#at least I can keep the knowledge in my back pocket for these situations

[displaykitkats]

Wanted to try coziest jacket on Koana - perhaps one day I'll be able to craft this jacket for myself. *starts wishing on a star even though it might not happen anytime soon*

Snow brush by carocha on DeviantArt

[tragedybunny]

Astarion head cannon! If your tav has any artistic ability (or none and is learning) imagine if he found you drawing his face a bunch to try get a good image of him to share. Pre act 2 where he believes you actually love him and he loves you. Just seeing this person doing something purely for him confusing and scaring hin but feeling too nice to want to run from.

So I had to turn this into a little story, it was too good.

What The Heart Sees - Astarion x F!Reader

You've been acting suspicious and Astarion is going to get to the bottom of it.

You'd been acting ever so slightly strange around him. He hasn't put the pieces together yet, but Astarion knows something is going on with you. The thought fills him with a little dread, he's worked so hard to get you on his side, to have someone to keep the others from turning on him. Now it might all be slipping through his fingers. 

Whatever was happening, he needed to bring it to a halt and get you back to your regular sweet devotion to him. The first step was interrogating your companions. Lae'zel and Shadowheart of course saw nothing wrong with your behavior. "Maybe she just needs a rest from your fangs at her neck," Shadowheart snipped and Astarion considered giving her neck a try one night before stomping away. 

Gale and Karlach at least confirmed his suspicions. As usual Gale was too worried about exploding to be much help, but Karlach, dear Karlach tried to be helpful. "We're all going through a lot. Maybe she's just tired Fangs." So, there was something going on with you, but no one seemed to have any clue. Maybe the Mind Flayer transformation was actually happening just very slowly, he shuddered at the thought. 

This situation clearly called for some less wholesome tactics. Stealth and spying on you, for now, maybe violating your trust and rummaging through your stuff as well. That night he crept to your tent after everyone had retired, there was still the faint glow of a light spell illuminating it. His intent had been to stop and listen, see if could find an angle to glance in that wouldn’t expose himself. Quietly, he made it near the entrance, perfect, you were unawares. There was a book cradled in your lap. Perhaps you’d found some arcane knowledge you were unwilling to share. He hadn’t thought you were power hungry, but maybe he’d misjudged. Reaching over, you picked up a piece of charcoal. Interesting, he leaned forward. “Woof.” Scratch was on top of him, wagging his tail, and he was laying the dirt outside your tent. 

You jump up, clearly startled, and he wanted to gut the stupid beast. But he saw where you tucked that precious book as you leapt up. “Astarion!” You were standing at the opening of the tent, looking down at him with concern. 

“Hello my Sweet,” he tries his best to still somehow be charming while pushing Scratch off him. “I uh, saw you were up and wanted to check on you but Scratch is apparently in a playful mood.” 

“Oh Scratch! You haven’t had enough attention huh?’ You reach out to pet the mongrel and talk softly to him as Asatrion pushes himself out of the dirt. “I was just reading, sorry to disturb you.” 

“No worries Darling,” he gives you a perfunctory peck on the cheek before heading back to his tent. It was all working out anyway. 

The next night comes and he’s ready, Scratch has given him quite a bit of inspiration. Discreetly Astarion leads the heap of fur to the edge of the camp, the ball he had dragged in from somewhere tucked in a pocket. “Come here Scratch,” he hisses, waving it around, getting his attention before chucking it off into the woods. The animal follows excitedly. Astarion isn’t sure where it went and he doesn’t care. Scratch is more a rival for your attention than anything else anyway. 

After a couple of minutes he finds you at the campfire, blissfully unaware. “Has anyone seen Scratch,” he asks, as innocently as he can manage. 

“Oh no,” your eyes quickly scan the campsite, “he must have wandered off.” You seem so distressed, he almost feels guilty. But this is his survival on the line. “Maybe I should go look for him.” 

“Do take Halsin my Dear, he’ll have the best chance at tracking,” and one less person around camp to watch. 

“Right,” you nod, standing and trodding off to the Druid. 

No sooner are you gone then Astarion is creeping into your tent when no one is looking. No light needed, he sees everything perfectly, including the little pack you shoved your book in last night. Victory. He wrests it from the spot under your pillow and plops down on your blankets to study it. What forbidden knowledge rests inside. The worn cover flips open to…

Sketches, sketches of him specifically. Not that he remembers what he looks like, but the clothes give it away, along with the poses, moments he remembers. Him, you’ve been drawing him. He continues to flip through the book, more bits of him, frozen in time, and the technique improves. Why are you doing this? The mirror, he remembers, being upset about not seeing his reflection. 

Sitting there in stunned silence, he feels an unpleasant weight in his chest. No one has ever done anything like this for him before. It’s…kind. Not that you’ve ever been any other way to him ever. Gods, what is he even doing, maybe he should just…

“Astarion!” Slamming the book shut, he jumps up. “Hello Darling, I-”

“You ruined the surprise,” you scold, looking so dejected he somehow feels worse than he did a moment ago. 

“I’m sorry, I was curious. I saw you with it the other night. It’s amazing though,” he tries to placate, guilt an emotion he’s buried for so long, but fear is there as well. Fear he’s crossed a line you won’t tolerate. 

Bending down, you retrieve the book from where it landed. “I was hoping to get something I was pleased with to show you, but I suppose it will have to do for now.” 

“Really, you shouldn’t bother so much with it,” you look up at him so sadly he quickly adds, “you do too much for me already. But I do appreciate this gift.” Impulsively he pulls you close and kisses you quickly before letting you go. “Is this really what you see? 

“That and so much more.” The way you stare at him with adoration, the way you always treat him so sweetly, the way he suddenly wants nothing more than to stand here in this tent forever, basking in you, it’s all becoming too much, he could almost swear he had a pulse to hammer in his veins. Hells, what has he gotten himself into with you? 

[iwaasfairy]

no cs omg fairy my big big brain is working !!

what if atsuko wasn’t an only child? what if he had a little brother who loved mom too?? sibling rivalry??

tw implied incest, jealousy, manipulative tendencies on ko WhATS new

if atsuko x mom!reader had an even more complicated situation

Ryota’s eyes are dragged from the pretty shape of the falling cherry blossom petals with a force greater than him. He looks over his shoulder, hands tightening slightly on the bike handles— just in time to avoid Atsuko’s attempt at slapping him in the back of the head. As he dodges, he pushes the meathead away by the arm, and kicks out his leg at his shin. “Heard you coming, motherfucker.”

“For once,” Atsuko grins when he still manages to land a mostly good-spirited squeeze at the back of his neck, and the younger man’s shoulders jerk up in protection. When he falls into step next to him, they both turn the last corner as the warm, evening sun makes harsh shadows. “Don’t you have volleyball training to get to, brat?”

“Don’t you have some teachers to bribe, dick?” He sighs. “Practice is canceled because our captain is home with a fever.”

Ryota’s dark eyes stay on his brother’s face when the grin curls up onto it. Of course Atsuko doesn’t falter. “Ah. My good name got you into school without a scholarship- you should be thankful.”

As they’ve grown older some of the edge has splintered away from the accusations, and now only a smooth surface remains. One that keeps the peace. One that doesn’t leave bad impressions. The older brushes his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face, before sliding his hands back into his pockets.

“Is Tooru getting mom anything for Mother’s Day?” Ryota asks after a brief break, and his brother just shakes his head.

“Well, except the usual… treatment on a holiday,” the lighter brunet’s mouth pulls into a slight line, absentmindedly scratching his arm, “I don't think so. No trip or anything at least, they just had their anniversary trip.” He doesn’t hesitate to swing an arm over his shoulder as he squeezes him under his shoulder. “And you can call him dad.”

That’s something he doesn’t feel the urge to respond to.

“Are you gonna do something?” He ends up asking.

The older man now frowns at Ryota, who raises a hand in flimsy protection. It’s not the first time he’s gotten into trouble for less. His arm slips off as soon as it came when he straightens up with a frown. Ko nii can’t truly think he’s subtle. No, in fact, there is no way that anyone with eyes can mistake it for anything else. Still Atsuko asks. “What kind of fucking question is that?”

“It’s a fucking question, anii,” Ryota bites back, frowning too now. It doesn’t last long before he forces it off his face though, seeing the house come up at the end of the street. You don’t like seeing them not get along— and for what it’s worth, when Atsuko’s not acting like a possessive tool, they get along fine. “D’you wanna do something with mom as a family?” He adds after a few seconds of silence.

Silence where Ko nii seems to mull his answer around in his mouth until it becomes acceptable to say, or maybe until the bad taste fades. He’s got a glint in his eye, and his mouth stays shut for too long. It’s almost like he’s debating just telling him after all. But the unspoken knowledge is enough, isn’t it? It doesn’t need to be more than that.

That way he can still pretend. Ryota laughs. “Right. Forgot you wanna have it be a private audience. Should I stay at someone else’s house for the day or can you control yourself?” Atsuko’s grin can’t be wiped from his face. If it was Ryota, he’d at least have some fucking shame about it.

It seems like that thought hasn’t even crossed his older brother’s mind. And without meaning to, he lets the slight sourness on his tongue fall out with a complaint, rolling his eyes. “You should probably re-learn about sharing. She’s my mom too-”

“Yeah?” The older basically skips a few steps ahead, before running his tongue over his teeth and grinning as he takes off towards their garden. “Too bad. If you wanted a bite you should’ve been born first.”

He makes a face. “That’s fucking gross, anii.” His bike clicks as he rolls it behind, and his eyes scan the green for you. Only one thing gets his brother that giddy- his eyes stop to run over you where you’re reaching up to the branches of the trees, and picking out some early apples. Atsuko tackles you into a broad shouldered hug, before picking you up under your legs and into him, and he can hear how your giggles echo the street. You look good, pretty. The sweetheart dress you’re wearing clings to your waist and with how Ko nii’s hands are glued to your ass, he does see it.

He’d have to be blind not to see it. You are pretty. You let Atsu kiss you on the mouth but pull back when the big fuck probably tries to slip his tongue in. Freak. Not that that stops the barrage of love the guy heaps on you as Ryota drops his bike onto the grass. You only pull away from where Ko’s pretty much biting kisses down your throat to aim your beautiful smile on him instead, and he can’t help but feel warmer when holding up his hand.

“Hi, ma.”

Your tangled fingers pull from Ko nii’s hand to reach out to him as you rush over on sandals and your love glitters at him when he gets close. It’s like a tidal wave that coats everything in heat, warm and soft and kind like you’ve always been. What Atsuko’s doing is fucked up, but he does get it. “Baby~” You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down, and he lets his hands clench tight around your waist.

“I missed you so much.” He doesn’t pick you up, or kiss you, or basically make out with your neck— and you place a loving kiss on his cheek before wiping your hands on your dress. “Thank you for coming home, I know you’re busy at school.”

“It’s really- it’s fine. Missed you.” He doesn’t mean to stoke the flame, but as he looks up through his lashes he meets eyes with Atsuko. Who’s chewing his bottom lip to get rid of the ever so slightly agitated grin— that only tightens when Ryota finds himself winding his arms around you a bit tighter. Enough to pull you off your balance and make you laugh, before pushing away as you look between them both.

“Do you guys want to take a dip before dinner?” The sun casts the pool in perfect dappled light. “I took a dip earlier and the water is just right~ if you get the chance.”

Atsuko only waits a second before he reaches his hand back to you to stroke his thumb along your neck, then pulls you in when he softly tangles his fingers into the base of your hair. “I’ll go if you go.” You don’t hesitate to brush that off and roll your eyes, but your hand still lands on the lighter brunet’s chest. His eyes shift to where the younger brother is still standing in the front yard, slips his hands into his front pockets. “Ryota wants us to do something for Mother’s Day in a couple days… Any requests?”

The hand that’s still on your neck now moves down your spine, lower, lower- until it traces over the fabric to brush along the edge. When you don’t respond, your face turns to his questioning, and a bit shocked. But Atsuko isn’t. “What about a repeat of last year, mom?” He asks, and drops his lips to your temple after a self-satisfied grin. “Maybe I’ll keep it a surprise for now. I know what you like.”

He shrugs as he walks away with you still left in your spot on the deck— taps the door frame on his way inside. “Ryo’s back, dad! I’m gonna give mom a massage in the master bedroom. She worked so hard today.”

[bardicindignation]

Wild, Spaghetti on the Wall Theory Time

Braius Doomseed is NOT a paladin of Asmodeus.

Based on Subclass choices, vibes, and the Sam with the out of nowhere curveball character trend that we all know and love. Sticking the rest under a read more bc this got...long.

I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out! Sam always has a curve-ball in his back pocket with the characters he plays from Scanlan to FCG, we all know this. It's possible that the back pocket deal is gonna be a last-minute betrayal bc, yk, Asmodeus but! BUT!!! Braius can cast Moonbeam, and since, according to his character wiki he's at least a ninth level paladin, he doesn't yet have the 10th bard feature that allows him to pull spells from other classes even when you're not College of Lore (he's a Tragedy Bard). This means that he's either Oath of Watchers or Ancients, and while Watcher's could make sense for the fight against Predathos regardless of what god Braius follows...that's a lot of paladin levels to have been brought out just since the gods were aware of the situation (like, a couple weeks I think?) and neither super seems like an Asmodeus associated Oath. (As opposed to, say, Crown or Conquest, or Vengeance, or Oathbreakder.) Plus, Tevan had no fucking clue who he was, and it seems like one of Asmodeus's lieutenants might be appraised of a high level follower of his Lord being tasked with going directly after Asmodeus. But Joy! You might say. Oath of the Watchers is pretty Neutral, and he could have just ! What about the sign he god from the ichor on the wall? Why would the god of Lies tell any of his followers shit? And if not Asmodeus who the fuck is Braius following??? Ok, so, first off, let's break down the Oath. I really, really, think that it's gotta be Watchers if Braius is really a follower of Asmodeus bc Ancients is not only heavily nature aligned (not something that the Lord of the Hells is at all associated with) but the language of the description of the Oath also seems heavily aligned with good (I mean just look at the tenents) and...y'all. I don't think Braius is a Watchers Paladin. First off, Sam never once asked (to my memory) about who was within 10 ft of him at the start of initiative, when Watchers would have given all of those people a bump on their initiative. Now, this could be 'new character who dis' except. Except. Sam did consistently ask Matt if people who were within 10 feet of him who were being targeted with Delilah shit were getting hit with spell damage.

Here's the Aura of Warding from the dndwikidot page on Oath of the Ancients:

"Beginning at 7th level, ancient magic lies so heavily upon you that it forms an eldritch ward. You and friendly creatures within 10 feet of you have resistance to damage from spells." Oath. Of. The. Ancients. Bitch. (also we learned that the name Doomseed came with the oath. Naaaatuuuuure. Also also, doesn't say who the doom is for) So next up, the symbol message...what the fuck was up with that? Just bc it was an Asmodeus symbol doesn't mean he's the only bitch who can interact with it...and it was specifically not coming from the structure of the symbol itself, just the run-off. This is not a super strong point, but Asmodeus is not the only god of trickery...but more on that later. Tevan Klask doesn't know who the fuck Braius is! Look, the Lord of the Hells is a lying-ass bitch. We all know this. It's entirely possible that he keeps his people out of the loop on each other. But he's gotta know that Tevan has a line to the people going in after Ludinus the most and it feels a tad weird that Hot Devil Man would have no knowledge of a high level paladin of his Lord doing the same damn thing.

Also, Braius didn't react, like, at all to Tevan getting banished by Ludinus which feels...a little weird. So. So. If not Asmodeus, then who? What other Trickery, Nature, romance (the flirting is constant which isn't necessarily a firm indicator but c'mon) alligned deity is out there with not only what is possibly the strongest connection to whatever the fuck is going on with Predathos, but also has direct experience with followers of one 'deity' masquerading as another which could have been extremely effective without actual divine intervention? That's right, it's the motherfucking Moonweaver!! Just going by her title, it's entirely possible that this bitch was ultimately responsible for trapping Predathos in the first place, and we've heard suspiciously little of her in C3. Her cleric domains include both Trickery and Nature, and she's heavily associated with deception, misdirection, lover's trysts, and moonlight.

Yk, like with a Moonbeam. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

(My second, last minute theory is that Sam's still playing a follower of Avandra who also has Moon, Trickery, and Nature under her domains. This would be extremely funny to me. Wait fuck I'm still saying Moonweaver for my first choice but the wiki is telling me that The Changebringer is the Archenemy of the Lord of the Hells...fuck. Fuck Sam did you do this Sam let me in your brainnnnn.)

[nhasablogg]

Team Building

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: The BAU team

Summary: Hotch witnesses a giant tickle fight between his team and is very confused.

A/N: As per @originalcolormoon's request!

Words: 600

Morgan starts it. That much Hotch is sure of. Granted he doesn’t get to really witness the beginning of it all, but the moment he exits his office to a team in chaos, he knows Morgan started it.

It takes him an alarming amount of time to realize they’re laughing and not crying. Frozen in the door frame, he watches as Prentiss nearly trips up the stairs as she chases after JJ, who rushes past him without seemingly noticing his presence. It’s her smile that makes him snap out of his terrified confusion; all teeth, all joy. It’s Reid crashing into him that turns his confusion on full blast again.

He steadies him. “What the hell is going on?” he tries, but Morgan lets out a blood-curdling scream just as he says it, and all eyes are momentarily on him as Garcia seems to be pouncing on him, aiming her hands into his- Hotch squints. His armpits? And suddenly he understands, but it doesn’t help with his confusion.

“Are you having a tickle fight?”

Reid slips out of his grip, but only because Prentiss has given up on JJ and is aiming her alarmingly quick steps in their direction now. Hotch wonders if he will get dragged into it and nearly feels like running, but the way Reid laughs makes him certain no one could resist, and so he watches Prentiss chase him through the office. During the seconds it took for that to happen Morgan has somehow turned the tables and is using his height to his advantage and is tickling Garcia’s neck, causing her to giggle much more quietly than Hotch would expect her to.

Not that Hotch ever thinks about how his teammates will react to getting tickled, of course.

“You-” he tries, but realizes it’s in vain. Whatever he says will get drowned out, by laughter and protests and shouts and the occasional crash into furniture. As he watches them, grown adults having fun for the first time in probably ages, he’s glad no one else is here. Glad they can be carefree and embarrassing without witnesses.

Later, they will tell him how it happened. “It was Prentiss’ fault,” Morgan says, which earns him a slap to the back of his head.

“It was Morgan,” Prentiss says through Morgan’s indignation, rolling her eyes. “Obviously. He decided to tickle Reid a little too enthusiastically until I reminded him of the spot I had discovered a few weeks ago.”

“I don’t take threats lightly,” Morgan says, much too confidently for someone who was just howling from JJ going for his ribs. Hotch almost wishes he’d seen it start, just to see how quickly it went from semi collected to that.

And, privately, because he really just wishes he could’ve seen it.

Rossi is suddenly beside him as Reid is, in a rare moment of courage, trying to turn the tables on JJ. He is looking as amused as Hotch reckons the situation calls for. “Well, this is interesting,” he says, cocking his head at him. “Does it happen often?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Ah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, the two of them silent for a moment as the team keeps shrieking. “Tell me, Hotch,” he says suddenly, in a tone which is foreboding. “Are you ticklish yourself?”

Hotch stiffens and tries to remember how to be normal about anything. “No.”

“No?”

“No as in don’t try.”

“Oh, that is the least effective way to keep my hands away.”

Hotch feels like he needs to murder Morgan after this. And maybe Prentiss too.

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 30

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, death, depictions of dead bodies, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, political discourse, violence.

✦ Word Count: 5.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: I'm in my torturing Steve hours with this one. For any fans of the Civil War comic, you'll notice how I tried to incorporate Nitro's death with Rumlow's. Fun fact, I wrote a good portion of the action sequence with "MMMBop" by Hansen on repeat because my kid was obsessively playing it for half the afternoon. I like to think of it as a testament to my writing abilities with that knowledge in hand.

[Master List]

Sea salt stings at his cheeks as the bay's lapping waves crest and shatter against the observation deck's rocky outcrop. Squinting against the sliver of sunlight that dares to peak between the heavy-hanging gray clouds overhead, Steve can almost make out the vague shape of the Statue of Liberty between the haze of fog.

It wasn’t often that he found himself this far south of the Compound on his own accord. But, with the heaviness of the SRA looming over the team, the day out had been a much-needed break from political talk in the lounge.

Natasha’s red hair whips against the side of his shoulder as she lingers beside him, her eyes moving from every person who dares enter the public space. Always calculating the threat assessment for any given situation.

This had been the condition; having the two of them there.

Steve watches as Wanda shoves at Pietro’s arm as he hogs the observation telescope for himself. The two teenagers had been desperate for a day away from their seclusionary residence and even Tony had been easily convinced to allow this little getaway, considering everything else going on around them.

They all knew this could be the last little outing out for the twins.

One day only, limited contact with the public, casual clothes, and simple disguises to keep them protected.

The boy’s signature white hair is tucked away under the cloth of a gray beanie, while Wanda’s red-tinged eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Steve has his own sunglasses snagged on the collar of his shirt as he pulls back the cap on his head to itch at his hair.

At least these two were enjoying themselves, having a day out in the city. Hell, even Steve had found himself smiling more than he had in the past two days.

The Battery was one of the final stops on their touristy trip.

They had gotten ice cream at Central Park, wandering between the garden flower paths of the more secluded sections of the park. Natasha even let them have their moment in the middle of Times Square. And now, with pretzels and hotdogs in hand, they took their time looking out across the bay.

Steve had never seen Ellis Island so close up before. It was strange, knowing how much time had passed for him when his own mother had gone through the inspection process there after six weeks aboard a ship from Belfast. His connection to his past life seemed to slip through his fingers as each day passed, burning that existence further and further behind him.

“So, you’re actually going to do it.”

Natsasha’s green eyes are dulled slightly by the gloomy sky, but they’re fully sharp and fixed on his face.

Drawing his arms from the metal railing, he tucks his hands away into the pockets of his leather coat. Even he found it strange that the weather had been so abysmal for June.

“Figured it was about time,” he admits on a quivering breath.

While the sibling pair had been across the pathway, getting themselves something to eat from a vendor cart, he had revealed his plan to Nat.

It had been… wearing on Steve for the past day and a half. One too many near-misses and broken chances. He had had enough of it. And even if it made the great Captain America shudder, the supersoldier was finally preparing himself to tell you exactly how he felt.

The perfect moment would never exist for the two of you - not when danger lurked around every corner. Not when the passage of legislation looking to strip away their right to do their job effectively was just a few days away. 

No, he had waited and kept his head buried in the sand long enough. It was beyond time.

And even if he laid it all bare to you and you didn’t… couldn’t reciprocate, then at least Steve knew that he had put himself out there. Kept it from swallowing him whole.

You had been so close yesterday on the deck. Your lips a lingering breath away, your chest heaving beneath his own. Everything he felt - everything he loved about you was within his grasp if he could just get over that initial fear and say something. Do anything.

Nat nods, focusing her gaze on the twins for a minute before she asks, “When did she say she’s coming back?”

Easing back on his heels, feeling a flush of heat racing for his cheeks and a smile breaking across his lips, he answers, “Tonight.”

She knocks her fist into his arm, “I’m proud of you, lover boy. So… you got some big thing planned for it or are you just going to get her alone and do a big confessional from the heart? Kinda seems like your style, big spur-of-the-moment speeches and all.”

“Well, I - ”

Steve’s cut off by the shockwave explosion that ripples across the city skyline. The ground under his feet quakes as he grabs hold of Natasha and drags her down low.

“You two, over here!” Nat calls to the twins.

Pietro has a protective arm over Wanda as they jog over.

“What was that?” the girl questions, eyes wide as she takes in the equally shocked and nervous patrons around them.

Steve rises to his feet, looking back at the city behind them. Smoke radiates up into the air from the general vicinity of the financial district, just a few blocks north of the Battery.

“Okay, you need to get these two out of here,” Natasha directs, heading up the path. “I’ll get SHIELD on the line and - ”

“No, no. We are staying here, thank you,” Pietro barks, dragging his hat from his head - exposing his striking white hair.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. It could be… a gas explosion or something,” Steve looks toward Natasha, trying to gather her thoughts on the matter.

It didn’t sound like a gas explosion.

Sirens are ringing out in the distance. And even from here, Steve can hear the screams for help beginning to echo across the streets.

Wanda stands directly in front of him, her glasses pulled into her hand, “People could be hurt.”

With his hands on his hips, he glances from the twins to Natasha, and then up toward the billowing plumes of dark smoke tangling between the skyscrapers like a serpent.

“Steve, we need to move.”

“Okay,” he announces, clapping Wanda’s shoulder tightly with his palm. “But you stay close and you stay out of trouble. We’re going to aid the emergency crews, but that’s it for you two.”

She nods, her expression seeming to note the severity of his tone as she looks over at her brother, “Fair enough.”

“Let’s go,” Steve calls, ignoring the Widow’s less-than-pleased look as he runs past her.

The beige sand is warm beneath the soles of your bare feet as you dangle your legs over the edge of the white plastic lounge chair. Near the water, the breeze is just cool enough that you can ignore the stifling heat of the island’s humidity.

A splash of clear liquid makes its way into your glass. Droplets of Asgardian liquor cling to the yellow, blue, and pink paper umbrella adorning the top of your drink.

“Thank you,” you schmooze as you raise your mojito toward the God of Thunder.

Thor nods in return as he crosses his bare legs over the chair beside yours. He’s wearing a pair of plain swimming trunks and a fabulous floral print shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned. His hair is sun-bleached, wild around his shoulders, as he tips his head back. The plastic sunglasses protect his eyes from the sun and a dab of hastily applied sunscreen protects his nose from burning.

“Yeah, this ain’t too bad.”

You hum in agreement as you turn to look at Bruce.

On the other side of your beach chair, the good scientist is more appropriately covered for the harsh sunlight as he rests under the shade of a large umbrella. Sipping his pineapple concoction with ease, a floppy tan hat on his head, white Crocs on his feet.

This wasn’t exactly where you had envisioned the man to go after Sokovia, but you suppose it made perfect sense. 

Bruce had been all across the northern hemisphere, Russia, and the Middle East during his time on the run from Ross and the SOCC. You knew about his lengthy time in Brazil and his short stay in Mexico. Of course, after Harlem, he had moved around along the Indian subcontinent. But Kuto was definitely a new destination for him.

Just north of New Zealand, in an archipelago of islands, New Caledonia was an ideal hideout for the scientist and his companion, the God of Thunder.

Most people here turned an eye to the two tourists and crime was largely different than the alien invasions and HYDRA outbreaks that the US found itself dealing with. Here, he could truly relax.

Thor had only joined him recently, after having enough of life at the Compound. From what you understood, after Sokovia and his admittance that he and the good lady Jane had separated, he had chosen to take a sabbatical in Australia. He told you of his ventures into Midgardian life - securing a roommate and an apartment in the city.

However, as you suspected, Thor was not suited for day-to-day living in the human realm.

You had managed to keep Bruce’s location under wraps from outside sources and, while you did keep in correspondence through Pallas so as not to leak his whereabouts to people who could access phone records, you rarely took the time to actually visit him.

That was one thing you found yourself grateful for, however. After Sokovia, after moving into the Compound with the rest of the team, Tony informed you that during JARVIS’s take-down of Ultron from the web, he had also gone ahead and removed that pesky little formula as well. Fury’s formula - that eventually went on to Pierce and HYDRA - the one that successfully tracked your comings and goings.

Now, you were free to travel without fear of being discovered by people like Ross. This is how you found yourself on a beach resort on a Sunday in the middle of June, sipping fruity cocktails mixed with a healthy dose of Asgardian liquor.

The Promethean flame seems to surge in the locket as you rub the pendant between your fingers. You had yet to take it off; too concerned with your brother’s warning to risk it. But even here, as you watch the ebb and flow of the crystalline blue waves against the sandy shore, you feel that sensation at the back of your mind. Worming its way in further, burrowing down into your cortex.

“So…” you begin, sipping another bit of your drink up through the straw. “What have you heard from the US?”

Bruce tilts his head your way, knocking his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, “Like that Registration Act stuff or the questionable candidacy stuff?”

“The SRA.”

He hums in reply, folding his hands over his belly as he looks out at the ocean water.

“I try to keep my stress levels to a minimum these days, ‘Thena.”

You can feel the radiating heat of Thor’s eyes upon you as you sit up, twisting in your seat to address Banner directly.

“Even I have concerns over it, Bruce.”

“Think I’m pretty well-off over here.”

Lowering your head, you stare at the smooth grains of sand that rest between your toes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure… if Ross is at the controls.”

That gets his attention as Bruce stalls, clutching his hands together into loose fists. Sitting up, he swivels his body to face you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ross came right to the Compound and basically laid it out like it was already set in stone to us yesterday. I’m sure there’s more to it than what he tried to sell. And I’m very sure that Tony’s going to try and fight it with everything he’s got. But…”

Your eyes meet his worried ones and without having to finish your thought, he gives a jerky nod.

“Guess paradise isn’t the best hiding spot after all.”

“Never is.”

It’s at that moment that Thor announces he is starving and the three of you head up the beach to the resort.

Blue wooden plank walls wrap around the interior of the building, while open-faced window frames extend around the side facing the water. The floor is made of a cream-colored linoleum and two large fans circulate warm air overhead. In the corner of the room, a small wall-mounted TV rests, playing a game show of some kind.

Before you, two well-topped poke bowls rest within a sea of platters and bowls.

Thor grins as he slurps up the meat of yet another lobster claw, while you mull over the contents of your own food. The waitstaff was kind, though they all seemed to do quite the doubletake whenever they passed by your table. To be fair, you were the only occupants of the restaurant.

Not many people came to the southern hemisphere in the winter, you supposed.

“Have we ever told you, Banner,” Thor begins, sucking the butter from his fingers. “Of our shared battles?”

The scientist nods, swallowing his food before answering, “Once or twice, right? Battle of Heaven and all that stuff that seems vaguely sacrilege.”

You snort in agreeance, fixing Thor with a look, “We don’t discuss that, to be clear.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I was merely suggesting a topic of conversation to lighten the mood.”

“Involving blood, decapitation, death, and Odin’s vengeance against the Judeo-Christian pantheon, correct?”

“Well,” he coughs into his fist before swiping up another lobster claw to eat, allowing the topic to die a merciful death in exchange for more food.

The silence simmers as the mechanical whir of the fans fills the gaps for you. You can hear the sizzle of the fryer in the kitchen and you can smell the aromatic wafts of seafood and fresh-caught delights. The late morning sun bathes the room in warmth, making sweat bead up along your hairline as you take another sip of your room-temp drink.

“So… we gonna talk about it?”

Your brow rises in Bruce’s direction, “Talk about what exactly?”

“Ross; the bill.”

“Not much to add,” you admit as you push together another spoonful of radishes, edamame, and chicken. “He tried to intimidate the team. There’s a good chance it’ll pass through Congress and then Tony plans to persuade Ellis in the other direction.”

Giving the scientist a shrug, you bring another bite to your lips.

“And everyone’s on the same page with it?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Tony wanted to hold a meeting with the press to tell Congress to quote-on-quote suck it, but Pepper talked him out of it this morning. I think even Steve was in favor of that particular stunt.”

“Jesus,” Bruce chuckles.

You share a smile with the man before you add, “I mean, in all honesty, even if the thing gets passed on, it’ll take a while to implement. And, on top of that, it only affects acts taking place on US soil, so… in theory… if the team were to relocate…”

“Ahh,” he beams.

“Exactly,” you nod. “And, you’re technically not part of the team right now since you’re on vacation, as it were. And, hey, the two of us - ” you gesture between yourself and Thor with the curve of your spoon, “ - we’re always going to be exempt from human law, so… there’s that.”

“You know whoever lines the pockets gets the final say.”

With a wry look, you add, “Maybe we should get Tony to start offering up company shares and we’ll get a different outcome.”

Bruce’s smile, however, begins to wane.

You give a questioning hum.

“It’s just… well, let’s be real. This ain’t gonna be the last of it. And… I kinda had my fill of living on the run for a decade.”

Before you can remedy his train of thought, Thor interrupts.

“Then come with me. Back to Asgard. We would be welcomed amongst the halls of warriors, my friend.”

“I don’t know about that, man. I mean - ”

But as Bruce goes to decline the offer, your eyes happen to travel over to the TV.

You’re up and out of your seat, with a screech of plastic chair legs across the linoleum, before the men even register it. Your eyes are glued to the screen as a breaking news bulletin takes over the previous game show.

“Hey, what - ”

“My Lady?”

All you can utter is, “Oh my god,” as a whirlwind of fire encapsulates the camera footage.

You easily translate the news anchors' words as you spin around, capturing the worried and distraught looks of your friends.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bruce mutters.

“Should we - ” Thor begins to suggest, his posture already straightening up to his full height as he gestures between the three of you with his index finger.

“No,” you immediately reject, your chest heaving as you capture sight of a familiar supersoldier on the screen and was that…? With a shake of your head, you implore your friends: 

“You… you need to leave. Yeah, you need to get out of Dodge.”

Thor’s brow furrows, “I don’t understand, what is Dodge?”

“She means,” Bruce supplements for you as he pushes Thor backward with his hands upon the God’s chest, reaching down into his wallet to toss a handful of bills onto the table. “That we need to disappear for a while, buddy.”

“To Asgard then.”

“Uh, no - ”

“Yes, actually,” you return, fists shaking at your sides. “You need to get off planet and I can get you to Olympus or he can take you to Asgard, but you need to be gone, now, Bruce.”

“Come on. ‘Thena. I can manage myself here, I know how to disappear in plain sight.”

But you’re shaking your head, body physically tremoring, “I don’t think that’s enough this time.”

That seems to settle the gaunt reality for Bruce as his face pales.

Thor wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders as he holds his other hand aloft - awaiting Mjolnir.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, catching the terrified look on the scientist’s face as you try to convince yourself of your own words.

The hammer soars past your face, landing in Thor’s hand as he offers you a tilt of his chin, “My Lady.”

You’re gone in a flash of bright shockwave-like light, the island resort’s restaurant fading around you in an instance.

  When you appear outside of the residence building at the Compound, the world around you is silent.

Eerily silent outside of the occasional chirp of a grasshopper looming in the fresh-cut grass. The sky is a swath of darkness and twinkling starlight, purple hues along the deep horizon. The building itself is alight as you reorient yourself. 

It’s too quiet.

Walking toward the entrance, then moving to a jog, you rush toward the doors - toward the team. God, why weren’t you called?

Why had no one called you?

That camera footage showed morning light, hours had passed between then and now and no one had called you.

But as your pace slows, as you near the golden-hued entrance, you notice the odd outline resting beside the building. One step after the other, you peer into the shadows. First, you note the height, then the curve of a face haloed by the moonlight.

“Steve?”

The figure turns, and even in the low light of the midnight hour, you can see the darkness around his usually vibrant eyes.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Taking a step toward him, you nod. “Hey.”

He glances away, sniffing indignantly.

Your own expression drops as you move toward your friend, feet teetering on the edge of the ornate landscaping, staring up at his shadowed face. He tries to conceal it from you, tilting his head up to look at the sky above, but you know. Of course, you know.

Another step forward and you wrap your arms tight around his middle, dragging him into your embrace.

Steve huffs out a breath as he balances on his toes before he relents and allows himself to be dragged, nearly collapsing in your arms as he tucks his face into your shoulder.

You can feel the shaky breaths he sucks in through his mouth as he burrows further into your hold. All you can do is tighten your arms, rubbing the expanse of his rigid back with your palms. Unwelcoming smoke clouds his body, besides hints of metal and the all too familiar scent of blood.

Something wet and warm dots your shoulder, but you don’t comment on it as one hand moves up to the soft crop of his hair. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you rub soothing circles into the blonde locks.

“Talk to me, Rogers,” you murmur into the warm skin of his neck. “What happened?”

His arms tighten around your shoulders as he exhales a quivering breath. You can feel the blood racing through his veins as your lips hover in the space beside his head. Something is murmured into the safety of your body, but it’s too gentle for even your ears to catch it. 

As your hand stalls in his hair, you ask, “What was that?”

It takes a second, but then you hear it.

“I messed up.”

In hindsight, Steve should have listened to Natasha. Wanda and Pietro should have been sent away. He should have -

Wall Street was blocked off by fire engines by the time they arrived on the scene, with a scattering of armed officers stationed behind two squad cars.

Steve had gone over to get the details down with the officer in charge while Natasha kept the twins from wandering.

There was an explosion in a lower-floor building further up the block. An office suite just across from the Chase Bank plaza. They were already in the process of securing the area and evacuating adjacent buildings, but Steve’s attention fell to a group of men dragging another man into the middle of the street toward a black SUV.

He hadn’t even thought, just jumped the hood of the car and took off running.

Because he knew that one - the one with the metal mask over his face.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Rumlow hollered, voice permanently shot from the damage he suffered in D.C., “Just can’t keep your patriotic nose out of things.”

“It’s a bad habit,” he agrees as he braces himself, staring down at the quivering man held in Rumlow’s hand.

He has a cloth bag over his head and a gun to his temple to keep him from doing anything too hasty. Suit and tie, overweight, could be any pencil pusher, but he had had to be special enough for Rumlow to take interest in him. Around the man, five armed guards stand ready. Black clothes, simple tactical gear, anonymous, but clearly well-paid.

Smoke is still surging out of the office building to their right, but the structure seems intact - no risk of immediate collapse or civilian casualty.

“Agh!” Rumlow grits as red mists encapsulate his hand - twisting his wrist back, making the gun fall. 

Steve jumps up, kicking the guard to his left in the face before grabbing the rifle from his hands - snapping it in half. Pietro zooms past, shoving his hand into another guard’s face - the same technique that Steve had taught him, now in action.

“Get out of here,” he orders.

“Why?” the teen barks back as he spins so quickly around the third and fourth guards that they get pushed together in a tangle of limbs.

“Because there might be civilians trapped up there who need help,” he calls out as the fifth guard fires on him.

Steve has to duck and roll to the side, finding a barrier behind a folded metal street sign.

Not willing to risk never being allowed back out in the field, the boy zooms past - knocking the guard who had been firing at Steve on his ass - before disappearing into the office building.

Natasha surges up and over him, landing on top of the guard - using a wire to encircle the man’s neck.

“Get the hostage!” she barks.

Steve’s up and on his feet, charging at Rumlow just a beat later as Wanda’s powers fade and the masked criminal scrambles for his gun. The supersoldier leaps on top of the man, shielding the victim as a bullet surges into his right flank. He grits his teeth as the white-hot pain temporarily stifles his senses.

“This wasn’t meant for you, Rogers,” Rumlow bites. “But I think they’ll understand.”

Steve twists himself and the man away, rolling him in Wanda’s direction - who quickly secures the man in a shield of red energy.

The supersoldier kicks his foot into Rumlow’s hand, knocking the gun back, but he just shoves Steve away. 

“Come on!”

Rumlow smacks his helmeted head into Steve’s before uppercutting him, knocking him back into a street lamp - making it bend from his weight. When he regains his footing, the other man is already coming for him. His punches are large and bulky as they aim for the supersoldier’s head, so Steve keeps himself low, keeping his arms inward, aiming for Rumlow’s torso.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” he snarks before twisting a knife out of a sheath and attempting to stab Steve in the eye.

He ducks away at the last second, kicking Rumlow in the stomach as he rolls under the groaning man. When he spins around, trying to now throw the knife, Steve leaps up and slams the heel of his boot into the helmet - managing to shove him back into an abandoned car.

Rumlow rolls up onto his knees as Steve stalks closer. The supersoldier clutches hold of the man’s helmet, tossing it to the side - taking in the mangled burn scars that climb up Rumlow’s face and hairline.

He gives Steve a wolfish grin.

“Who sent you?” he questions; voice seething.

From behind Rumlow, he can see Natasha securing the other five guards up as Wanda releases the man from her mist - helping to remove the bag from his head. He recognizes that face, where the hell does he recognize that face from?

“You know he knew you.”

His gaze travels back down to Rumlow.

“Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky,” he bites out.

Steve grasps hold of his tactical gear, tugging him up as he searches his eyes - desperation clouding his features as the hint of a long-followed trail is brought back to the surface.

“What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there - ”

Hope, a sick and worrying thing, clings to his chest as the words sink in.

“He got all weepy about it,” Rumlow breathes out, a half-smile gnarled by twisting pink burn scars. “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He - ”

But before he can finish his sentence, a wisp of bluish-white light comes surging past as Pietro slams the man’s body into the curb. Hovering triumphantly over the criminal.

“Hey!” Steve calls. “You need to get out of here.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” the boy grins, hands on his waist as he stares down at Rumlow.

The man slouches against the curb, looking up at the enhanced teenager with a ragged breath.

“So, you’re one-half of the wonder kids Strucker’s been going on about - ”

“What was that?” Pietro questions, alarm raising as he zeroes in.

Wanda draws near, her hands misting red.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumlow grins, lounging out now as he glances over at Steve, “Wondering who my boss was, right, Pretty Boy? Yeah, you did a real bang-up job torturing a dead guy - ” he fixes Wanda with a look.

“Don’t - ” Steve warns as the teenagers draw closer.

“Fucking useless little bitch can’t even tell when her captor’s not in the room. Jesus Christ, you know how to pick them, huh, Rog- ”

Rumlow lets out a horrific scream as his arms twist backward.

“Wanda!”

“No, let him finish,” Pietro slams a foot into Rumlow’s chest.

But the teens won’t listen as Wanda creeps closer, her eyes turning nearly black as her rage climbs higher. Natasha grabs onto the girl - tugging her back as Wanda screams out. She doesn’t turn her powers on the Widow, thank god, but they barely fizzle from Rumlow.

The man, slack-jawed, stares up at Pietro.

“What you got, kid?”

“I’m going to kill you,” the boy bites out.

Steve clutches Pietro’s arm, tugging him back, “That’s enough.”

“Hah, rich talk,” Rumlow grimaces as he steps back onto the sidewalk, his legs shaking. “Fact is, I’m not one of your bargain basement losers.”

A gun is unholstered before Steve can even react, a bullet landing in the previously masked man’s head. He collapses to the ground, blood pooling around his dome as his unblinking eyes stare out in horror.

“NO!” Wanda screams, trying to entrap Rumlow with her powers once again.

His eyes land on Steve. His thumb twitches in his fist.

“You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Fire engulfs him as the trigger is set.

Steve slams Pietro to the ground as Natasha calls out to Wanda, but the girl can’t hear it as she panics, tears pooling in her eyes as she tries to lift the bubble of flame higher and higher, and then -

It smashes into the building next to the plaza, fire blazing through several floors before it’s tossed in the opposite direction, into the office building that had just been evacuated, and then -

Flames engulf the entire block into a raging inferno.

In the stock-still horror of the aftermath, Wanda had collapsed to the ground - body shaking as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When Steve managed to clamber to his feet, Pietro took one step back - shaking his head, muttering to himself - and then he was gone.

They had spent the entire day, afternoon, and evening down in the remnants of Wall Street. 

The buildings were smoldering ash by the time the main fires were finally extinguished sometime around 11:30 PM. The firefighters would still be battling the rest of the blaze well into the next morning.

Sam and the others arrived just after the news broke. Someone, he thinks it was Tony, took Wanda back to the Compound. At one point, as they assisted the FDNY in search and recovery - using his strength to lift broken beams and concrete - Pallas had arrived.

And as much as Steve wanted to - needed to - call you, the more pressing issue was the missing teenage mutant. So, when the owl fluttered down to his shoulder and pecked at the bits of ash and debris in his hair, he had asked him to go look for Pietro. Someone had to look for and locate him before anything worse happened.

It was too much of a risk to not have eyes on him.

In total, several businesses were now destroyed. The bank had suffered such heavy damage that it would have to undergo major repairs to ever function again. Federal Hall had been blasted in half. The offices of the Consulate General of Slovenia and the Consulate General of Sokovia had been ablaze. A Baptist church at the eastern end of the block had its front wall caved in.

And worst of all…

The International Academy for Gifted Youths had taken the final brunt of Rumlow’s explosion.

The bodies of the elementary-aged children were entirely unrecognizable from the smoldering remains of the building itself.

It hadn’t been evacuated in the initial efforts as the fire department deemed it safe; located at the end of the block, with a clear alley between them and the office building of Rumlow’s initial attack.

Steve had managed to find a girl, her body was blackened and still smoldering when he broke through a barrier of bricks. He had scooped her up and carried her out, eyes wide and red as he searched for someone, anyone, to help him. 

He was useless here, he didn’t know what to do.

Captain America saved people.

He didn’t, he didn’t -

He can still feel her brittle body in his hands. Can still smell the burnt flesh and hair and clothes and death. So much avoidable death at his hands.

He was the leader and today… today he made such a series of terrible calls that… god, he doesn’t even know what.

Steve, standing a good distance away from you now, refusing to meet your eye, lets out yet another shuddering breath.

“Are they safe?” your voice is tender, unshakeable in comparison to the broken supersoldier.

“Wanda’s down with Nat. Pietro… we found him, halfway to Chicago. He’s in his room, but… no one’s been... You know he…” he swallows the lump in his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “He blames himself.”

“He’s a child,” you coo, stepping forward. “He shouldn’t have to brunt the weight of a terrible tragedy.”

Your hand, warm and careful, slinks its way around Steve’s wrist, tugging down until his gaze drops to your face.

“Nor should you.”

He snorts, “Come on, you know that’s not true. I was the one in charge, I made that call today to have them there.”

“Is every tragedy your sole responsibility then?”

Steve tugs away from your hold, taking a few steps out into the lawn. Hands poised on his hips as he watches the fluttering dance of the lightning bugs in the meadow.

“You should have called me,” you say, words urgent and pleading.

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t have the paper. And we were all too… busy. I had to send Pallas.”

Steve feels your presence on his left side before your fingers sweep against his own.

“There are things called phones, Steven.”

Gritting his teeth, he wonders why you just didn’t get it.

“Sorry, ‘Thena. Was a little preoccupied.”

“Hey,” you counter, moving in front of him - grabbing hold of the back of his neck so he’s physically forced to look you in the eyes which are searching his own gaze. “None of that. We’re a team, Steve. If I had been there today… we could have shared the weight of this guilt together.”

His lips gape as he struggles to form a reply.

“We do this together. That’s our purpose in this world. Every victory, every failure: together. Not… Captain America taking on another needless weight to his already heavy burden.”

His torrential orbs search your face, trying to find the cracks in your reasoning. But, as always, you are solid in that facet.

“Fuck, come here,” you sigh, frown easing as you tug him back into a tight embrace.

Steve bows into it, surrounding you with his arms as he buries his head into the beach-warm strands of your hair. With the world spinning madly around the two of you, the supersoldier, the man, finds solace in your steadfast presence.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[theamityelf]

So glad you answered my last ask about makoto hanging out with his class and how would nagito react and slowly change when handing him off

I have another idea based on one of the posts from before and again i ask that you pardon my trash English

ok soooo imagine like one of the senpais finding makoto after he gets lost but like this time the place he's in is dangerous so they on instinct immediately pull him out but at the time they don't realize they pulled his ahoge not him so there they are catching their breath and makoto is just on instinct fighting before he just falls asleep

I imagine that most senpais(ibuki) find it adorable because before you said that because of how small and how the mini's have to depend on them they start seeing them more as belonging to them and that I think them being minis also starts dehumanizing them so they'd probably do it sometimes without nagito's knowledge because they think the act is cute while others are more concerned(hajime) because they aren't as attuned to that idea perhaps because of how their kouhai is (cough cough kyoko cough cough Junko)

The thing I love about this is how nagito will handle it, considering this could be used against makoto but perhaps nagito also does use it after chapter 4

Mini Classmates AU Masterlist

relevant prev posts: lifting minis by ahoge, seeing minis as objects

Oh my gosh, I love it when the comedic post takes on dramatic significance! 😭

This would definitely be a way that Nagito's increasing protectiveness of Makoto causes him to enforce a hard boundary, and it's a big reason for his increasing reluctance to let other people touch his kouhai. A lot of Nagito's classmates (Ibuki, Hiyoko, Teruteru, Mikan, Nekomaru) think it's really cute and funny how Makoto will fall asleep when his ahoge is grabbed, and they talk about it enough that everyone knows this about Makoto.

Nagito is genre savvy enough to know that it's dangerous to have a potential weakness be so widely known-about, even before he gets a sense that Makoto is someone important.

At the very least, a murderer can use this as a way to have Makoto provide an alibi for them without having him witness them doing the murder.

(This can absolutely come into play in the second trial. Nagito was tied up in the old building; Ibuki borrowed Makoto, at Sayaka's encouragement; Makoto fell asleep with Ibuki holding his ahoge, and he woke up in another classmate's pocket. The intention (Sayaka's intention; Ibuki didn't know this.) was for Ibuki to be put in a situation where she has to kill Sonia in self-defense, and then Makoto would wake up and attest that they were nowhere near the scene of the crime. Instead, Ibuki got killed, Sonia found out that Ibuki had Makoto with her and had to hastily slip Makoto into someone else's pocket to frame them, so she wouldn't be implicated when he woke up. Etc. Standard back-and-forth about who returned Makoto to Nagito, who could have slipped Makoto into that person's pocket, etc.)

Nagito doesn't use the ahoge trick to his advantage until very late in the game. For most of the killing game, he's pretty polite about that.

It can be a climactic thing, in which he puts Makoto to sleep so he can't protest to his drastic actions in Chapter 5.

It's not the same gambit as in canon. Instead of using the killing game, and his own "murder", to kill everyone, Nagito has been influenced enough by Makoto to 1. Not see the killing game as a suitable tool for hope, and 2. Be willing to at least test the group to see if Makoto is right to believe in them. So, his gambit will be more in the order of luring everyone to the same building and ensuring that the building will burn or explode if they don't convince him they're capable of redemption, by his standards. Something in that zone. More on that later.

To keep Makoto out of the way of all that (both so he can't get hurt and so he can't help; if those who gave themselves to despair in one life are to win this, it should be by their own merits, without cheating off the Ultimate Hope), he puts him to sleep someplace far away– holding his ahoge, soothing and shushing him when he starts flailing, and laying him down gently once he loses consciousness. (Maybe he nuzzles him against his cheek first. He's only human. All too human.) Then he sets out some food and water for his tiny, sleeping kouhai and leaves.

And he clears the way for Kyoko to make her way to Makoto's side, but just the nature of how hard it is to get from place to place at that size means it'll be a while before she can reach him and shake him awake.

[starlesswritings]

❪ ♛ › * ✰ ❫ ⁖ ⁀ ➴ just to live! ░. ꒱

GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD: extreme violence, gore, moral ambiguity, blood, major character death, lots of death in general, complete mindfuckery, tons of dead dove content everywhere you turn (well, that had been the idea, I can't remember if I ever wrote that far), anarchy reigns, tough decisions, wrong decisions, mental illness, trauma, graphic depictions of everything uncomfortable minus sex.

The audio logs of Vil Schoenheit as he finds himself in an unorthodox scenario.

Log: 000001

Ha... ha... ha... It's been a long while since I've had to run so fast. In case the person listening has no idea who I am, which is unlikely, my name is Vil Schoenheit. I am twenty years old. A model, actor, skin care and makeup artist — but I guess that's not exactly important right now. What's important is the fact that the world has changed. My life will never be the same. No one's will. Monsters. They're monsters. Everyone's a monster. I'm a monster, too. Ugly. Unsightly! Ha... I'm sorry. I'll be okay. If anything, at least I am positive, that I will survive. I am strong. I have knowledge on how to survive. It's almost like I was prepared for this from childhood. No, so long as I remain vigilant, I will survive. But, will I live? I don't know. I can't tell if I've really ever lived up to now, so how would I know if I'm living or not? How do I know that I can make it out of here alive?

Vil put the recorder back into his pocket and checked his surroundings. The coast was clear. He could make a break for the trees, get some much needed cover, and hopefully find some food.

He controlled his breaths and checked his pulse. So far, so good. He was okay. He was going to be okay. If he pretended this was just another movie script, he would be okay.

Everything was alright.

After all, he was the villain.

Always the villain.

But, he would prove himself! He knew that he could. Vil Schoenheit was nothing if not a survivor. He would get past the ugliness of the world and stand on top, sparkling and beautiful, like the rarest jewel. The most beautiful person on planet Earth.

He wished Rook were here with him. He already missed the dear hunter's presence, and having a hunter by his side would have been so very useful, as well. In any survival situation, Rook Hunt was a good man to pick. When the going got rough, Rook got serious and was an amazingly gifted man — but ever since all of this had broken out, Vil has not been able to get in contact with Rook at all, though he assumed it would be like that everywhere for everyone.

The Fae Valleys would have the most advantages in this sick twisted world. Not only had they never relied upon technology, they thrived with their own two hands. They had been born stronger. More durable. Beautiful and fair in their darkened nature.

At the same time, Vil knew that if he tried to go venture into the Fae Valleys without an invite, he would get destroyed from all sides, so it was not an option whatsoever. Also, due to their lack of technology, it was impossible to tell whether they had been affected by the calamities or not. They were so secluded from the outside world that it was impossible to tell.

He was at the trees when he heard it. The sound he desperately did not want to hear.

Vil sighed as he shut his brain off, cut his emotions from his actions, turned around and shot a gun directly into a woman's skull.

No.

That was not a woman.

That thing could not be a woman. It was a monster. For his own survival, to keep pressing forward, he had to do this.

The blood pooled to the ground and would feed the earth.

Vil rifled through her bag. her purse, and found things he deemed would be useful to him. The monster had terrible taste in color coordination, but it was of no matter now. It has no consequence in the end, because Vil had shot her point blank. He had killed her — it.

Better that he think of it as a thing and not a person.

I am ugly.

I will be beautiful.

In a world such as this, even just to survive would be beautiful. Vil could do it. He had to do it. For everyone he was close to and could not find — he would survive. It was all he could do now. There was no other option. To lay down himself, to give up and die, it was something that was unacceptable in his own eyes.

The world had changed like this, but even so, he would keep pressing forward.

So, even though he was in shock from what he'd seen back in the cities, he got his bearings and began to run again, getting as far away from regular civilization as possible, because nothing about the cities were safe anymore. There was only fire, and smoke, and the sound of people screaming, of blood and corpses filling the streets.

There was nothing else for him back there. The only thing in the cities was soon to be gone and Vil knew there'd be nothing left for anyone. If they all survived a few decades, perhaps things would change, and he could go back to scavenge for supplies, but it was far too dangerous to go there, now.

The Internet and cell service was still active, but there was no guarantee that would last forever, but just in case, Vil kept his phone and a charger on his person, because he wanted to hope, he wanted to believe that there would be a silver lining somewhere in this bleak life he was now preparing to live. He wanted to trust that someone he knew would come and find him (and come in peace), and that he wouldn't be so... so very...

"Alone," Vil Schoenheit whispered as the sky bled a thousand different colors, a beautiful sunset tainted by the earth bringing forth chaos, black acrid smoke, and its own central red flames. Flames that weren't hotter than the sun, but just as damaging — far more devastating.

Vil trembled, but he straightened himself out within seconds.

Only the strong survived. He had to keep his wits and remain as calm as possible.

He pretended that his hands didn't shake after killing that woma — that thing. He'd never actually killed something before. He wasn't a hunter like Rook. He hadn't taken life with his own two hands, watched the light in their eyes fade away and seep out. Vil had never actually harmed another being before, but now he had, and it was just day one.

The time to play nice guy was over.

It was the villain's world now.

[angelgoeslewd]

Hello angel, i hope you're doing well and i hope you don't mind me making another request so soon. Could I request Wren or Landry (maybe both if you can) with an autistic PC who doesn't see social cues? Thank you

clemmmmmm <3 i finished it!! finally lol. i love writing for landry. need me some more of that man in my life.

and again, STOP MAKING ME SO OBSESSED W WREN WTF. i actually have yet to encounter him soooo

⚠️ warnings: slight references to spicy content

Landry:

this man is probably the least grimy creep in this town, despite, you know, being the one who is literally named ‘the criminal.’ he just cares about making a quick dime, is all. doesn’t mean he can’t have a heart while doing it.

so honestly, he’d be the first to watch out for you when he notices that you can’t pick up what others are laying down.

defensive, defensive, defensive. you have a permanent place at his bar, right near him, where he can listen to the convos you have and can swoop in at anytime. he’s the first to tell people off or explain to you straight up what people are implying.

someone offering to ‘take you home?’ tells ‘em to fuck off and never come back, which, considering he’s the cheapest bar in town, is a harder blow than it seem to be. you don’t understand why exactly he’s kicking someone out over a ride, but you trust him enough.

would probably still take advantage of it when it benefits him though. can subtly steer you in his favor when it comes to stolen goods and pawing them off to him. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel sort of bad for it. he’ll make it up to you with treats and free drinks later. maybe something nicer to wear… you can’t be such an eyesore when he’s looking at you so much.

he doesn’t mind when you slip up socially. he’s a bartender. he’s seen a lot of people who act in all sorts of ways. it doesn’t really bother him when you interrupt him or can’t tell when you should stop asking so many questions. he takes it in stride. it does bother him when others get upset at you for it. they’ll being leaving with pockets much, much lighter.

he worries about you when he’s not there to watch over you. not that he would say anything about it, but he does try to keep you in the pub for as long as you can. definitely has managed to get you to sleep there a couple times. sharing one bed trope man

will NEVER let on what he actually does. god. it would give him a heart attack to think about you walking the town with that sort of knowledge on him. blissful ignorance.

Wren:

honestly, Wren would find it amusing. kinda shitty of him, but what do you expect. it brings a new sense of dark humor when you accidentally make someone mad or say something completely off topic with the assumption that it is.

kinda toxic about it, but like. in a shitty boyfriend kinda way? pokes fun at you for it but doesn’t stop you or correct you, teases you because it’s fun to see you blush and try to fix it. sure, it’s probably frustrating for you and he never lets it go too far, but… yeah. he finds it endearing.

purposely puts you in social situations and sits back. again, i feel like a lot of things he does is either for a) money, or b) his own amusement. makes bets with his men on how long it will take for people to get upset.

if you do get overwhelmed or scared though, he’s the first to step in and say that “your little misunderstanding can ALWAYS be corrected… isn’t that right?” Usually has the other person apologizing promptly. spoils you rotten for being his source of fun.

makes a sexy game out of it, but doesn’t tell you about it. anytime you can’t shut up, he’s kissing you until your lips bleed. too handsy in public? well, he’ll have to rectify your neediness right here and now. every time you push an question he can’t legally answer with out incriminating himself too far, well… what punishment are you getting tonight?

yeah, it’s hard to be a CRIMINAL with an S/O who doesn’t realize that maybeeee you shouldn’t be telling everyone what he’s up to, but that’s why you aren’t going anywhere. you’re leashed to his hip like a dog. so he can shut you up when he needs to without actually… you know. shutting you up forever.

his favorite thing to do is have you ruin all the pomp and grace Remy tries to have and make his face turn red in anger. strangely though, you can never be found when Remy actually wants to punish you for it though…

[sir-sunawani]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

20 Chapters - 46,838 words

Read it on Ao3 or Wattpad

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Chapter 20: Quicksand

When you wake up, you’re no longer in Buggy’s office. As far as you can tell you’re in the basement of the office building. There’re no windows, but the room is fairly well lit. Your immediate area is darker, shaded by a couple coat racks and what is unmistakably one of Crocodile’s coats draped between them. It not only keeps the area darker, but serves to shield the bed from the rest of the room.

The sweet scent of citrus and cigar smoke filled your senses, but along with that was the scent of fresh coffee and warm bread. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, only that you had been so completely exhausted that once you closed your eyes you lost all sense of the world around you.

Most certainly though, you were hungry.

Getting up quietly, you peek around the coat rack and look into the room properly. There are several tables set up in the middle of the room, with shelves lining the walls. Boxes are scattered about, some on the tables, some on the floor, a few mixed in with books and loose sheafs of paper on the shelves.

At one of the tables Crocodile was leaning back against a chair, staring up at the ceiling and blowing long steady lines of cigar smoke into the air. He seemed to be frustrated, but also trying to calm himself down.

“Suwani?” You ask quietly.

He flinches so hard at the sound you’re impressed the chair doesn’t wobble under him. Taking the cigar out of his mouth and setting it on an ashtray he moves to get up as you take a few steps toward him. He looks a little haggard.

“How long was I asleep?”

He glances at his pocket watch before lifting you up into a hug. “Twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes. Much longer and I was going to risk taking you to a hospital.”

“I have perhaps been overworking myself this last year or so.” You admit meekly as you realize how worried he’s been. “I don’t feel very sore, did you do something?”

“My secretary is friends with someone who possesses a healing devil fruit. The power can be preserved within glass jar, so it’s quite useful to have some available for emergencies.” He explains, his hug tightening for a moment before he sets you back down.

“I’m sorry I’ve worried you.” You say kindly, reaching out and caressing his cheek.

“Hmph, considering what I put you through, I’d prefer you never apologize to me again.” He says evenly despite the furrowing of his brows. “Are you hungry?”

“Incredibly.” You answer with a smile. You didn’t agree with the guilt he was feeling, but you could at least understand why he was feeling it. His plans had failed, and it wasn’t just himself or his organization that faced that failure, but also you.

Judging by his actions since your reunion, his feelings for you hadn’t diminished at all in the time you were separated. You feel the familiar pang of guilt, but you had thought him to be gone into the depths for the rest of your lives. There was no shame in having tried to move on when you had believed that to be an absolute truth.

“You mentioned your secretary earlier,” you began, following after him as he pulled the lid off a basket of food. “Miss All Sunday, right? Is she okay?”

“To my knowledge she is alive.” He answers, pulling out a chair for you and inclining his head. You sit with a smile as he pushes you comfortably up to the table. “According to Alvida after she ran into Donquixote, she fell in with the Kings of East Blue.”

“I’m glad she’s alive.” You say as he begins laying out food for you. “She did her best to keep me safe for as long as she could, and I appreciate it.”

“… Then I will wish her well in her new endeavors and leave it at that.” He says, sitting across from you.

“Normally you wouldn’t?”

“Normally, I would not.” He answers candidly.

“Have you slept?” You ask before taking a bite of food.

“Enough.”

“Suwani.” You don’t mean to pout, but you don’t manage to stop yourself.

“I spent the last 24 hours concerned,” he replies sternly. “I wouldn’t have slept well.”

“Humph. Have you eaten?” You question, narrowing your eyes a little.

“I have.” He answers a small smile playing at his lips. “If you’re attempting to look intimidating you are a far cry from such an expression.”

You smirk before you take another bite. “I wasn’t I… I was just…” Your face twists and despite your earlier brevity, emotion twists in your heart. “I just really missed this.”

Crocodile was knelt by the side of your chair with no more than the shifting of sand. “(Y/N), I-.”

You shake your head and cut him off. “No, it’s… you did the best you could. So did I. It’s… no one needs to feel guilty, okay?” You wipe your eyes and turn toward him. Even with him kneeling and you in the chair you were nearly at eye level. “Don’t treat me like glass, and don’t neglect yourself.” You cup his face in your hands, shifting errant strands back before leaning forward and putting your forehead against his.

“Tell me about this glorious plan.” You prompt, kissing him on the forehead before he stands up.

Crocodile leans against the table – practically sitting on it – while you pick at the food provided, and begins to explain the plan.

“The wheels are in motion for Buggy to fill the Warlord vacancy. Once him, and by association his affiliates, are essentially protected, then the alliance between him and Mihawk will be completed.”

“Mihawk? I thought he only cared about his sword skills?”

“Mm, he does, but apparently he has set himself a protégé of sorts, and that relationship has spurred him into more action than he would otherwise take.” Crocodile explains. “Whatever the reasoning within him, I’m only concerned about the alliance.”

“And the point of it? I can’t imagine you’re creating this entire alliance simply to get back at Dingo.” You say nonchalantly.

Crocodile coughs. “Dingo?”

You freeze for a moment, not having realized that you had called him that. “… Yes. It was the most derogatory thing I could risk calling him in my phone.” You’re quiet for a moment before you look up at Crocodile. “Nothing happened.”

“Hm?” He looks down at you with confusion.

“Between he and I, nothing happened. He, I mean, aside from Friday it was almost cordial.” You explain, looking back down at the table. “I just… I don’t know why it felt important to clarify that, but it did.”

Crocodile puts a hand on your shoulder. “Regardless of that he still laid his hands on you without your consent. That is, in itself, enough. That he pulled you into a contractual relationship against your will was, honestly, enough.”

“You make it sound like you would’ve forgiven him if all he had done was send you to prison.” You say with a grunt.

“I would’ve perhaps had a different plan.” Crocodile admits, and something in his voice almost makes you feel bad for Doflamingo, but not quite. “As it is there aren’t too many moving parts. We’ll be leaving the Emperors alone for this, but the fallout may lead to the complete disbandment of the Warlord system.

“Which, as luck would have it, is why we may find support from an unlikely source.”

Your brow knits as you think about it for a moment. “Marines?”

There’s an amused hum from Crocodile. “Indeed.”

“Don’t give me too mu-mu-.” Your sentence is cut short as you yawn. “Much credit. The Marine disdain for the Warlord System is fairly well-known. Though they’re not usually open to direct hostility.” You yawn again and lean back in the chair.

“The hostility has risen since my incarceration. Ironically, his own diversions are going to play a part in his downfall.” Crocodile says, with a grin that suits his namesake.

“I like that,” you admit with another yawn. “I don’t know what it says about me, but I’m looking forward to seeing that smug look cleared off his face.” You yawn again. “Heck, and, uh, I mean, I don’t care what it says about me.” You clarify before Crocodile can say anything.

“Still tired?”

“Mm, my mind is awake, but I think my body needs a nap.” You stretch. “I slept too much and now I need a post-sleep nap to reset.” You look up at him with a smile. “I would love for you to nap with me, if there’s time enough.”

“My love, there will be time for you no matter what.” He says confidently. Your chair is pulled away from the table as the ex-Warlord lifts you into his arms easily.

“You’re sleepy too.” You tease, nuzzling into his chest and nearly dozing off right then and there.

“Perhaps.”

“Will that bed hold both of us?”

“One way or another.”

“What time is it?”

“Late enough for a nap.”

“It can’t be past 4pm.”

“That doesn’t change my original answer, resting through the hottest part of the day is wise.”

“We’re in a basement.” You say, laughing.

“Indeed, which means it’s cool enough for this.”

Crocodile sets you on the bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. You can’t help the heat that rushes into your face, even though you are quite certain you’re going to nap with him. He grins down at you as he pulls the shirt off entirely.

“Lay down and face the wall.” He says, the grin turning devious.

You turn away from him and lay down, as close to the wall as you can comfortably manage. “You’re teasing me,” you say as you feel him lay down behind you.

“Perhaps.”

You can feel the warmth of him enveloping you as his shirt is draped over the two of you. There’s a surreal shifting feeling and his arms are wrapped around you without hardly having moved the shirt. His leg is over both of yours, and you are as warm and cuddled as you could hope to be.

“I feel like… like, pfft-haha!” You start laughing and can feel him hum questioningly. “Like I fell into quicksand or something.” You can feel him twitch against you and chuckle again. “Sorry, it’s a terrible pun all things considered, but-.”

“I was expecting you to call me a sand trap,” he admits, the velvet smooth voice so close to your ear soothes your laughter and puts heat back into your face. “Between the two of us, only one of us suggested going to a hotel after meeting once.”

You grunt. “You didn’t argue.”

“Letting you drive yourself there was one of many displays of restraint.” He admits, the glass fingers of his left hand moving slowly down your side, toward your hip. “You wanted to run, and while part of me wanted to chase you,” fingers slip along your hip, following a line toward your core. “More than anything I wanted to engulf you entirely. To bury you in sand and have you bloom only for me.”

Your leg moves over his, your foot hooking behind his knee and causing your skirt to hike up. You feel over-dressed. You’re warm from head to toe, head clear and needy, body tired and just as needy. You don’t even stifle the soft moan as you shift back against him.

His right hand reaches up from under you, holding your head against his chest, warm fingers cupping your face. Leaving you enough freedom to moan, but not leaving you much room to move. The cool glass finger of his left hand slips under the hem of your skirt and begins to slide along it, pulling it up so slowly you whimper.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine.

“You wanted to nap.”

“Bury me, Suwani.” You demand, your body tensing in its need.

He pulls your skirt up the rest of the way, cool glass fingers slipping past your panties and finding your clit easily. You gasp in surprise at the rush of movements, and cry out in pleasure as the touch that’s haunted your dreams for over a year sinks into your body.

You can feel the pleasure building inside of you as fingers that long ago committed all your weaknesses to memory dance effortlessly against you. You don’t want him to stop, but you don’t want to be the only one to get any pleasure out of this, and as your hands fumble to reach him you feel the surreal shift again.

You’re under him as he looms over you, and with a few easy movements you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

“There are quite a few ways I could bury you, my sweet desert flower, but I think I’d like to be direct right now.” He says, bringing your legs together and into one hand as he pulls your panties off and sets them aside before parting your legs on either side of his again. “I’m sure we’ll still have time to rest after this.”

The only delay is the moment it takes for him to put on a condom before he’s pulling your hips toward his. He leans over you, stiff cock slipping against your wet slit as those sharp eyes watch the needy expressions on your face. Leaning closer he kisses you deeply, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he pushes into your pussy.

Moans and all, you are devoured entirely by Suwani.

[rifter-pride]

how to make aurboborbo lore actually good:

aurboborbos live in a separate chronopunk society atop the behemoth. bc the behemoth is canonically too damn tall, no flighted dragon has ever seen their society from the air and all risks can be mitigated by the aurboborbo's possession of the loop, which they can just pocket sand at people in a pinch.

(however pocket looping people is something frowned upon in aurboborbo society so it's only for emergencies and not all willy nilly whenever)

aurboborbos derive some kind of macguffin thing from the behemoth, or else cannot travel far from the behemoth's canopy bc ancient magic reasons. maybe both.

our story POV should be an aurboborbo and not a modern dragon, because fish out of water stories are inherently better than some crusty nigel thornberry knockoff. sorry juniper but zzz.

so our POV should be like idk bobbi the aurboborbo who dreams of the ground below and they build a chronosuit or whatever to help them leave the canopy to expand aurboborbo society/knowledge and/or the canopy macguffin has stopped working (remember when the ancients and tidelord and everything were all down to the bounty of the elements lore 100 years ago? why not bring that back for a change) and bobbi volunteers to leave aurboborbo society to figure out a solution.

the story should be chiefly about bobbi pretending to be a coatl while stuffed into a trenchcoat and loathing the feeling of apparel, bc i think it would be funny to have this kind of nod to on-site mechanics. bobbi also keeps a log of all the weird shit they learn about modern dragon societies and a list of questions they plan to someday ask a modern dragon whenever this whole isolationist society gig blows over, which bobbi is increasingly sure/hopeful it will, because modern dragons have french fries or w/e and bobbi thinks those are just great.

there should be 1 modern dragon who has some knowledge or ability relevant to bobbi's situation who is able to detect when some time magic fuckery is about and they get interested in trying to figure out why their "coatl" neighbour weighs 126 tons and speaks fluent draconic (2 things none of their OTHER coatl neighbours have ever done). there should be at least some tense journal entries from bobbi about their cat-and-mouse relationship to this friendly modern neighbour involving casserole. (bobbi loves this casserole. yet another reason to dissolve the wall between the two societies.)

anyway bobbi gets into hijinks and tries pocket looping people to resolve the hijinks, which either a) gets them in trouble with the time guardians (guardians of time) in the greater aurboborbo society or b) just happens to coincide with a great report bobbi sends back to HQ which results in a small delegation of aurboborbos showing up while bobbi is in the penultimate hijink. either way, the penultimate hijink should end with modern breeds and aurboborbos doing this but with various kinds of magics

because this is funny.

anyway this is just some shit that got blasted into my brain pan after reading this lackluster lore and contemplating how to do a "2 separate societies meeting for the first time" story in a way that is fun and inverts some expectations and was not already tired all the way back in 1995.

[quinloki]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 20: Quicksand

When you wake up, you’re no longer in Buggy’s office. As far as you can tell you’re in the basement of the office building. There’re no windows, but the room is fairly well lit. Your immediate area is darker, shaded by a couple coat racks and what is unmistakably one of Crocodile’s coats draped between them. It not only keeps the area darker, but serves to shield the bed from the rest of the room.

The sweet scent of citrus and cigar smoke filled your senses, but along with that was the scent of fresh coffee and warm bread. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, only that you had been so completely exhausted that once you closed your eyes you lost all sense of the world around you.

Most certainly though, you were hungry.

Getting up quietly, you peek around the coat rack and look into the room properly. There are several tables set up in the middle of the room, with shelves lining the walls. Boxes are scattered about, some on the tables, some on the floor, a few mixed in with books and loose sheafs of paper on the shelves.

At one of the tables Crocodile was leaning back against a chair, staring up at the ceiling and blowing long steady lines of cigar smoke into the air. He seemed to be frustrated, but also trying to calm himself down.

“Suwani?” You ask quietly.

He flinches so hard at the sound you’re impressed the chair doesn’t wobble under him. Taking the cigar out of his mouth and setting it on an ashtray he moves to get up as you take a few steps toward him. He looks a little haggard.

“How long was I asleep?”

He glances at his pocket watch before lifting you up into a hug. “Twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes. Much longer and I was going to risk taking you to a hospital.”

“I have perhaps been overworking myself this last year or so.” You admit meekly as you realize how worried he’s been. “I don’t feel very sore, did you do something?”

“My secretary is friends with someone who possesses a healing devil fruit. The power can be preserved within glass jar, so it’s quite useful to have some available for emergencies.” He explains, his hug tightening for a moment before he sets you back down.

“I’m sorry I’ve worried you.” You say kindly, reaching out and caressing his cheek.

“Hmph, considering what I put you through, I’d prefer you never apologize to me again.” He says evenly despite the furrowing of his brows. “Are you hungry?”

“Incredibly.” You answer with a smile. You didn’t agree with the guilt he was feeling, but you could at least understand why he was feeling it. His plans had failed, and it wasn’t just himself or his organization that faced that failure, but also you.

Judging by his actions since your reunion, his feelings for you hadn’t diminished at all in the time you were separated. You feel the familiar pang of guilt, but you had thought him to be gone into the depths for the rest of your lives. There was no shame in having tried to move on when you had believed that to be an absolute truth.

“You mentioned your secretary earlier,” you began, following after him as he pulled the lid off a basket of food. “Miss All Sunday, right? Is she okay?”

“To my knowledge she is alive.” He answers, pulling out a chair for you and inclining his head. You sit with a smile as he pushes you comfortably up to the table. “According to Alvida after she ran into Donquixote, she fell in with the Kings of East Blue.”

“I’m glad she’s alive.” You say as he begins laying out food for you. “She did her best to keep me safe for as long as she could, and I appreciate it.”

“… Then I will wish her well in her new endeavors and leave it at that.” He says, sitting across from you.

“Normally you wouldn’t?”

“Normally, I would not.” He answers candidly.

“Have you slept?” You ask before taking a bite of food.

“Enough.”

“Suwani.” You don’t mean to pout, but you don’t manage to stop yourself.

“I spent the last 24 hours concerned,” he replies sternly. “I wouldn’t have slept well.”

“Humph. Have you eaten?” You question, narrowing your eyes a little.

“I have.” He answers a small smile playing at his lips. “If you’re attempting to look intimidating you are a far cry from such an expression.”

You smirk before you take another bite. “I wasn’t I… I was just…” Your face twists and despite your earlier brevity, emotion twists in your heart. “I just really missed this.”

Crocodile was knelt by the side of your chair with no more than the shifting of sand. “(Y/N), I-.”

You shake your head and cut him off. “No, it’s… you did the best you could. So did I. It’s… no one needs to feel guilty, okay?” You wipe your eyes and turn toward him. Even with him kneeling and you in the chair you were nearly at eye level. “Don’t treat me like glass, and don’t neglect yourself.” You cup his face in your hands, shifting errant strands back before leaning forward and putting your forehead against his.

“Tell me about this glorious plan.” You prompt, kissing him on the forehead before he stands up.

Crocodile leans against the table – practically sitting on it – while you pick at the food provided, and begins to explain the plan.

“The wheels are in motion for Buggy to fill the Warlord vacancy. Once him, and by association his affiliates, are essentially protected, then the alliance between him and Mihawk will be completed.”

“Mihawk? I thought he only cared about his sword skills?”

“Mm, he does, but apparently he has set himself a protégé of sorts, and that relationship has spurred him into more action than he would otherwise take.” Crocodile explains. “Whatever the reasoning within him, I’m only concerned about the alliance.”

“And the point of it? I can’t imagine you’re creating this entire alliance simply to get back at Dingo.” You say nonchalantly.

Crocodile coughs. “Dingo?”

You freeze for a moment, not having realized that you had called him that. “… Yes. It was the most derogatory thing I could risk calling him in my phone.” You’re quiet for a moment before you look up at Crocodile. “Nothing happened.”

“Hm?” He looks down at you with confusion.

“Between he and I, nothing happened. He, I mean, aside from Friday it was almost cordial.” You explain, looking back down at the table. “I just… I don’t know why it felt important to clarify that, but it did.”

Crocodile puts a hand on your shoulder. “Regardless of that he still laid his hands on you without your consent. That is, in itself, enough. That he pulled you into a contractual relationship against your will was, honestly, enough.”

“You make it sound like you would’ve forgiven him if all he had done was send you to prison.” You say with a grunt.

“I would’ve perhaps had a different plan.” Crocodile admits, and something in his voice almost makes you feel bad for Doflamingo, but not quite. “As it is there aren’t too many moving parts. We’ll be leaving the Emperors alone for this, but the fallout may lead to the complete disbandment of the Warlord system.

“Which, as luck would have it, is why we may find support from an unlikely source.”

Your brow knits as you think about it for a moment. “Marines?”

There’s an amused hum from Crocodile. “Indeed.”

“Don’t give me too mu-mu-.” Your sentence is cut short as you yawn. “Much credit. The Marine disdain for the Warlord System is fairly well-known. Though they’re not usually open to direct hostility.” You yawn again and lean back in the chair.

“The hostility has risen since my incarceration. Ironically, his own diversions are going to play a part in his downfall.” Crocodile says, with a grin that suits his namesake.

“I like that,” you admit with another yawn. “I don’t know what it says about me, but I’m looking forward to seeing that smug look cleared off his face.” You yawn again. “Heck, and, uh, I mean, I don’t care what it says about me.” You clarify before Crocodile can say anything.

“Still tired?”

“Mm, my mind is awake, but I think my body needs a nap.” You stretch. “I slept too much and now I need a post-sleep nap to reset.” You look up at him with a smile. “I would love for you to nap with me, if there’s time enough.”

“My love, there will be time for you no matter what.” He says confidently. Your chair is pulled away from the table as the ex-Warlord lifts you into his arms easily.

“You’re sleepy too.” You tease, nuzzling into his chest and nearly dozing off right then and there.

“Perhaps.”

“Will that bed hold both of us?”

“One way or another.”

“What time is it?”

“Late enough for a nap.”

“It can’t be past 4pm.”

“That doesn’t change my original answer, resting through the hottest part of the day is wise.”

“We’re in a basement.” You say, laughing.

“Indeed, which means it’s cool enough for this.”

Crocodile sets you on the bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. You can’t help the heat that rushes into your face, even though you are quite certain you’re going to nap with him. He grins down at you as he pulls the shirt off entirely.

“Lay down and face the wall.” He says, the grin turning devious.

You turn away from him and lay down, as close to the wall as you can comfortably manage. “You’re teasing me,” you say as you feel him lay down behind you.

“Perhaps.”

You can feel the warmth of him enveloping you as his shirt is draped over the two of you. There’s a surreal shifting feeling and his arms are wrapped around you without hardly having moved the shirt. His leg is over both of yours, and you are as warm and cuddled as you could hope to be.

“I feel like… like, pfft-haha!” You start laughing and can feel him hum questioningly. “Like I fell into quicksand or something.” You can feel him twitch against you and chuckle again. “Sorry, it’s a terrible pun all things considered, but-.”

“I was expecting you to call me a sand trap,” he admits, the velvet smooth voice so close to your ear soothes your laughter and puts heat back into your face. “Between the two of us, only one of us suggested going to a hotel after meeting once.”

You grunt. “You didn’t argue.”

“Letting you drive yourself there was one of many displays of restraint.” He admits, the glass fingers of his left hand moving slowly down your side, toward your hip. “You wanted to run, and while part of me wanted to chase you,” fingers slip along your hip, following a line toward your core. “More than anything I wanted to engulf you entirely. To bury you in sand and have you bloom only for me.”

Your leg moves over his, your foot hooking behind his knee and causing your skirt to hike up. You feel over-dressed. You’re warm from head to toe, head clear and needy, body tired and just as needy. You don’t even stifle the soft moan as you shift back against him.

His right hand reaches up from under you, holding your head against his chest, warm fingers cupping your face. Leaving you enough freedom to moan, but not leaving you much room to move. The cool glass finger of his left hand slips under the hem of your skirt and begins to slide along it, pulling it up so slowly you whimper.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine.

“You wanted to nap.”

“Bury me, Suwani.” You demand, your body tensing in its need.

He pulls your skirt up the rest of the way, cool glass fingers slipping past your panties and finding your clit easily. You gasp in surprise at the rush of movements, and cry out in pleasure as the touch that’s haunted your dreams for over a year sinks into your body.

You can feel the pleasure building inside of you as fingers that long ago committed all your weaknesses to memory dance effortlessly against you. You don’t want him to stop, but you don’t want to be the only one to get any pleasure out of this, and as your hands fumble to reach him you feel the surreal shift again.

You’re under him as he looms over you, and with a few easy movements you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

“There are quite a few ways I could bury you, my sweet desert flower, but I think I’d like to be direct right now.” He says, bringing your legs together and into one hand as he pulls your panties off and sets them aside before parting your legs on either side of his again. “I’m sure we’ll still have time to rest after this.”

The only delay is the moment it takes for him to put on a condom before he’s pulling your hips toward his. He leans over you, stiff cock slipping against your wet slit as those sharp eyes watch the needy expressions on your face. Leaning closer he kisses you deeply, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he pushes into your pussy.

Moans and all, you are devoured entirely by Suwani.

~Fin

A/N – That’s the end of Book 1 \o/ (Don’t get mad at me, they were supposed to nap.) Quicksand: Warlords is coming soon! I was going to do this all in one book, but I want to, uh, make sure Doffy’s fall is appropriately large and epic – plus there’s a few other things I intend to do in book 2 as well. I considered doing a possibly 50-part long Epic Singular Book, but my brain didn’t like that.

And the happier I keep the brain, the easier the words come out. xD Plus, I think what all I hope to do will be well worth it -^_^-

[ejaydoeshisbest]

What My Special Needs Brother Has Taught Me

I am making peace with the reality of taking care of my special needs brother as we get older in years. For context, I am turning thirty this year, 2024.

I am already imagining us in the future; all grey hairs and wrinkled skin. Our joints aching, and he, whining and complaining.

I will still be preparing his meals because my brother is afraid of hot oil and the heat coming from the stove.

I will spend most of my money on his medicines unless a good government program finally helps to assist autistic elders in the Philippines.

I will still work a decent-paying job to provide for his basic needs and if I have some extra, maybe I could put in a good insurance company and HMO.

My best hope is for him to become independent and find good work on his own, of course. But if he doesn’t, then I have to make sure we both don’t suffer.

Personal Struggles with Accepting Responsibility

If you were to ask someone stronger, more mature, and more resilient than me about the challenges of caring for someone in the family who has special needs, they would probably say that it is a blessing and their personal calling.

They probably would accept the responsibility with pride. If ever they doubted, or feared, or felt moments of weakness, I’d like to think they would carry on sacrificing a major chunk of their lives for the benefit of the whole family.

If you would have asked me the same question some months ago, I would have glumly replied that I have no choice.

For the longest time, I was a weak, self-centered person. I put myself first above others and fled at the first sensations of a binding responsibility, especially if I felt that it was a heavy burden to carry on my own.

For a long while, too, I resented my special needs brother and my parents.

I didn’t ask to be their eldest child who was supposed to support a special needs sibling for the rest of my life. To be fair, they weren’t forcing me, but the passive aggressiveness and guilt-tripping tactic was just as effective.

I thought that my brother would keep me from living my best life, that he would hold me back from so many opportunities and wonderful adventures. Providing for his needs meant sacrificing a lot of my free time and freedom.

Now, though, I have begun to settle into the role of helper or caretaker around the house.

Perhaps it was time. Perhaps it was age or biology or a combination of all three.

It has been difficult. It still is. True enough, it meant a lot of sacrifices; personal time, days off, simple pleasures, creative hobbies, and other projects. But there will be no one to bear this burden but the family members who will remain.

I’m finding the peace in accepting that. But it doesn’t erase the fears I still hold to this day.

My Fears of Taking Care of a Special Needs Sibling

Expenses

Raising special needs children, children with disabilities, children on the autism spectrum, neurodiverse kids, or whatever term one chooses to describe their current situation is more expensive than neurotypical, “normal” children. Some, if not most, need constant supervision for the rest of their lives.

They need different therapies to improve speech, movement, and other behaviors to be functional in a public setting.

Then you need teachers with specialized training to educate them in the hopes that they would use those skills to achieve full or partial independence.

Though my brother went to a specialized school with competent, kind, compassionate teachers, all the expenses came from my father’s pocket, without help from the government. At least, to the best of my knowledge. He worked hard so my brother got the proper education he needed.

Living in the Philippines is hard enough for lower-middle-class families like ours. I can barely scrape by with the meager salary that I had during my last job before I tried freelancing. I don’t feel confident that I’ll have the kind of money that my father had in his youth, so I’m scared that I might not provide for my brother’s future needs.

And those needs will grow more expensive as we both age. That is why I fear our future expenses.

Lack of Government Support

I’m not the type to blame the government for everything, but reading a recent article still showed the lack of progress or any concrete plan for assisting Persons with Disabilities (PWDs) in the country.

The news article stated that there aren’t enough “full-fledged learning centers for learners with disabilities in every locality due to the shortage of health professionals who can assess children with special needs”.

After reading that, I worried that there was still a lack of government support for adults with autism who are capable of working a simple job.

My brother isn’t on the severe side of the autism spectrum, you see. He can talk, and dance, and understand you, just as long as you talk simply. He could still write his name, albeit squiggly. He can understand movies and children’s books. He can understand simple orders.

I am grateful that at least he doesn’t need round-the-clock attention. But I’m afraid that if he doesn’t use the skills he learned in school, he will end up losing confidence in himself, and forget the skills he acquired in the expensive school.

While I’ve read that the popular shopping malls in the country have been hiring people on the autism spectrum since 2016, I have yet to personally encounter actual adults with autism working in the many malls that I visited. I’m not sure the information holds up now.

I don’t know if the Philippines would ever have a professional kind of assisted living program for the mentally challenged or disabled. But it would be a great burden off the parent or guardian’s shoulders if there were indeed competent caretakers to watch over the special needs individual as they make ends meet.

Then again, these facilities cost quite a lot of money. It would be up to the government, along with the rest of society, to share this burden to improve the quality of lives of all. I’m willing to do my part as well.

The only benefit from the government that helped somewhat was the discounts on bills and groceries when I presented my brother’s PWD ID at the cashier.

I shiver to think what would happen if there was no government aid at all. I don’t want to be one of those elderly people I see on the news. The ones who are in their 80s and 90s still taking care of an autistic aging adult.

My Own Physical Health Limitations

My brother is physically stronger than me. Ever since I was a small child, I was a weakling. I remember the years when every morning, my breakfast was thirty minutes of nebulizer and my dinner was a nightly dose of preventive inhalers.

I’m grateful that I’ve grown out of those severe asthma attacks, but no one can say for certain if it will come back with a vengeance. I hope not, for my family’s sake.

Still, I’m afraid that my health could not keep up with the demands of a full-time job, and some side hustles to help with the finances, while also taking care of myself, having a social life, and taking care of my brother.

It feels like I already have a child with no partner to help me.

All this pressure is taking a toll on my mental capabilities as well. If I don’t stop overthinking, then it will only cause further strain and negatively impact my health.

I need to train my mind to become resilient.

Ironically, that is what my brother is teaching me the more I reflect on how to better care for him and address his needs.

What My Special Needs Brother is Teaching Me

Accept Responsibility and Face Reality

I have learned that accepting responsibility and forcing myself to not overthink about the future and every little detail that irritates me takes a load off the mental and physical stress.

Would it be nice for government assistance? Yes. Would it be nice if my parents set up funds for his future? Definitely.

But that isn’t my reality. All I can do is focus on what I can do at the moment. It may not be enough but at least it’s a plan. Plans still count as something.

I also realized that things will get worse if I choose to run away from my problems. For years, I hoped that it would resolve on its own as I faced my own challenges. I hoped that a solution will fall from the sky and save us all. I hoped that my parents would think of something grand.

Again, the reality of our situation is that it won’t get any better if I don’t contribute.

The reality is that my parents are getting more lines on their faces with each season. Grey hairs are growing faster than they can color them. Their skin is sagging.

I feel myself getting older too. I am on the last stretch of my 20s. I better contribute to the family while I still have remaining strength.

That is why when well-meaning people insist that it really isn’t my responsibility to care for my special needs brother, I tell them that I am not comfortable abandoning them altogether. I need to be present to tackle all the problems on hand so that my aging parents would not suffer.

It may not be my fault that I am physically weaker than average and that my brother has special needs, but it is still my responsibility to act.

That’s just acting like a decent human being and as a good brother.

Besides, we’re Filipinos. It’s ingrained in our culture and tradition to stick together. Unless the family is downright toxic, then by all means, cut them off.

Furthermore, I did my years of selfishness. I partied. I played games to my heart’s content. None of it was fulfilling. All of it was wasted hours and days on cheap dopamine.

I had fun at the moment, but the pain multiplied depending on the time I had delayed addressing important obligations.

In my defense, it wasn’t like I was delaying gratification. I treated these simple pleasures as rewards for being an adult. Still, I admit that there was selfishness there.

Lastly, I have no interest at all in starting my own family. I’m happy being single for the rest of my life. I am an antinatalist, after all. Maybe this is the universe’s way of balancing things out.

Build Strength and Resilience

I used to have this victim mindset all the time. But taking care of my brother grants me a new perspective in life.

It forces me to look for solutions, instead of dwelling on problems. It forces me to become positive and helps me access this delusional confidence to survive and to keep showing up for work.

I realized I am more motivated to finish things and stick with my chosen struggles if it means supporting someone else. It makes things worth doing. It gives me strength and purpose.

I’m aware that helping others boost overall mood, but I’m not doing it for that. I’m not helping because I want that surge of positivity.

I’m helping out of love and out of reciprocation for the sacrifices my parents had made.

I'm helping because I have a lot of years to make up for.

Live with Hope

My special needs brother makes me see what matters most in life.

It’s about bringing people together and trying your best to protect them. It’s about sharing the load with others. It’s about giving more than you take.

It’s about living life one day at a time; to be comfortable with the lows and to enjoy the highs. It’s about never giving up and always believing in the power of hope, that whatever happens, we’ll get through this together.

It’s about honoring the sacrifices of my father and mother, cultivating a strong support system, and being a support system in return.

It may not completely erase all my fears, but living with hope manages them enough so that I have the determination to pick myself up every day and continue focusing on the present. And hope that all my efforts will count for great things in the future.

There are no guarantees, I know. But it won’t stop me from working.

Having said that, I’m not going to overwork myself. That in itself is a bad strategy. Balance would be the key here.

Work the hours, clock out, live well below our means, cook healthy meals, and ask for help when needed.

Be Sympathetic

Sympathetic. Empathetic. Compassionate. Kind. Patient.

Helping care for my special needs brother has let me release some of the negativity in me.

With a background in dramatic storytelling and a short stint as a PR writer, one of my major roles was reading and researching all the negativity in the news to hook people’s attention.

Maybe I had absorbed too much negativity that I viewed my life bleakly.

I had become jaded and toxic to the point that I had to be less sensitive to the plight of others to protect whatever pool of emotions I had left, which, ironically, made me seem dull, insensitive, and an emotionless husk.

I viewed my life with crushed hopes and broken dreams.

Now, I am re-learning how to search for the silver lining in each situation. I am re-learning to be more understanding towards hostility. I will still fight back even if it means defending myself and my time, but I am more reflective of such negative encounters.

I understand that we’re all lost, alone, and confused. I understand that we either lash out or keep our emotions bottled up.

Helping take care of my brother, I sometimes see that I’ve wasted so much of my energy on negativity and toxic behaviors. I am learning how to let go.

I would also add that I have a rocky, tumultuous relationship with my father. But the care he provided for my brother humanizes him. I still hate the guy, but I respect his sacrifices.

Conclusion

I still have a lot to learn. Every day is filled with frustrations. But without my brother, I am still stuck being a self-centered, hedonistic individual, afraid to face the reality of the past before it haunts him in his future.

Because of him, I am willing to do my best each day, good or bad, and to have faith that I can overcome obstacles.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Art: Viviai Art

[addycorcoran]

are you ready for it? ➝ puddy.

TAGGING ➝ Addy Corcoran, Noah Puckerman (@puckhq).

LOCATION ➝ Locked down at Indigo Sounds.

TIME FRAME ➝ 10/12, afternoon.

WARNINGS ➝ None.

SUMMARY ➝ Addy and Puck take charge of their lockdown group.

ADDY CORCORAN

Addy had never really been in any kind of disaster situation before, so she couldn't necessarily have anticipated her reaction. She had to admit her level of calm was surprising, though; maybe it was because she was in familiar territory, and her big boss instincts had kicked in, telling her to take care of everyone. In an effort to do so, she stood by the open fridge, grabbing whatever she felt might come in handy. She paused, however, to check her phone, hoping against hope for a text message from her girlfriend, or at least to see her outgoing messages had delivered. "Come on," she muttered under her breath, beginning to grow frustrated.

NOAH PUCKERMAN

Not being able to talk to his mom or his daughter had the ex-Marine a lot more rattled and stressed than he looked. He had to just keep reminding himself that his kid and his mom were capable and that he'd taught them both everything he knew about staying alive and unharmed. It didn't stop him from checking his phone every couple of seconds to see if the service bars were back though. Noticing his companion doing the same, he felt a little less bad. "You've got someone too?" He asked while filling a couple of bags he found with the water the other had pulled out of the fridge.

ADDY CORCORAN

"Hm?" Addy looked up from her phone, lost for a moment in desperation. She locked the screen, figuring staring at it was only going to be torturous, and slipped the phone into her pants pocket. "Oh, yeah. My girlfriend, and my sister. Well, sisters... brother, too. They can all handle themselves, though. I guess I'm just hoping my girlfriend and my sister are together." She frowned, finally closing the fridge. Hopefully, they wouldn't be here too long, but they could grab more supplies from up here if needed. "You trying to get ahold of Maya?"

NOAH PUCKERMAN

"Did I know you had a girlfriend? i feel like I should've known you had a girlfriend." Puck said, genuinely trying to rack his brain for that knowledge, but then again they'd only spoken the once online, so maybe it does make sense he doesn't know. "I bet your loved ones are all safe, but I get it." Instictively he looked at his phone again, as if it was going to say something different then it did ten seconds ago. "Yeah, she's with my mom and I made sure they both knew how to survive pretty much anything and they're probably fine but I wanna see them with my own eyes, you know?"

ADDY CORCORAN

Addy chuckled under her breath. "I don't know. We're—" She trailed off with a shake of her head. "Doesn't matter. I just wanna know she's okay." Considering how worried she was about her people, she couldn't even imagine how much Puck was worrying—he literally had a kid out there. "I get it. They sound tough, though. And I know Amy is. Way tougher than whoever's down there." She motioned towards the door, subtle amusement creeping into her tone. "You know, I don't know half the people who are hiding out in my studio right now... Any ideas about who's gonna be good in this kinda situation, or you think we're on our own?"

NOAH PUCKERMAN

Puck smiled a little at her explanation. "Yeah I get that, I've got a complicated thing too, I'm trying not to worry about too many people right now, but... it's hard." Nodding his head, his smile grew a bit at the mention of his mom and daughter being tough because they were. And then he let out a laugh thinking about the rag tag bunch they had in the basement. "I don't know but I do know that when it comes down to it, with a bit of direction humans get pretty damn resourceful." Looking through the bags of food and water, Puck mentally catalogued what they had and figured it was enough for a night, maybe two if they were lucky. "Well, we're not on our own 'cause we got each other and I think, so long as we can keep it together, we'll be alright." He smiled at Addy.

ADDY CORCORAN

"Oh, mine's not complicated." Addy shook her head. "We're just...kinda in a fight? I guess this makes that seem dumb, though." Besides, when weren't they in a fight? She decided to leave that part out, and instead volley the focus. "How complicated are we talking?" She knew they should probably get down to everyone else, but kind of like a captain on a ship, Addy figured she should be the one to wait it out up here, see if anyone else needed someplace to hide out. "Wow, that sounded like a Lifetime movie," she teased, hopping up onto the counter where she could see through the window in case anyone happened to be passing. "You're right, though. And I won't pretend I don't feel a little bit safer with you around."

NOAH PUCKERMAN

"Ahh, well can't say it's dumb 'cause i don't know what y'all were fighting about but makes sense that right now you're just thinking about how much you love her." Seemed like Addy had a lot going on in the relationship department and maybe to an extent, Puck could understand, but at the very least he knew not to pry, folks didn't like that at the best of times. Pulling a chair toward him, he sat. "Dunno, maybe not that complicated. I mean, it's over but I still care about them and I'm worried." It was all he could really say because it was the only truth he really had about it all. Smiling at her teasing remark, he smiled a little more when she continued. "I do like making people feel safe, kinda made a whole career out of it. Figure it evens out my shitheadness. You're pretty calm considering, most civi- most people, would be freaking out but you seem pretty calm." He observed.

ADDY CORCORAN

"Fighting in general seems dumb when you have something like this to put it into perspective." Addy shrugged, making a mental note to remind herself of this very feeling once they got to leave, so the next time they fought about someting petty, she could remind herself that it just wasn't worth it. She planned to stay up here anyway, but watching Puck pull up a chair, therefore hopefully staying with her, made her feel better about it. "Right." She gave him a sympathetic look. "Any chance of resolving it?" She didn't know his situation, nor was she going to pry, but what else did they have to do while waiting this out but talk, right? Despite herself, Addy chuckled at Puck's comment. "Shitheadness?" She shook her head then. "Oh, dude, no, I'm totally freaking out. I just kinda suck at showing emotions... It's one of my tiny handful of flaws," she teased.

NOAH PUCKERMAN

"Yeah, kinda does." He agreed, there was nothing like getting forced into lockdown with strangers because of an earthquake to get you remembering nothing but the good. Probably why he was sitting her wondering why him, Eva and Morgan ain't really talking. Speaking of, "I don't know, always got a chance, right?" It was his hope that they could find their way back to each other but he knew they were all kinda dumb when it came to this relationship thing and wearing them down probably wasn't gonna work. He was grateful when he voice cut through his thoughts and he smiled. Shitheadness was the best way he could describe it. "I wouldnt call it a flaw, mainly 'cause I do that too, I think and Im flawless so cant ve a flaw." He smiled at her. "It ain't all bad, but it does kinda make you shit at telling folk how you feel when you need to."

[famiglia-lealta]

I know that I've spoken on the similarities between Xanxus and Valentino before - mostly on the side of unhinged ruthlessness - but also thinking on the comparison of Squalo and Angel with their relationships to their respective bosses.

Now, looking at how these relationships began; to my limited knowledge, Angel is in a contracted agreement with Valentino. Servitude for the price of a soul, more or less. I can't remember now if it was 'canon' or a friend's headcanon that this contract took Angel of the streets; but he certainly stands to gain from being in a popular figure like Valentino's pocket and his favourite pet performer.

As opposed to Squalo - and again, knowledge is limited and some of this can be conjectured - who saw Xanxus at fuck-knows mafia school and pretty much decided he wanted to follow that man's wrath. He obviously saw something in Xanxus's capabilities - and presumably, Xanxus in turn saw something in him that could forge a path together. At least in Squalo's cause, we can assume it was a more amicable bonding to what Angel's might have been.

Onto more heavier topics of abuse - which for the sake of triggering content, I will keep fairly light but still, buyers beware. It's quite well known by now that Angel and Valentino's association is highly abusive - physically, mentally, and sexually. There might be positive gratification, moments where Angel might feel good about what's going on, or feel good about being pampered, the center of attention, the lights of the glamour - but I would wager those moments are far fewer than the moments that are.. indefinabley Not Good.

And then, there's Squalo and Xanxus's dynamic. There are differing opinions from what I've seen as to whether these two are lovers, or simply just extremely loyal friends to one another. I'm not about to get into those debates, but I will say it's hard to argue that there isn't an element of their partnership being as abusive as it might be loyal. After all, Xanxus is constantly throwing wine-glasses or just the whole bottle at Squalo's head whenever he's pissed at him. Whether he meant it or not - Xanxus still laughed when everyone thought that Squalo had been eaten whole by a shark. He portrays the image that he cares very little about his staff, and they are extremely expendable. Possibly, Squalo to a lesser degree - but that's the image he portrays, and that would certainly have to have at least some impact on Squalo's psyche, no matter how fierce he presents himself to be.

On that note - loyalty is an interesting comparison. Squalo refuses to cut his hair until Xanxus takes his rightful place as the 10th - or the head boss, the top of the ordering chain of their mafia family. Even after this proved to be something Xanxus could never achieve due to blood-ties, plot-story-something-something - Squalo still refused to cut his hair. Why? Who even knows with shark logic. A visible, physical sign of his devotion, perhaps? In the later seasons, Xanxus's hair does start growing longer himself, but it's hard to say whether there's anything given back in terms of his loyalty.

Angel, on the other hand. I feel he shows his loyalty when he refuses Charlie's help on Valentino's grounds, telling her to leave, that she's making it worse. Angel's situation always makes me feel sad, in that I would suspect that Valentino could ask quite a lot of horrible things for him to do in regards to his 'friends' - people Valentino might want out of the picture or at least viewing Angel as a lost cause - and Angel would do it. Perhaps for fear of himself, for Fat Nuggets - maybe even the fear of losing that safety blanket and being back out in the cold, as choking as that safety blanket is.

So in conclusion of my long waffly analysis;-

I think Squalo has far more freedom than Angel to make changes to his situation. Squalo could leave if he wasn't happy being Xanxus's second in command anymore - and Xanxus probably would be fucking pissed about it, with both men understanding if they ever crossed paths again, one of them probably would die. But he'd still be allowed to leave. Angel, though. Even if he could potentially get away, I'm not so sure Valentino wouldn't follow, or make efforts at bringing him back. Maybe in some very twisted way - Valentino cares enough to want him back. Is that because he needs the worship as much as Angel does? Does he need people working beneath him to feel important? Whereas Xanxus, I see him more as a 'if you've fucked me over, you're dead to me' whether physically or metaphorically. More often than not, physically. Hell, he's killed staff for getting what meat he wants for dinner wrong.

They're both two very interesting situations. As antagonists go, Xanxus is powerful and cruel in a blunt force sort of way. Valentino, at least to my minds eye, is more of a manipulative sort of vile. He might wrap you up in a hug and poison you over a long length of time, warping and changing you as he see fits. Xanxus has that capability of long-term planning, but you won't know about it until the last moment, and that's when it's really going to hurt. Until that moment, he's just going to be a shitty asshole, mocking and calling doubt on your actions.

And it's remarkable in both these settings - these dark characters always, always have people standing alongside them. They always have people that will follow them no matter what, and are very resistant to being talked otherwise. For what it's worth, they are good at using their cruelty and terrible qualities to be leaders. That in itself is both terrifying and impressive.

[flameleadsarc]

To get ahead in society, Roy learned to be just the right amount of himself depending on the situation. Madame Christmas taught him well. Among ordinary soldiers, he needed to be calm and reposed while also charismatic—the leader people gravitated toward. On dates, he could slip in hints of himself here and there, but he resembled more of a mirror than anything else. At work? It all depended on what reaction he needed to garner from certain parties. Being “too much” threw others off his scent when, in reality, he played a more cunning game. 

He always needed to think two or three steps ahead—at least in Amestris. Toning himself down, or just right, was part of his life. With White Cloud, he endeavored to be more of himself. Friends did that sort of thing with each other, right? He and Hughes did that anyway. They didn’t hold back when it was just the two of them. No games, no alternate agendas: just two men who could talk about their favorite quiche, Elicia, and what was bothering them all in the same day without judgment.

White Cloud likely didn’t trust him that much yet. They didn’t know each other for that long, after all, and their first encounter was less than ideal. However, Roy found his attention rapt as White Cloud spoke of his family, Punainen Usva in particular. His name translated to Red Mist like White Cloud’s did from… what? He never said, and, being the polite man that he was, Roy didn’t ask. It felt like an invasion of privacy to pry that much. Would asking now be different? He still needed to tread carefully, and White Cloud was exhausted. More emotional strain didn’t need to happen.

Maybe later… when the two of them weren’t in the middle of a goddamn forest. For now, he could focus on Usva. White Cloud spoke about him with such care and reverence that was difficult to miss. He loved his brother, and that feeling had to be mutual. Yet, why he reminded White Cloud of Usva became readily apparent: fire. Both of them tamed an element known for its wildness, keeping their loved ones far away from it as much as possible. Slowly, Roy nodded his head to show he listened.

Yes indeed, the two of them were much alike. 

“Usva and I have that in common,” he agreed, “In Amestris, I’m doing everything I can to ensure no one can ever control it. Fire is dangerous, destructive, and wild. I’ve wielded its power for a good portion of my life now.” Roy paused as he flexed the fingers of his right hand, the glove safely in his pocket. The scar from the Third Laboratory was faint on top of his hand, but he could still see traces of it. “Alchemists can wield the elements to a degree. It’s nowhere near the same as what Mistericans can do, but I imagine it takes the same amount of studying and practice. Even then, I’m the only one with the full knowledge of how to perform flame alchemy, and I intend to keep it that way.”

He let out a sigh. One of the only benefits of being in these goddamn woods was the fresh air. The Comodeen was stifling and a bit too reminiscent of a command center. It wasn’t like a city he could roam. Cities in Wonderland… did they exist? One person alone could generate only so much despair. Together, people could generate more. Huddled together in places like cities—perfect recipes for despair, hopelessness, and suffering. For kindling. 

Weren’t they the same?

“How long before he starts to see you like everyone else does, Mustang?” The voice in his mind stayed quiet for a while, but of course it chimed in when it saw the opportunity. “Or he starts to see you as no different than this Chaos? You’re both destroyers of homes.” 

At least one of them was more forthright about it, he supposed. Roy’s gaze stayed toward the ground, his tone heavy as he continued to speak. 

“I can’t speak for Usva, but what I can say is that when you’re called upon to fight, and you have to use fire, it changes you. When I first learned how to use flame alchemy, I’ll admit that I was full of myself—more than I am now. I thought I could do anything. The fact that I could hold fire in my hand was nothing short of incredible to me, never mind what else I could do with it. What started out as something beautiful turned into nightmare fuel.” Again, he found himself flexing his fingers. It was a nervous habit, he supposed. “I don’t know what Usva’s reasons were since I didn’t know him, but, as someone who knows fire like I do, maybe he didn’t want you to know its destructive side. If I had to guess, he just wanted to keep you safe.” 

Letting a heavy sigh leave his lips once more, Roy shrugged his shoulders. Who was he kidding? Misterican culture was incredibly different from his own. Usva undoubtedly had different reasons that related back to teachings Roy didn’t know but White Cloud did. Or, maybe he was just stubborn. If someone could learn all of the elements, wouldn’t that be a great opportunity to teach them? Wouldn’t that be nothing short of miraculous? He was considered special among his people, so why would Usva refuse to teach him except out of stubbornness? 

He didn’t know. At least with Edward and Alphonse, he had precedent for not teaching them. Edward knew firsthand as well. It saved their lives, but—

“Don’t think about it,” he cut himself off before the thought wandered too far, even shaking his head as if to cut the thought loose. He took a few deep breaths before he looked back to White Cloud. Was… was that why he apologized? Again? It was pointless to tell him not to, leading Roy to simply nod his head at his new friend. 

“It’s all right. If anything, I should be apologizing to you for not controlling my anger well too. I let myself get worked up when we were back in that village that I yelled at you, and that wasn’t appropriate of me. It’s not your fault that I don’t know where my boys are. I guess I was just looking for someone to lay into, and you were a convenient target. I’m sorry I let that happen.” He shook his head once again. “If you’re insisting on staying awake, I do have a couple of questions. Like what Soul’s Breath is and what the other elements were. And what other kinds of Mist existed. There’s a lot I don’t know… but I’d like to.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He's slow to receive the bottle and unscrew the silver lid. There is a short moment while the prince takes his time to let the cool liquid inside rush down his throat. It's soothing to feel the water coating from the inside after using so much energy previously in the last confrontation, but still he finds himself exhausted - beyond exhausted and he doesn't know what else he's supposed to feel when he just held a piece of his soul so delicately in his hand. Eve- Roy says he wants to know more about his family. He says if he's up for it, he would love to learn more about him and it takes the prince a moment to process this to decide if he really does want to talk about Misterica or not. 

Roy says he doesn't have to tone it down for him. Roy says that it's okay for him to just be himself, but he doesn't know how to do anything else other than tone it down. He's had to tone himself down for other people ever since he was a child. It was long before Gaudium that he would have been toning himself down for those around him. Piipsa Sumu did not care to deal with him at his truest self and his Arkkipiipsas were the same. None of them cared much for the idea of suffering a child; even if that child was the Child of White; even if that child was Lady Tiamat's Holy Vessel himself. 

Chaos was no different. The one that Wonderland knew as one - Earl Tyrant-  would not suffer him either. He had few in his life that were ever kind enough to deal with his antics. But they are gone now. Those that gathered around him and told him they loved him were long since dead. So it's strange to have someone express such care for him when he has not felt such a thing for nearly two decades now. Roy was kind and earnest in his words. This Amestrian honestly meant him no harm, or did he? There is a voice in the back of his head warning him to mind his words and to keep personal information to himself. 

 “ Do not trust him, Pilvi.“ The voice warns “I don’t care what he’s telling you now, he previously just called you his prey only a few hours ago we cannot trust him.”

But he wants to talk. He wants to think about something - anything other than the scars and the jagged lines creeping up his skin and growing ever closer to his heart by the day. No one has seen. Not since Cid saved him after the fall of Gaudium over a year ago and even then the engineer hardly knew what they meant. They were hardly the size that they are now. And most certainly not Black Wind.

The man of dark gales could never see the truth of what lay just beneath white fabric. He could never see the truth of what was running over alabaster skin. If he saw then - if he saw what he was hiding then what would he do? Would his Other finally understand the words that live only in his eyes that his lips dare not speak to him aloud? Would he finally hear him then?

There has to be something else to think about.

So he's allowing himself another moment to take a longer drink from the bottle in his hands before his lips part to speak.

"Usva was four years older than me. My family was just Usva, myself and our parents. I didn't have any other siblings, just him. He was practically my best friend. Usva was all I knew of friendship so that is why I say it is still a rather new concept to me." He stops to neatly fold his hands in his lap after he sets the bottle down to his side.

"Punainen Usva was his name. You would have called him Red Mist in the same way you call me White Cloud. He was disciplined yet wild. Both at the same time. Usva was the greatest swordsman I have ever seen. He dedicated his whole life to it. He mastered everything there was for him to master. He was both a Mist Mythic and a Summoner...and he refused utterly to teach his craft. No matter how much I begged him or tried to barter with hm. Isoveli simply would not teach me.

"You'll get hurt." He said. "I don't want you around such powerful magic." and he refused to teach me. I guess in a way he was right. A Mist Mythic is one who can command the elements with their Mist, you see. Except a Mythic cannot command them all, just the ones compatible with the color of their Mist. "

"Isoveli was a deep red in color so that means he could not command Wind based spells due to their connection to green mist. Any colors that were opposed the wielder cannot command. All except for me. White is the absence of them all so that means I was a blank canvas and had the ability to command any element I was taught.

That's why I hounded him like so, but still Usva never cracked. Even to this day I can only command three of the nine existing types, all because Usva saw the explosive nature of my Mist and refused to teach me fire. He was a master of it. To think something so wild could be born of his Soul's Breath and yet he would have the ability to tame it.

It was fitting. It was just like him."

There's a sigh that leaves him as he allows himself to lay back down on the ground, still safe enough away from the flickering flames of the campfire to be able to not redraw his mask but at the same time to gain no benefit from it's heat.

"I am sorry about all of this Evers - Roy. Being stuck out here in the woods with me. I will work on getting better control over my anger so such issues do not arise again. If you have questions, I can answer to the best of my ability. I do not mind. I just am feeling a bit lightheaded so I need to lay down, yet I need to stay awake considering my condition. Truly, I apologize for the trouble."