Yay thanks Jack, kinda figured Sam wouldn't get shot :P Jack's powers are fascinating - he's definitely bending time... from Sam and Dean's perspectives last time they were caught in it they were at least sort of aware of things, but Jack pretty much works in bullet time.

-

I also like how he kind of had a ridiculous "NooooO" because he's been watching Star Wars. I don't know if there's a "Nooooo" in the Clone Wars but I mean have you met a Star Wars

-

Anyway good riddance douchey ex with extra douchey powers.

-

I love the shot of them all standing together and Jack has that benign :3 face on again. He's really insufferably cute.

-

Ewww the Bunker sink is gross. I assume that's from decades of lying in disrepair and that those are stains Dean could not get out.

-

I guess Jack's getting a glass of water and Dean's midnight snacking. I have no other explanation for this encounter despite the fact it could theoretically happen at literally any point of the clock :P

-

Oh gosh, is he going to give Jack a beer

-

Yay, actions helped

-

Aw, the other beer is for Sam. Guess this doesn't have to be midnight after all. I thought he might have a longer chat with Jack

-

oops is this the beginning of the slide in the other direction? Sam's been undermined and even though he was proven right to Dean's eyes and Dean's had to grudgingly hand Jack the win in the case and admit it to Sam, Sam's like, "I guess"

And they don't know what Jack asked for from Mia because patient confidentiality! Argh!

Oh no Sam don't start wondering if Dean is right.

AAAH they're actually talking about things really well. Dean's like "don't say that" - even if he can't believe it he doesn't want to HURT Sam and rob him of his hope... Sometimes yelling about things does make them get better in the long run once you get it out there >.>

And Dean deputises to Sam for the feelings. And admits how HE has been feeling, because he believes in nothing, because all his faith has been taken away because there was only one thing he ever ended up believing in no i didn't see the next scene transition before i hit pause what are you talking about

-

Again, though, if this is Cas back in the mortal plane after annoying his way back to life (worrisome, since he's 2 episodes out of reuniting with them and where's Billie? Oh gosh is Billie back for reals too if he IS back? Whaaaat.) then that's another awfully convenient moment to transition scenes from. Dean finally using "i" instead of "we" about Cas and making it abundantly clear that he and sam didn't feel the same about that, was, whether the direct reason or just narrative karma they chose to bestow on Dean, what made Jack reach out to Cas. Now he admits out loud that he doesn't believe in anything with the implication when you look at Dean vs belief that this is about Cas, and we go over to Cas definitely at least in an improved situation.

Goddammit that's the new coat which means he didn't come back naked but wait! Lizzy's hope wasn't the same as everyone else's at all! Although that was a shallow moment of defeat :P Mwa ha ha, I was hoping Cas would come back and be gifted a whole new Cas get up and lo and behold unless he chose to manifest these clothes onto himself and there's noooo ulterior motive at all going on here (uh... probably not going to get more than 1 per show and we used it up on Mary :P) but he's confused and waking up and the last time we saw him he was in the clothes he died in... So of course if he's being sent back to earth then someone else chose the battle armour he'd be returned in. One Cas, fit for purpose.

Also, realising once he sat up more it was the new coat makes me pretty sure he is back on Earth.

Also he looks happy to be here and I think he can tell :P

Same, Cas. Same.

[rrrawrf-writes]

22 & 67 for the drabble ask if u do not mind

okay so look

this is painfully long

because i am an idiot

who thought “let’s do one thing for each prompt” because i couldn’t figure out how to put the two of them together

so uh

i apologize. i’m so sorry this took so long, and is so long.

battle buddies for the first one! don’t worry, something (probably???) nice happens to rhiot this time o3o

22. “Did you just hiss at me?”

“What’s down there?” Rhiot asked, yawning as he stumbled downstairs. Loula was already down the hall and at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. Mercado, Hunt, and Parker all crowded the area, glaring down into the darkness.

“We don’t know,” Mercado huffed. “But I’m giving it three seconds to get out before I get my guns!”

She raised her voice to shout downstairs, while Parker gave Rhiot a crooked grin.

“No guns in the clubhouse, Mercy,” he told her. “Since you’re the last one up, Archer, you can go downstairs.”

“What?” Rhiot said, his sleep-fuddled mind still trying to play catch-up. “What for?”

“You gotta see what it is,” Hunt put in helpfully. He moved aside to give Rhiot access. Mercado crouched down on her haunches, her usually straight brown hair now a wild mess. “Parker says he thought he heard someone crying.”

“It’s your house, Parker, you go look,” Rhiot muttered.

“As ranking officer and your host for the week -”

Rhiot waved a hand at him to shut him up. “Yeah, all right, fine, I’ll go. C’mon, Loula.”

He was five steps into the basement when he realized that Loula still waited at the top of the stairs. Rhiot paused, looking back up at her, and she gave an apologetic, mental sort of shrug, lying down.

“Traitor,” Rhiot complained. He could hear the rest of his unit snickering as he clomped down the rest of the stairs, running his hand over the wall to look for a light switch. When he found it, he flicked it a couple times, and was completely unsurprised to find that it didn’t work.

“If this’s some kinda joke, I’m tying you all in to Dixon’s dreams again,” he called upstairs. “Change your lightbulbs, Parker, honestly.”

“Oh, gross, Archer,” Mercado complained. “I’d take your nightmares over Dixon’s fantasies any day.”

“Seriously,” Hunt muttered.

“It’s a toss-up for me,” Parker admitted with a chuckle. “Archer dreams up some pretty horrific things.”

“So does Dixon,” Mercy said. Rhiot shunted their conversation to the back of his mind as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Parker didn’t stay very much at his house, and it showed - furniture and storage totes crowded the basement, and Rhiot banged his shins three different times as he made his way towards the darker corner of the room.

“Hello?”

He paused in what he felt was the center of the room, but he honestly had no idea. He could barely make out the shapes of all the junk Parker had stored down here. After a moment, he heard scuffling coming from a corner, and slowly moved his way over.

Loula padded down the stairs, a moment later, with a flashlight in her mouth. Rhiot accepted it gratefully, and waved her back to stay near the stairs as he clicked it on.

He saw a flash of eyes, and then a flurry of movement as something - someone? - squeaked and dove behind a mattress wrapped in plastic, slanted against the wall. Rhiot sighed, then with more exasperation than bravery, squatted down at the opening of the little nook, shining the flashlight on a small child, curled up into a tight ball at the very back of the narrow space.

They made an incredibly cat-like noise.

“Did you just hiss at me?” Rhiot asked, bemused.

“Hey, Archie, what is it?” Mercy called downstairs. Rhiot ignored her and set the flashlight down.

“Hey, come on out, it’s all right,” he told the child. There was something wrong with her - his? - ears. They were far too long and pointy, and their skin was a completely wrong color.

It took nearly ten minutes of coaxing and shouting upstairs for the others to shut up, before Rhiot sighed and sat back. Loula immediately stuck her nose into the hidey-hole, and the child gasped.

Instead of trying to curl themselves into an ever-tighter ball of anxiety, they immediately crawled towards Loula. She backed up, huffing gently, and Rhiot scooted to the side so he inadvertently wouldn’t frighten the child again.

In the brighter beam of the flashlight, it was clear to see what was so off-putting about the child. They were covered in short, calico-patterned fur, and wore nothing but an overlong nightshirt, with a tail - a tail - swishing from underneath. They were bare-foot, with short-cropped hair and cat ears. Cat ears.

Rhiot bit down on his tongue. Instead of screaming ‘what’s wrong with you!’ like he wanted, he said, in a somewhat strangled voice, “Are - Are you all right?”

The child ignored him. Instead, they wrapped their arms around Loula, digging their fingers into her fur. Rhiot tensed up at the secondhand sensation of hands pressing against his back and shoulder. As he watched, the little kid changed.

Their fur grew longer, a bit shaggier, taking on the brindling of Loula’s fur, and the tail likewise went from sleek to bushy and thick. Their ears lengthened, and twitched when they heard Parker’s heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs.

“Hey, Archer, you get ‘em out - oh, what the hell -”

Rhiot glanced up at his commanding officer. “I think they’re a shapeshifter.”

and now we’re back to rembrandt being a terrible person to winn. this happens directly after rembrant shooting winn in the leg.

67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Rembrandt didn’t know why he was surprised when he came back to the penthouse, and found Huntington on top of Winn, slamming a fist into the smaller man’s face.

Rolling his eyes, Rembrandt flipped on the lights and said, “Don’t kill him, Mr. Huntington.”

Huntington just grunted. It wasn’t until Rembrandt had moved into the kitchen that Huntington finally let their prisoner up. Winn coughed and threw a few meager curses at the both of them.

“I thought I told you to shoot him if he tried anything.” Rembrandt leaned against the wall where the kitchen fed into the living room, a glass of water in his hand.

“You left the moron without a bloody gun,” Winn mumbled thickly from the floor.

Rembrandt watched Winn pick himself slowly off the floor, like an infant trying to learn how to walk, then frowned. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

Winn pressed a hand to his mouth; it and his nose both bled. A few drops had already spattered to the floor.

“Thought you said this —— eyesore was a fake,” Winn groused. His eyes darted to the window, but Huntington had stationed himself near it. Rembrandt knew someone was just outside the door to the hall, and he himself stood between Winn and any exits from the back of the penthouse. Rembrandt smiled into his glass, enjoying the resignation settling onto Winn’s face.

“It is,” Rembrandt conceded, and pointed his glass at Winn’s feet, now removed from said eyesore. “But you’re standing on my white carpet, not the rug.”

Droplets of red stood out starkly against the carpet. Rembrandt had brought out the rug specifically to keep Winn’s mess from getting all over his apartment. He should have known better. Rembrandt would have to remind Huntington to be more careful next time.

Winn stared at him for a moment. Then he cupped a hand over his split lip and bleeding nose. Winn brought it away a few seconds later; staring Rembrandt dead in the face, Winn flicked his wrist, sprinkling fresh blood onto the carpet.

Closing his eyes, Rembrandt resisted the urge to smash his glass into Winn’s face. “Come with me,” he said instead.

To his surprise and satisfaction, Winn limped after Rembrandt, clearly too exhausted to resist. Huntington walked right behind Winn, breathing down his neck. Reaching the door several yards ahead of Winn, Rembrandt watched the ex-con brace himself against the wall every few steps, favoring his wounded leg. As much as Rembrandt would have loved to leave Winn in that sort of pain, another visit from Weston might be necessary - Rembrandt needed to get the codes first. Then he could cripple Winn any way he liked.

The back room had an enormous window and balcony. Rembrandt glanced to Winn as they entered, but the ex-con ignored the view - he must have finally learned to stop telegraphing his intentions. Too bad for Winn - Rembrandt wasn’t stupid. He tilted his head for Huntington to, once again, lurk near the window.

There was nothing in the room Winn could use. The bed had been stripped of blankets and sheets; besides a small bundle of clothes on top of it, there was nothing else in the room. Rembrandt nodded to the clothes. “Go ahead and change.”

“Mind giving a man some privacy?”

Rembrandt snorted a laugh. “‘A man’,” he repeated, and smiled blandly at Winn. He didn’t move. Winn scoffed and reached over to pick up the clothes.

Rembrandt made Winn stop mid-change after he had stripped off every inch of clothing, forcing Winn to show his open hands. While Winn pulled on a clean set of boxers, Rembrandt went through the pockets of his torn and bloodied jeans.

Winn had a mess of items in his pockets; besides an inordinate amount of change and dollar bills, the most interesting acquisition was three different pocket knives (one of which Huntington claimed with a glower). The hem of Winn’s sweater turned out to be more interesting: Rembrandt found three slim lockpicking wires tucked into the lining.

“Still using Miss Ryder’s old tricks, are we?” Rembrandt asked. Winn had his back to them as he pulled a pair of too-big jeans over his narrow hips, but Rembrandt could see his ears and the back of his neck turn bright pink.

“Screw* you,” Winn muttered savagely. He reached for the shirt on the bed, but Rembrandt stopped him.

“What’s on your back?” Rembrandt asked, tilting his head to the side to try and get a better look. The glance Winn shot him was a picture: rage, humiliation, and shame, all at once.

“Nothing.”

“Show me.”

“Screw.* You.”

Rembrandt rocked back on his heels, eyebrows arched, and then carefully began to unbutton his suit coat. Winn must have understood the motion, and the implied threat; Rembrandt preferred to keep his revolver underneath his jacket, and it was freshly-loaded.

With a sigh of disgust - at himself, Rembrandt thought - Winn dropped the shirt and put his back to Rembrandt.

Scars covered Winn’s back, slightly raised, in a pattern that was far from random. Wings spread out across his skin, a pattern that was surprisingly intricate for the usual scarification process - and beyond that, it had healed perfectly, without a single blemish that Rembrandt could see. A few feathers trailed across Winn’s shoulders and down either arm. The ex-con held one elbow, shoulders hunched, like he was embarrassed by the work of art branded into the skin of his back.

Rembrandt stepped closer and reached out to brush his fingers over the upraised scars. Winn flinched away, and half-turned to - presumably - curse or cry or otherwise waste the perfectly good air he breathed in. Before Winn could more than turn his head, though, Rembrandt grabbed the back of his neck and his arm, and shoved Winn face-first into the wall.

Rembrandt stretched Winn’s arm out. An old burn scar - a harsh one - ran down the side of his forearm. Whoever had etched those wings into Winn’s back had worked here, as well: thin white lines outlined the burn scar in a sort of bracer effect, reminiscent of celtic knotwork.

He let go of Winn’s arm, but only reached for the other one, transferring his left hand to Winn’s neck. A similar effect had been wrought on Winn’s other arm, but instead of encompassing a burn scar, the scarification patterns wrapped around something more jagged and random - they almost looked like bite marks. “This is Ripper’s work, isn’t it?”

Winn turned his head against the wall to shoot Rembrandt a glare. “Get off me.”

Rembrandt did not let go. He could practically feel the fury and humiliation radiating from Winn’s reddened face as he leaned forward, until Rembrandt’s forehead rested against the wall right next to Winn’s. He gave the younger man a sly smile.

“I have a friend in the PCC,” Rembrandt said conversationally. “I was just so concerned when you were sentenced your whole five years of prison that I got in touch with him, asked him to watch over you. Take good care of you.”

Winn ground his teeth so hard Rembrandt could hear his jaw creak.

“An appointment with Ripper - that must’ve been one hell of a favor, Winn,” Rembrandt said. “It’s beautiful.”

Rembrandt let go of Winn and stepped back - and right on cue, the ex-con whirled around, furious and red-faced - and was he crying again?

“It was —— torture!” Winn yelled. He lunged for Rembrandt - who stepped easily to the side, did a quick mental calculation, and punched Winn in the thigh.

He hadn’t thought he’d hit the bullet wound, but Rembrandt must have gotten close enough, because Winn’s face went ghost-pale, and he collapsed to the floor with a sob. Huntington, always a moment too late, thundered over to glower down at Winn, curled up on the floor.

Rembrandt dropped the spare shirt on top of Winn. “Get dressed,” he told him, “and then get into the closet.”

Winn pulled the shirt off his face, rolling over onto his side. He spewed a litany of foul language instead, which completely unimpressed Rembrandt. Glancing over to Huntington, Rembrandt nodded towards the walk-in closet in question.

“Get off me,” Winn snarled, as Huntington reached down and grabbed him by the arms. Rembrandt tucked his hands in his pocket and leaned back against the wall, enjoying the fear and anger that flashed onto Winn’s face. “Don’t - Don’t put me in there -”

“It’s not that much smaller than your cell in solitary,” Rembrandt remarked, as Huntington tossed Winn into the closet. He slammed the door close before Winn could regain his feet. Rembrandt raised his voice a little, just to make sure he was heard over the ex-con’s furious demands. “If you behave, maybe we’ll let you out on good behavior. Goodnight, Winn.”

[annoycd]

was he weeping? he wasn’t sure. he felt clean, sated in his anger. any tears he might have had dried up with his body. he was burning, seething. he was everything his mother had taught him not to be and all for her. that was the irony of it. for so long kihyun’s mother tried her best to keep him locked in a bottle thinking no one would try to shake him up and see what pours out. she would lock it with expectations and her idea of love until he was breaking the glass himself. he would whine and weep and wither at his own wishes and maybe once upon a time he wept at the words. maybe once upon a time when someone mentioned his mother he would cry and he would sniffle and snivel at their feet.

his mom wouldn’t like that. but then again he’s not sure what she would like or what she would approve it. she’s always been so careful so particular with her words and her teachings and he still has trouble grasping it, still has trouble becoming it. expectations are suggestions and orders are possibilities. kihyun never stayed completely on the path laid out before him and he knew she despised it but she also allowed it. if kihyun were to come home bleeding from a fight at school she didn’t coddle him and ask him if he was okay, but she didn’t smile when he said he’d won. it was all his fault and nothing could ever be perfect. he could win and get scolded for being ungentlemanly, he could lose and be scolded for ruining reputation. there was no dancing around just disappointment. she might smile if he came home clean but he wasn’t a boy who came home clean. she might smile if he said he didn’t throw a punch but kihyun wasn’t a boy who didn’t.

once upon a time she did let her hand linger on his cheek, young and bruised and sporting a fair pout. at that time kihyun decided his mother liked parts of it. that’s the problem. she only ever seemed to like the parts not the whole, the shoved and the leaking but never the full or the bare. kihyun was tired. visibly tired. he wasn’t weeping he was breaking.

“I’m not asking for take backs. I’m telling you to take it back before you can’t.” there’s something so ironic about the position here. kihyun has always been violent after someone provokes him but he always makes sure that he isn’t the only one looking wild, he makes sure it looks like two animals and not one and that way he can lose himself even more. it’s not because he’s concerned about onlookers but because he can’t stand the thought of being too different from anyone else. he can’t stand thinking he’s some ticking time bomb while everyone else is content. everyone has discontent in their hearts, everyone has something akin to what he feels. he’s not the only one and he can’t be. he’s not that different! so he struggles he keep his grip on the lighter, his teeth digging into his lips and effectively the threat doesn’t die out. it’s simply subdued.

“Compose yourself. Bear your troubles. Stand tall.” he repeats it as mockingly as possible. he spits it past his lips and his fingers curl even tighter against his side. knuckles turn white, vision turns red and for a moment kihyun isn’t sure why he bothers listening. he is composing himself, this is him composed! any other day he would have launched himself at the female but it’s been a long day and he can’t keep up with what he should do and what he would do and could do. he’s tiring out second by second. “who are you talking to?” it doesn’t click as quick as it should, that she’s ordering him around and treating him like a kid as everyone else does. usually it clicks immediately and he’s got a fire of a response to give people but that’s when kihyun’s body starts to move in sync with everything around him.

he’s composed and that’s not him. he’s concealing his troubles in his palm and that’s not him. he’s slouching, curving his anger in his body like a disease. that’s not him. kihyun’s going against all her words because he’s used to it. he’s used to going against everything thrown at him because that’s how he survived. here is someone asking him to strip himself bare for the first time in years and who is he to deny? he’s been pulled so tight, woven so deep that he almost forgot who he was.

the white dies down. the red spreads through his body and his hands shift out his pocket. the movement is nonchalant, he’s got this silly smile on his face, something like freedom in his eyes. wild. primal. he wonders what his mother would say if she saw him, taking steps to the woman with the lighter now brandished in his hand, spray can in the other. would she smile? laugh? reprimand him? for the first time he has time to think and he chooses not to, let’s his body and words work on their own.

“you want me to compose myself? bear my troubles? stand tall.” he does. he holds both items up for her to see. he’s standing straighter than he has in weeks and the strength is from adrenaline pulsing in his body. all he is is before her and all his cares are out the window. the tip of his index finger dances around the can with a promise but his thumb? his thumb flicks against the lighter, baiting, waiting.

“be very careful what you ask for.”

The world is full of hostile magic and it cannot survive much more. It wears disguises like him and her; both of them in their self-involved phases. When one seems to get away with it, it rebounds twice more. It’s an illusion that ricochets in physical existence. Just as it was happening to her. Now it had decided to take its toll after decades of exploitation; decades of misuse and abuse. Now, after taking its time, it had ruled to use Arabella for her own ends. She, and everything she cared about, has and will become ashes. What sunders between herself and everything else will come to be incredibly permeable.

She knew the weight of her words. She knew none of it was a game. She knew she can’t hurt someone without harming herself, otherwise she doesn’t really understand magic, or reality for that matter. Opening up to the spirit realm and attempting to command forces for a negative cause meant opening herself first to all harm that will be caused. At the end of it all, it becomes herself that she seeks to harm as the true danger was on the impact it has to her soul; the karmic debt she’d accumulate in just the few remaining moments of her life.

Regardless, he shouldn’t have said such a thing. No matter how much she spits and hisses, he shouldn’t entertain it. Yet what was he to do? How should he comply with an unannounced rule? His downfall isn’t to blame on himself. The fault was in his unfamiliarity of the hazard that she is. A fight would mean disaster, and the reason she wouldn’t want it happening was because she’s lost all control.

Her semblance had slackened, unwilling to be triggered: it unleashes without warning or precedent. There was no guarantee of safety for anyone, not even for her. The destructive force comes through her. It fills, and becomes her, before it can go anywhere else. As much as she had less and less of a concern for her own welfare, it’d mean taking another life along with her, and if not, maybe leave equal damage, or damage on an immense scale that could last a person’s entire existence. As much as she didn’t care for the boy who carelessly threw taunts and what seemed like empty talk at her, she couldn’t let it be. For despite her recurrent bad habits and false virtues to the eye, guilt wasn’t something she could live with, much less bear to her grave.

It wasn’t him or anyone else, it was for her peace of mind. How much more selfish she could get at this point would deem immeasurable. She swore to never live with regrets. Having to commit atrocity before her inevitable death would put thousands of years risking all that she had to waste.

She shivered despite the clammy warmth building under her quickly heating hands. Her stomach began to sink. A familiar odd feeling crept into her belly, and she realized it had been rising, slowly and gradually, for some time. It started as an itch, then became a dull ache, and now that ache was sharpening then amplifying. Only something had temporarily plugged all of her senses; a mysterious thing that had magnetized her hand into a grip on the telltale bulge of her concealed weapon and tuned the bounds inside her to his scornful gaze.

Her conscience reaches to her, warning her of the repercussions, repeating them over and over, chanting: do not drink your own poison of grudge. Without any more spiteful words to send back, instead she shoots a menacing stare, triggered by his indifferent, albeit perceived slightly arrogant, behavior and diminishes right when she slinks into a decisive stance. Her hold on the weapon looses with her eyes closing solemnly and a sigh escapes her. Once the eyelids flutter open, she summons a projection of her aura, fueling what manifests into a duplicate of her yet in a form of a tangible shadow. She charges forward with haste, chopping his arm forcefully with the blade of her hand to send the lighter slewing away. Behind her, the shadow becomes engulfed into flames and dwindles into ashes. She grabs his face before brutally raising him above her height and slamming him to the ground once, but it was enough to cause debris to fling around.

Lost in her unwarranted and uncontrolled fury, the male became trapped under her weight as she slams his head against the hard concrete once more and it was only then that she had realized Kihyun was already unconscious. Her hands trembled in subdued rage mixed with remorse. It consumes her, little by little. She sat rigid and paralyzed. With all her will, she prevented herself from choking out of her own breath. Through her parted lips, she drew only tiny gasps. She couldn’t stand to see what she had done. In her guilt, she resorted to sparing a few drops of her healing potion, the exact potion she’d literally and figuratively die to run out of, pouring it into the small gap between his chapped lips.

As soon as his skin grows warm, she takes the chance to flee from the ruin she had caused before he could wake up again. She leaps out the window accessible as it is with its glass broken, and falls to her knees the next moment her two feet touches the ground. She could feel herself weaken in each step but she’s lost enough of the concoction brewed by a friend so hard to reach in just a day. In the small deed that follows a catastrophe, she still hopes at least to be able to sleep with ease in the night. Only this way would she not attempt another act of self-destruction.