#i hope someone burns your american flag

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Las Vegas GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

The Las Vegas paddock was alive with energy, even more so than usual. It was a blur of lights, noise, and a sea of fans proudly waving American flags and homemade signs, their excitement infectious. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I felt a warmth in my chest seeing their creative, silly displays.

One sign read, "Rain Queen of F1, teach us your ways!" while another joked, "Y/N for President (of overtakes)!" I couldn’t help but laugh, waving to the crowd as I made my way closer to the barriers where they stood. One girl held up a plush duck wearing one of my mini race helmets, and I just had to stop and sign it.

“Did you make this?” I asked her, holding up the duck with an impressed grin.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! It’s for good luck in the rain!”

“That’s adorable. I’ll keep that in mind if the clouds roll in this weekend,” I teased, signing my name on the duck's little helmet before handing it back.

Another fan handed me a neon-pink sign with glitter that said, "We love you, Y/N, our American racing queen!" I held it up briefly, posing for photos with the fans, enjoying every second of this rare, genuine connection with them.

“Good luck this weekend!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

“Thanks, guys! I’ll do my best!” I called back, flashing a smile.

But as I turned to move down the line, I felt a firm but gentle tug on my elbow. My manager, clearly on a mission, leaned in and whispered, “Alright, champ. We’ve got media duties to get through. Can’t keep them waiting.”

I bit back a sigh, reluctantly stepping away from the fans, though I waved at them one last time. “See you all later!”

As I walked off with my manager, I glanced back at the fans who were still cheering, holding up their signs, and waving their flags. Their energy stayed with me, like a little bubble of joy in the back of my mind. Even though I was heading into the less exciting, more scripted side of racing life—media duties—I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter knowing I had their support.

I just hoped their enthusiasm would carry me through the long day ahead.

The Aston Martin media team was in full swing, setting up a vibrant corner of the paddock for a special social media feature. With Las Vegas being one of my home races, they’d gone all out with a fun, themed activity for me to do: answering fan-submitted questions while navigating a mini Vegas-inspired obstacle course that included a roulette wheel, a slot machine, and even a mini blackjack table.

“Alright, Y/N,” one of the media team members grinned, holding a camera. “This is going straight to the Instagram and TikTok accounts, so bring your A-game!”

I laughed, stepping onto the glittery carpet they’d rolled out for the setup. "No pressure, huh? Should I start practicing my influencer voice?”

The first task was simple: spin the roulette wheel, and depending on where it landed, I had to answer a different type of question—personal, racing-related, or something completely random. I gave the wheel a spin, watching the colors blur together before it landed on red.

“Okay, first question!” one of the media team members said, holding up a card. “Who would be your dream celebrity teammate?”

“Oh, easy,” I said with a cheeky grin. “Ryan Reynolds. Not only would he keep the team’s spirits up, but can you imagine him giving a post-race interview? Comedy gold.”

The team laughed as they reset the roulette wheel, and I moved to the next station: the slot machine. Pulling the lever, I waited for the symbols to line up. Three cherries! A small cheer went up, and someone handed me another card.

“If you could rename one corner on the calendar, which one and what would you call it?”

I tapped my chin, pretending to think hard. “Hmm, I’d rename corner 12 on the Brazil track to 'The Rain Queen’s Curve'—not biased or anything.”

The next stop was the blackjack table, where I had to play a quick round with one of the crew members. Between shuffling cards and answering more fan questions, I couldn’t help but notice how much effort the team had put into making the activity feel personal. Around the setup, little touches of my presence were everywhere—fans' signs propped up in the background, a big banner that read, Welcome home, Y/N! in neon lights, and even a small stuffed version of the rain duck from earlier sitting next to the blackjack chips.

“What’s your favorite thing about being back in the States for a race?” they asked while I was dealt my cards.

“Well, the fans, for sure,” I said, smiling. “They go all out. I mean, have you seen the signs they make? Also, I get to use American measurements for once. None of that kilometers stuff, by the way, what the fuck is a kilometer?” I joked, winking at the camera.

After finishing the blackjack game—losing spectacularly to the media team’s card shark—I posed with a miniature version of the iconic Las Vegas sign. The media team recorded a final clip of me blowing a kiss to the camera and saying, “Alright, Aston fans, wish me luck this weekend! I’ll see you all out there.”

As the crew wrapped up, I felt a rush of gratitude for the way they’d gone above and beyond to make this feel like more than just another media obligation. Even in the chaos of a home race, there were little moments of fun and connection that reminded me why I loved what I did—on and off the track.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the Las Vegas circuit as I settled into my car for Free Practice 2. FP1 had been decent, but I knew there was room to improve. The balance of the car still felt a bit off, and I was determined to push harder this session.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s focus on Sector 3 this time,” Landon’s voice came through my radio, calm but firm. “We’re losing a bit of time there. Watch the apex at Turn 14—it’s where you can claw back some tenths.”

“Copy that,” I replied, gripping the wheel tighter. My focus sharpened, every muscle in my body ready to fight for the improvement I knew was there.

The lap felt solid so far—each corner smoother, the car responding to my inputs with more precision. As I approached the infamous corner where Lando had crashed last year, my mirrors suddenly filled with the sight of Liam’s car, far too close for comfort.

“Liam’s right on you. Hold your line,” Landon warned.

Before I could react, the hit came. Liam’s front tire clipped my rear, and the car jerked violently to the side. I felt the rear spin out as the car whipped around 90 degrees. My heart shot into my throat as I fought to correct it, but the car slid onto the curb, the world tilting unnaturally.

My stomach dropped as I felt the car lift off the ground. Time seemed to slow, and all I could do was hold my breath as the car flipped onto its back. Sparks screamed against the asphalt as I skidded, my helmet pressed painfully against the headrest from the force.

“Y/N, are you okay? Talk to us!” Landon’s voice crackled through the chaos, panicked.

The barrier rushed toward me too quickly, and then—impact. The crash knocked the wind out of me, pain shooting through my side as everything went still. For a moment, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing, fast and uneven.

“Y/N! Do you copy? Are you okay?” Landon’s voice broke through the haze.

My hands were trembling as I fumbled for the radio button. “I—I’m here,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. My chest felt tight, panic swirling in my head.

“Are you injured? Can you move?” Landon pressed, urgency thick in his tone.

“I think… I think I’m okay,” I stammered. “My side hurts, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

Landon’s voice softened, though I could still hear the tension underneath. “Alright, just stay calm. Help’s on the way. Don’t move unless you have to, the FIA has actually red flagged the session now.”

Trying to stay positive, I let out a shaky scoff and asked, “So they red-flag this but not when someone’s car is practically parked on the racing line?” My attempt at sarcasm was weak, but I hoped it might lighten the mood.

There was a pause on the radio, longer than usual, and I braced myself for Landon’s usual dry humor or a quick comeback. Instead, his voice came back softer, almost hesitant. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N… it looked really bad from anyone else’s perspective.”

That stopped me in my tracks. My smirk faded as his words settled in, the weight of what had just happened finally hitting me. I could hear the concern laced in his tone, the kind of worry he rarely let slip. My chest tightened, and I felt a lump forming in my throat.

“Yeah, well… I’m still here,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. It was an attempt to brush it off, to reassure both of us, but it felt hollow.

“You are,” Landon agreed softly, his tone unwavering. “And that’s what matters. Just breathe, okay? You’re safe now.”

The humor I’d clung to earlier was gone, replaced by a sobering realization of how close I’d come to something far worse. The ache in my side was a reminder, but so was Landon’s voice—steady, grounding me in the reality that I had made it through.

I clenched the steering wheel, trying to steady my breathing, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The car felt suffocating, like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape. My eyes squeezed shut as I willed myself to stay in control, to stay calm.

When the marshals finally reached me, their voices were calm and soothing. “We’ve got you. Just stay still,” one of them said.

I nodded weakly, letting them work to extract me from the car. As soon as I was out and seated on the ground, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the dull ache in my side and the weight of what had just happened.

“Y/N, you scared the hell out of us,” Landon said over the radio again, his tone softer now. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I held them back, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of my breathing. “Copy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I tried to pull myself together. I knew that he wouldn’t hear me now that I was away from the button to respond. But it helped to pretend he could. 

Further down the track, I spotted Liam standing next to his car, the only visible damage being a popped front tire from where he’d collided with me. His helmet was off, and he was kneeling on the ground, his head in his hands. His whole body seemed to sag with relief, and I realized he must have just understood—I wasn’t severely hurt, or worse. The weight of what could have happened must’ve hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, I could see the guilt and fear radiating from him, even from this distance.

I tore my eyes away, focusing instead on the marshals checking me over and the hum of activity from the paddock in the distance. Grounding myself in the moment was all I could do. I was okay. Shaken, sore, terrified—but okay.

The medical team had cleared me with a bruised rib cage and a sore neck, nothing that a night of rest and some ice packs couldn’t handle. I got to change into a comfortable hoodie and joggers. I was escorted back to the garage, where the sight of my wrecked car made my stomach twist uncomfortably. It looked awful—completely mangled and nowhere near race-ready. My job now was to trust the team to bring it back to life, but trust wasn’t something I could extend to everyone.

Henry was waiting for me, clipboard in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. I tried to keep my expression neutral as I approached him, reminding myself to stay calm. He launched into an explanation about the car's timeline, detailing how long it would take to rebuild and what it would require. But as he spoke, I caught the faint, unmistakable smell of alcohol lingering on his breath. My stomach churned. He wasn’t drunk—just tipsy enough to let his inhibitions slip even more than usual.

I stayed quiet, nodding along to his words, hoping to keep the conversation strictly professional, but it wasn’t long before his demeanor shifted. His voice dropped into a tone that sent chills down my spine as he leaned closer. “You know, if you really want this car ready before FP3... I think we could work something out. A little... private arrangement between us.”

My pulse spiked, panic and anger surging in equal measure. “Henry, don’t. I’m not in the mood for this,” I said, stepping back, but he followed, undeterred.

He reached out, his hand brushing against my arm, then trailing lower toward my waist. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how this works. You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he murmured, his touch making my skin crawl.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to keep my composure. I couldn’t afford to lose it—not now. I’d been smart enough to set my recorder going before entering the garage, and it was still capturing every disgusting word he uttered. That was the only thing keeping me grounded, knowing I was building a case against him.

Just as I opened my mouth to push back harder, a sharp knock on the door interrupted us. Relief flooded my chest as Henry froze, annoyed by the intrusion. A young intern poked their head in, looking slightly nervous. “Um, excuse me. A few drivers are here to see Y/N,” they said, glancing between us.

“Oh, thank god,” I muttered under my breath before brushing past Henry, ignoring the way his eyes burned holes into my back. I left the room quickly, desperate to put as much distance between myself and him as possible. Whatever waited for me with the drivers, it couldn’t be worse than the corner I’d just been backed into.

Stepping outside, I blinked against the bright paddock lights, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the stifling tension inside the garage. Leaning casually against a wall was Lewis, arms crossed and his signature calm-but-concerned expression softening his features. He pushed off the wall as soon as he spotted me, his gaze sweeping over me like a doctor assessing a patient.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice warm and steady, though his eyes were sharp, scanning me for any sign of discomfort. “That crash looked… rough.”

I forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I’m fine. Sore, but nothing major. Medical cleared me already.”

Lewis nodded, but his concern didn’t waver. “I heard. Still, I wanted to check on you myself. Crashes like that... they take a toll, even if you don’t feel it right away. You sure there’s nothing you need? I could grab you something for the hotel—heat packs, compression sleeves, whatever helps.”

I shook my head, touched by his offer but eager to keep the focus off me. “Thanks, but my team is already handling it. They’re out getting everything I’ll need to recover. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, clearly debating whether to push further. I could see it in the way his jaw tensed, the careful consideration behind his next words. “That’s good. But... you know, it’s not just about the crash. I’ve been noticing things lately. You seem... different. Distracted. Is everything okay within your team?”

My stomach twisted, the careful control I’d been clinging to threatening to unravel. I plastered on a tighter smile, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I deflected. “Everything’s fine, Lewis. Just the usual stress of racing. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lewis wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his gaze softening further as he stepped a little closer. “Look, I don’t know the details, but something feels off. Is it... your lead engineer? I don’t know his name, but... is he giving you a hard time?”

The question hit like a blow to the chest, and my composure wavered. My pulse quickened, anger and anxiety bubbling up in equal measure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said sharply, folding my arms across my chest. “Henry—my engineer—is fine. We’re all fine. Can we not make a big deal out of nothing?”

Lewis raised his hands in a placating gesture, his tone remaining calm. “I’m not trying to make a big deal out of anything. I just... I’ve been around long enough to notice when someone’s not themselves. I want to help if something’s wrong, but I won’t push.”

I huffed, frustrated at the conversation and at myself for letting it get to me. “I appreciate your concern, but really, it’s nothing. Just let it go.”

He studied me for a long moment, his eyes full of understanding that only made my frustration grow. Finally, he nodded, backing off like he promised. “Alright. I’ll let it go—for now. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here. Anytime. No judgment.”

I swallowed hard, guilt tugging at me despite my irritation. “Thanks, Lewis,” I murmured, my voice softer now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He gave me a small smile, but I couldn’t hold his gaze for long. As he walked away, I stood there for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle over me. Part of me wanted to take him up on his offer, to spill everything, but the fear of what might happen if I did kept my lips sealed. For now, the burden was mine alone to bear.

By the time I made it back to my hotel room, every muscle in my body seemed to scream in protest. The ache, dulled earlier by adrenaline, had fully settled in, leaving me sore even when I was just sitting still. I sank into the chair at the small table, poking listlessly at the super-healthy meal my team had insisted on. They meant well, but it was hard to feel enthusiastic about bland chicken and steamed vegetables when all I wanted was to curl up and shut out the world.

A knock at the door startled me, making me wince as the sudden movement pulled at the bruises on my side. I pushed myself up with a soft groan, padding over to the door. When I opened it, I was met with a familiar grin.

“Hey,” Lando said, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Heard you were cooped up in here. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re holding up.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his appearance but too tired to pretend I wasn’t glad to see a friendly face. “Oh. Hey, Lando. Come on in,” I said, stepping aside to let him through.

He entered, his energy a little softer than usual, and plopped down in the chair opposite mine. His gaze swept over the room briefly before landing on me. “You look... tired,” he said carefully, though his teasing tone was still there. “Rough day?”

I snorted, sitting back down. “Understatement of the year. But yeah, I’m okay. Just... sore.”

He nodded, his expression flickering with something like guilt. “Yeah, that crash was... scary, honestly. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, really okay?”

I hesitated, my fork stilling on the plate. “I’m fine. Sore and tired, but fine,” I said, hoping my words were convincing enough to end the conversation.

Lando didn’t seem satisfied, though. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Physically, sure. But what about mentally? That kind of thing—it messes with your head. You’ve got to give yourself time to process it.”

I sighed, knowing he was right but unwilling to dig too deeply into that just yet. “It’s... not easy,” I admitted reluctantly. “But I’ll get through it. I always do.”

He nodded again, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words. “That’s good. But, uh... you know, Fernando mentioned something earlier. Said there’s this guy on your team who’s always... messing with you?” He paused, glancing at me cautiously. “Look, I’m not trying to pry, but if there’s something going on, you don’t have to handle it alone.”

My stomach tightened, the careful control I’d been clinging to slipping as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Fernando needs to keep his observations to himself,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “There’s nothing going on that I can’t handle.”

Lando held up his hands defensively, his voice calm but insistent. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying... We care about you. If something’s wrong, you can tell us.”

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the edge of the table. He didn’t understand—I couldn’t risk saying anything, not yet. Not until I had the proof I needed to make sure Henry couldn’t twist the story. But I couldn’t tell Lando that. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” I said, my tone clipped.

Lando studied me for a moment, his gaze steady but no longer pushing. “Alright,” he said softly. “I won’t push. But if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

I nodded, relief and guilt warring within me. “Thanks,” I murmured, the word barely audible.

He stood, offering a small smile. “Try to rest, yeah? You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

I watched him leave, the room falling silent once again. The weight of the conversation settled over me, heavier than before. I wanted to let them in, to share the burden, but I couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

The night had been long and restless. My body ached from the crash, and no amount of tossing and turning seemed to bring any relief. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of the car flipping, the sounds of the crash, and the panic that followed came rushing back. I couldn’t shake the anxiety tightening in my chest. It wasn’t just the physical pain, it was the mental exhaustion, too. I barely slept, and by the time the alarm went off, I was already running on fumes.

Still, duty called. I dragged myself out of bed, forcing my eyes to stay open as I dressed and prepared to head to the track. As soon as I stepped into the paddock, I could feel the weight of the previous day’s events still lingering in the air. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was an uncomfortable mix of exhaustion and stress.

When I entered the garage, I hoped for some reprieve. But of course, that wasn’t the case. Henry was waiting for me, as per usual, his smug grin already in place. He came at me the second I walked in, as if he had every right to touch me, to be near me. His proximity made me uncomfortable, but I kept my face neutral, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he said in that way he always did, like he was too familiar. “The car’s all set for FP3. Fixed everything just in time.”

His presence always felt like a weight on my shoulders. I tried to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. His hand was suddenly on my back, too close for comfort. I tensed, trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Every part of me screamed to push him away, to tell him to stop, but I didn’t want to escalate things—at least not in front of the team.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to keep my tone even. “I’ll make sure to get the most out of FP3.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice dripping with that same smug tone. “You know, I have to say, you look better than you did yesterday. Glad to see you’re back on your feet.”

I didn’t dignify his comment with a response. Instead, I focused on my task at hand, retreating into my car. The last thing I wanted was to engage with him any more than necessary. I had a job to do.

FP3 came, and I did my best to push the emotional weight aside as I got into the car. The session was intense, but I managed to get some solid laps in. I focused entirely on my driving, letting the rhythm of the track ground me, even if my mind still felt far from clear. The car felt good, and I managed to put up a decent time, but I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that everything around me was off.

When the session ended, I returned to my driver’s room, hoping for a brief respite. I just needed a few moments to collect myself before qualifying. The room was quiet, but the silence only made the tension in my chest grow.

I sank into the chair, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment, trying to block out the weariness that clung to me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the constant undercurrent of unease. Henry’s actions, the way he’d cornered me—nothing felt right anymore. I tried to remind myself that I had to focus on the race, that I couldn’t let him distract me from what mattered.

But the weight of it all was starting to feel unbearable. And qualifying was just around the corner.

[dragobread]

the swap au doodle page is done :D + headcanons under the cut

to reiterate, in this au the main 6 have their personality traits swapped with each other and that’s it. any other stuff like history and culture remains the same

and bonus art of their full outfits

(there may be some overlap between my headcanons for the original and swapped characters)

California

Tough outdoorsman who will absolutely rub in your face how much better he is at surviving in the wilderness than you.

Also very annoying about how his state having the largest population is more important than Alaska having the largest land area and will go on a 6 hour rant about it

The patch on his neck is a burn scar

Seems “at peace” when he’s in natural landscapes like mountains or canyons, some people think he’s just doing it to be pretentious but he genuinely does feel relaxed in nature.

^This is also partially the reason why he feels uneasy sleeping in a room that doesn’t have windows where he can see the night sky.

Florida

Overworked vacation planner who is the embodiment of all your travel anxiety. Did you remember to bring your passport to the airport? Because he’ll be on your ass about it every 2 minutes.

Would unironically make one of these tombstones that says “here lies Florida’s hopes and dreams”

“You have to be at the airport a MINIMUM of 3 hours before your flight”

A part of his soul dies every time tourists trash his beaches. And also every time the other states rent timeshares so that they can be in uncomfortably close proximity to him

Needs everything to go according to plan and gets really pissed off at sudden schedule changes

Gov

One could argue that this is just canon Gov if he crashed out..

Stereotypical loud American who puts USA flags on everything he owns. And also has no volume control. He is literally the worst person to be around if you’re hungover or tired.

Overuses “i know your IP address/i know where you live” jokes…but he’s literally the government so he’s not even joking when he says it. He is the reason why VPNs were invented.

The song lyrics in the doodle page are from here btw

Has a motorcycle and crashes it into the state house for fun. And then he does the sad hamster face when he has to face the consequences of his actions.

Louisiana

Gator hunter + fisherman who wants everyone to leave him alone >:(

Sort of like swap!California in terms of being a survivalist who thinks he’s better than everyone, but he doesn’t show off as much because he really doesn’t want any reason to be around other people

Will take care of you if you’re sick/injured but very begrudgingly and he’ll judge you the whole time. He won’t let you leave until he knows for sure that you’ve fully recovered. Unless you slander his state then he’ll just throw you out the window

^He doesn’t like sharing his house with others, but despite that he’s still the best caretaker out of the main 6.

Wants everyone to be scared of him even though he looks like this to them

New York

New York actually tolerates being around people now??😧not clickbait??😱

Usually found at one of the many nightclubs in NYC. I mean, it’s not called the “city that never sleeps” for nothing…

Good at coming up with puns/dad jokes on the spot. May or may not overuse them to the point of pissing off the other states.

Most people think he’s incapable of taking things seriously, but he just doesn’t like worrying about things unneccesarily.

Texas

Country boy i love you…

Still has that Texan pride, he’s just a lot more passive-aggressive about it now. Like if someone insulted his state, he wouldn’t fight them face to face, he’d just vaguepost about it on twitter that night.

^Despite this, he is a lot nicer than canon Texas. Maybe he’ll finally get along with Austin?

Has protective instincts over anyone or anything that looks vulnerable, but he gets scared at the sight of blood and other such things so he’s not as good of a caretaker as Louisiana

Has a bunch of Applejack plushies that he cuddles with in his sleep

[weirdestbooks]

A Dead Man's Flag (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bolded words are Swedish (unless it’s a Finnish word; I didn’t want the formatting to look weird). A little gift for @lost-islands

Delaware wasn’t expecting a package from Tornedalians. While his great uncle and him talked, it was often through letters, and it wasn’t super personal. He was a distant family member Delaware had been estranged from for hundreds of years after all. Letters were one thing. Packages were another.

Delaware shifted his coffee into his other hand, reaching down to scoop the package off the porch. It was light, the kind of package that clothes typically come in. Delaware walked inside, setting the package on his dining room table and stopping to pat Reed on the head.

Delaware then sat down at his table, taking great care in opening the package. Normally, he ripped them open with wild abandon, but Tornedalians wouldn’t have sent him something for no reason, so Delaware took great care in opening the package, worried he might break something important.

Once the package was open, Delaware pulled out its contents, including a letter and a flag he hadn’t seen before. The flag was in a similar design to a Nordic Cross, with the center of the cross itself being defaced by a black rhombus that the stripes of the cross went around. It was a lovely flag, but it did nothing to alleviate Delaware’s confusion.

“What? Did he get a new flag?” Delaware questioned, staring at it in confusion. Why would Tornedalians have sent him a flag? Sighing, he stood up to go for his letter opener, hoping the letter itself would have some answers. As he did so, Reed attempted to jump up on him, ever the attention hog. Delaware laughed.

“Hey, boy, I love you too, but I have to find the letter opener. Uncle Tornedalians has sent me a package,” Delaware said, walking over to his cabinet of nicknacks, pulling open a drawer, and searching through it. After pushing past old medals and so, so many spare buttons, Delaware found it, closing the drawer with a bump of his hip.

Delaware walked back to the table, opening the letter with the quick precision of someone who had been doing it for hundreds of years. He was eager to see what the letter had to say. He pulled out a letter, his mouth quirking into a slight grin at the neat and familiar handwriting.

Hyvä Ilta Pekka, 

I know it must come as a surprise to see a package from me. But I needed to send it to you. You might be an American now and feel disconnected from your heritage over here (aside from your insistence on calling Ruotsi your cousin), but you are also the only child of Otso, and you deserve to have this. 

This is the newly created flag of Metsäsuomalaiset.

Delaware gasped, dropping the letter in shock as he looked back at the flag. That was…that was his isä’s flag—a flag created for his long-dead father. Delaware picked up the flag again, carefully, as if it was made of the finest silk. Tears were beginning to trace their way down his face as he imagined the blurry mental image he had of his father with the new flag. 

Then Delaware pulled the flag close to his chest, hugging it as more tears came down. 

People still remembered his Isä. They remembered and cared enough to make him a flag of his very own, a flag he would never get to see or wear.

“Isä, would you have loved this flag?” Delaware asked in his isä’s language, placing it back down and wiping the tears from his face as he went to read the rest of his uncle’s letter.

It surprised me to hear they were making a flag for Otso. The stubborn man never had one of his own. I’m unsure what he would have thought of it, but Muuna believes he would have liked it. 

You should also know the meaning behind the flag. The green represents the forest's importance to slash-and-burn culture. The red represents fire and the Rowan tree, just like the one Otso had on his face until the day he died. I wonder if that’s part of why they added it on there. The yellow represents the rye from slash-and-burn farming, and the black represents the soot of it. The color scheme is also meant to match the flags of the regions of Savonia and Tavastia, where Otso and his people were from.

Delaware smiled, looking back at the flag, a new appreciation growing in his chest. They didn’t just half-ass a flag for his Isä. They put effort into giving it meaning, and now Delaware was crying again.

It was just so sweet, and it reminded him…it reminded him…

“Isä! You promised!” New Sweden pleaded. Isä’s mouth quirked into a small little smile.

“Did I?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.

“Isä!” New Sweden exclaimed, causing his isä to laugh.

“Okay, okay. I know, Karl.” Isä said, sitting down at the chair by the fire as New Sweden went to sit at his feet. New Sweden opened his mouth, but then…but then…

Delaware snapped out of the memory, realizing that he had managed to drop to the floor, Reed licking the tears off his face.

“Reed, off,” Delaware said, looking back down at the letter still gripped in his hand. He didn’t remember that before. It had been a long time since something triggered a new memory of him and his isä. Since he had gotten any of his memories back.

It was nice to have another hole in his life’s story be filled, small as it might be. Fragmented memories were better than no memories. Enough fragments helped him track down his uncle, and helped him know his isä better, and helped him give Sverige some insight on their father. 

Delaware was happy with fragments.

Looking back down at the letter, Delaware read the last paragraph, smiling.

It’s nice to see people care about Otso so much. They flew the flag at the Oslo City Hall recently as well. Otso never thought he would be more than a footnote in anyone’s history book. It’s nice to see that he was wrong, that more than just us care about his existence and passing. 

I hope this provides some comfort to you.

Sincerely,

Arttu

Delaware then stood up, placed the letter back on the table, and grabbed his isä’s flag. He walked outside to the flagpole he had hand hanging off his porch. Right now, it had his flag on it, but Delaware quickly took down his flag, throwing it over the porch railing before hanging up his father’s flag. 

Looking up at the flag hanging there, Delaware felt an overwhelming swarm of emotion. Laughing wetly, he wiped his eyes. Maybe no one else would ever know the flag's meaning or even recognize it, but that was okay with him.

Delaware still got to have a tangible peace of his isä, proof that he really did exist.

No flag could have a more important purpose.

[qesii]

Helloooooo its me who’s reread all ur true detective and killer Joe fics. I think my favourite is High Speed, Low Drag. I love the insight into Rust’s time as Crash,(even if it is in a fic) and I love how you wrote the struggle between him wanting to do the right thing, but also needing to keep his cover, AND how he’s still reeling after his daughters death and divorce and is deep in his nihilism but begrudgingly still cares about Sig.

AND on top of that, the sex is hot. The line in part two when he’s like “Sigourney please don’t tell me to stop,” I wanted to run around in circles for an hour like a rabid dog 😵‍💫

I was so nervous about posting that series too because I thought there was no way in hell I could pull off a virginity auction. Better writers can do natural narratives of meeting in a regular way, at work or a bar etc, in an escalation of attraction (I’m thinking specially of The Creeping Woods, Dead Flag Blues, and The Idler Wheel) which wait I guess technically I did use both of those settings? but I hate slow burns and find my idea of Rust so divorced from his own libido that it would take something extreme to catch his attention and hold his interest (I didn’t even know what Sugar did to do so until I was typing up how he said she shot someone six times and I was like damn she did??).

Okay so I totally invented Sig to be gross but also because I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed for him to care for something other than The Work— not that I think she distracted him from, ya know, the death of his daughter and divorce from Claire, but might’ve eased that ache by going through the motions again. I don’t think Rust could stomach watching her be neglected even while he’d mentally shout at himself that he has a Job To Do, a Cover To Keep, and suddenly he’s setting fires to sabotage a puppy mill operation apart of an overly complicated plot to steal Canik for her. Something @glitterslag mentioned was how he grew up isolated and on the fringes of everything so he’d be captivated by this Blonde Americana Cheerleader but I think he’d recognize how that creates its own kind of danger for Sig, too, and becomes even more protective once she made the squad (he’d be unbearable after she got to varsity— booster club president fr, I so wanted to write him getting mistaken as her father and just going with it but thought I can be more subtle about my weirdness)

Ten Seventy Three likely has the most tender smut I’ve written this year and so different from the intimacy I tried to establish between ‘12 Rust and Sugar. I was rusty with writing loss of virginity but the biggest challenge I had to work around was convincing myself ‘95 Rust would even be good in bed lmao

some goofy behind the scenes: I fashioned the efficiency apartment Crash brought Sig to after the first place I lived with my husband (it was that dark and dreary and we were so broke lmao), I cheered a bit in high school and still think bases should get more rep— we hold entire! girls! above our heads, Sig’s name was because I was so hoping Alien was released the year she was born (it was a few years later) because I could see her mother going for Sigourney after the horror of motherhood she depicted on screen and Ginger would be like ya lets name our daughter after a gun (Sig Sauer or just “Sour” when she’s being a brat— Rust does Not Ever call her that), Canik is also a gun manufacturer, “Riders in the Sky” is sung by Johnny Cash but I like Peggy Lee’s version more— if you want to save your soul from hell a’ ridin’ on our range / then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride

try reading American Wasteland by @sparklingmineraltequila the one chapter I’ve gotten to read between writing is so so so spot on in how the essence of the Crash era is captured— I love Cassandra!

[paktderpakte]

Last Flight

The moonlit sea slid by beneath the two Meteors. It felt to Collins like they hadn't seen anyone for hours, but they didn't have that kind of flight time. Every so often the crippled engine sputtered, he felt the plane slow, watched the altimeter bleed the height he was trying to save for the glide, precious feet slipping into the sea like his fuel.

He and Davies had gamed it out on their channel together in the first few minutes after they escaped the blockade, trying to weigh their options and what might have happened on the Island, what might have happened to the relief fleet, where they might go now. Even on a full tank they'd never make it to Papua. Illustrious had to be somewhere in the Philippine Sea, that was certain, far out of reach dueling with Kaga-- or else she and her escort were simply sunk. Flying to her, they would run out of fuel somewhere south of Taiwan and get shot down by Japanese patrols.

The only thing for it, they had decided, was the Philippines. The Americans might throw them in jail, might hand them over to the Japanese, but then they might not. Assuming no leaks, they would run out of fuel a few kilometers north of Luzon, and then they could drift in, make a belly landing on some beach or even land on an airstrip if they could make contact with someone.

It was about the best plan they were going to get.

Speaking of making contact, he decided to try again, flicking his comms to the distress channel for ships. He took a moment to steady himself, then spoke.

"Mayday, mayday, emergency. Survivors from the siege of Hong Kong flying southeast, bearing 1-3-0 toward Luzon. Insufficient fuel to reach land; engines damaged. If any League of Nations or friendly ships are receiving this transmission, please respond. Repeat, emergency, crippled RAF fighters request assistance, en route from Hong Kong to Manila, running out of fuel. Please."

Tenser than ever, he listened for a response. Static. Listened some more, hoping to catch some semblance of speech in the static, and nearly jumped with excitement to hear a human voice until he realized it was Badger. "We might get some shipping traffic, but that's it," he commented, not chastising his friend so much as commiserating. "And it'll probably be Japs."

"I know. Right now-- if I spoke it well enough I might ask them for help too."

"They'd shoot us."

"Maybe." They flew on.

The comment stuck in Collins' mind more than he liked. He thought of Campbell, stumbling back to the Island…the rest of the squadron, left behind, surrendering to the IJA. Would they be shot? Sent off to a prison camp in the interior?

"We wouldn't have to worry about it if Control had done its job." Badger broke his despairing reverie, and anger flared to replace it. This was all down to command incompetence-- incompetence or malice. His fist clenched against the lever thinking of it for the first time since they'd fled. Shattered wrecks strewn on the airstrip at Von Seeckt with his comrades still inside, James' plane blossoming into a ball of fire, Parker sinking under the waves.

He hated that bitch in the red planes. Sylvie Dorn. He had read her file over and over in the brig, burned her face into his memory. He didn't care what Jaeger was like, that he seemed to have a shred of honor-- he had a murderer in his command staff, as far as Collins was concerned, and she would pay for it.

But she only killed James, didn't she.

Adlai. He'd made them stick it out over Guangzhou, he'd refused to send them more fighters over Hong Kong, kept the ceasefire from them too.

He'd killed them all.

He'd pay for it too.

Not that Collins told Badger any of that. His wingman would never rat on him intentionally, but they'd probably be questioned, and having murderous intent toward your former air controller would raise red flags. He just took a breath, tried to calm himself, let the death grip release. "Yeah," he finally radioed back. "They really fucked up bad."

"…anyway. How's your fuel?" Better to get back on survival.

"Little more'n forty. I don't think my fuel lines got hit-- the black squadron's commander, I charged him and it spooked'em. I'll probably make it over land."

Though he couldn't see it, Collins shook his head. "Yeah, you're doing better than me. And that wasn't their commander. It was a stand-in. Whoever it was probably wasn't used to leading so many planes."

"Eh? 'ow you know? Maybe he was just off 'is game."

"Because the black squadron is the first of their wing. Schwarze," he muttered it like a curse. "Their commander was the thief who stole my plane."

Davies whistled. "One 'ell of a trophy. Pilots are a mess without a commander, they teach the Russians that, they say. Kill the head of the snake and the rest falls apart."

"…I hope Temple is having a better time of it than that," Collins finally said, after a long silence. They could see the island at this point, black against the black sky, and yet-- Badger was doing much better than him. Twenty gallons in his tank would be generous, and as Collins stared at the fuel gauge it seemed to drop visibly, ticking away his life, ticking away the time Temple Squadron had a deserter for a commander instead of a dead commander.

The broken engine sputtered again, the airframe shook around him, he sank a few dozen more feet. "I might make it with the glide, but I might have to ditch in the water. We'll see."

"Right."

He made another distress call, but the two pilots didn't say much more to each other. Even when the engine 'ran,' now, it didn't want to put out the same kind of thrust. The speed indicator kept dropping, the altitude indicator, the fuel indicator, all ticking down, grains of sand in an hourglass as Luzon crawled closer.

Maybe thirty klicks out, the pierced engine stopped for good, then the other a few moments later, as the last of the fuel burned up or dripped into the sea. "Fucker. I'm out. I think there's a beach…a little south of our bearing?"

Badger took a deep breath on comms, steeling himself. "I see it. Are you going to try and ditch there?"

"No better options, are there?"

"No." The second pilot hesitated. "I'll bring help back. I still have a ways left to go."

"Yeah. You've been gimping your speed to stay with me too."

The less-damaged plane and its pilot separated from Collins, and started to accelerate, banking away to the south where the lights of a city gleamed. "I'll be back. Really. Even if you're dead I'll be back."

Collins didn't respond. And now he was alone. No men to protect, just his own skin.

They'd practiced engine-out landings, but this wasn't that, there was no runway. He was just falling out of the sky. He pulled the plane into a glide configuration, didn't bother but to glance at the altimeter now, just watched the sea and the strip of sand loom up to meet him. He wasn't going to make it. There would be no leaving a trail screaming onto the beach, he was going to skip across the water like a rock and his plane would shatter and sink and none of them would know what happened to him. God.

An instant before his borrowed Meteor hit the waves, Collins wondered if Davies would make it to an airstrip. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the canopy splintering from the impact.

[bbcstdb]

Bill You know I have an uncle who works in putting tribal people back in their land in Mexico. I hung out with his daughter who is younger but somehow still my aunt only maybe once as a kid. When she was of a "ladies" age she had a black and white party and didn't invite my fam. (Blonde, white looking, yo no sabo mexican mutt.)

When I turned 15, I made sure to invite her to participate in my court. (I, too, am a mutt. Sadly, I got the genes of the oppressed in history.)

Btw you don't think what white people did to Natives was savagery? The GENOCIDE of people in their land was not of Primitive cannibalistic barbarianism? Does violence only matter when it comes from a background you don't like? A color you don't like? If someone told me you believe in god, I'd say no.

If you are homophobic, congrats you're also racist, or colonized of mind. Not of sound mind at all. You live in a first world country Bill. The Natives gave you Maize and taught you to take care of crops before you backstabbed them as any retarded man typically does. You have the internet you have history at your fingertips. Homophobes= racist.

Hope that helps.

Decolonize yourself you old nazi fuck.

Head ass elon butt muncher. Such a sell out. Not surprised by the ignorant erasure of history by another straight white fucktard male. Not respectable at all. You get children killed, and you hurt them into hiding, getting kicked out by their boomer parents that watch your trash ass show. Some just commit suicide because stinky fucking odious men like you push hate.

Men like you make me happy to burn the AMERICAN flag, no questions asked.

Bill be like SEPARATE, but equal.

At least Natives and some African cultures respected a person's energies for what they were. Women hunted, or men did what women did. One of these days I have to talk about an Alien theory that could be translated into other layers of different parts of this grand fucking onion male dominated hell hole humanity is. Sometimes I get so hateful that I start talking like A MAN.

[riverphoenixsgothwife]

Answer All of Them

Portrait of an American Family:

My Monkey: Preferred name or pseudonym?

kitty katastrophe-berkowitz

Dope Hat: Pronouns?

she/her/hers

Lunchbox: Birthday/Zodiac?

december 21st/teh one that’s a long word and starts with s!! i can’t spell it lmao

Get Your Gunn: How do you feel right now?

good, thank you!!

Cake and Sodomy: Something that makes you happy? (other than Manson)

gingerbread men!! they’re a long-standing hyperfixation/comfort thing for me

Smells Like Children:

Diary of a Dope Fiend: Do you have any addictions or obsessions? (does not have to be drugs, could be sweets, social media, a certain band ;), etc)

marilyn manson ahahah

I Put a Spell on You: What do you look for in a friend/partner?

for both a friend and a boyfriend, sweet and kind and someone who enjoys hanging out with me and who i enjoy hanging out with as well

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This): Biggest dream or goal you have?

i have quite a few!! being in a band, being a mom someday in teh far future, owning a parrot!!

Scabs, Guns, and Peanut Butter: Do you have any piercings or tattoos?

one ear (other ear has a rip in it and so it can’t be pierced), eyebrow piercing, septum piercing!l. more incoming

Shitty Chicken Gangbang: Something that pisses you off?

hmmm i’m not sure!! i’m not very angry usually

Antichrist Superstar:

Irresponsible Hate Anthem: What is something you are passionate about/would fight for?

ableism and disability accomodations

The Beautiful People: Talk about someone you love? (platonic, romantic, family, etc)

meh mommy!! she and i are extremely close <33

Antichrist Superstar: What do you like most about yourself?

i think i’m very loving and have a lot of love to give

The Reflecting God: Are you religious?

yeah, i definitely believe in god and heaven. i would consider myself catholic

Angel With the Scabbed Wings: Biggest fear? Or just a fear that you have?

dogs!!

Wormboy: Do you play any instruments or sing?

i sing and i’m trying to teach myself keyboard

Tourniquet: Ever broken any bones? Which ones and how?

nope!

Mechanical Animals:

Great Big White World: Any place you want to visit or your favorite place you have visited?

i’d like to go to new york city!!!

The Dope Show: Favorite movie/TV show/book?

fight club, pokémon anime, also fight club

Rock is Dead: How did you find Marilyn Manson and/or become a fan?

picked up a random cd at a store when i was 11, and it turned out to be gaog!!

I Don't Like the Drugs (But the Drugs Like Me): Are you closed off to new people or more outgoing?

i’m super shy until you know me, and then i am Not lmao

Last Day on Earth: Do you have a bucket list? If so, what's on it?

i don’t exactly, but i just want to live life to teh fullest in general <33 there are things i want to do, certqinly

Coma White: Have you ever lost someone important to you?

yes.

Holy Wood:

The Love Song: Relationship status?

single

The Fight Song: Outlet of choice? (writing, exercise, social media, substances, etc)

music listening and drawing

Disposable Teens: What music did you listen to in your teens? Was it embarrassing?

i’m currently 17!

The Nobodies: What helps you feel better when you are depressed and/or lonely?

meh family

The Death Song: Thoughts on death? Do you fear it?

i do fear it and have anxiety about it sometimes, but i do believe in heaven which is a comfort

Burning Flag: Do you hold grudges?

i try not to!!

The Golden Age of Grotesque:

This is the New Shit: Define your music taste?

goth rock and metal are meh favorite genres!! i really like industrial and emo as well.

mOBSCENE: Where do you feel most at home?

meh house!

(S)aint: Do you think you're a good person?

i hope so!!!

EAT ME, DRINK ME:

If I Was Your Vampire: Favorite mythical/fantasy creature and/or cryptid/monster?

vampires, actually!!

Heart Shaped Glasses (When the Heart Guides the Hand): Describe your personal style?

mall goth <333

You and Me and the Devil Makes 3: Why do you love music?

it’s a medium of both comfort and expression for me

Putting Holes in Happiness: Biggest insecurity you have? (about yourself or otherwise)

ooh lol that’s a hard one! i have a lot of them unfortunately haha

EAT ME, DRINK ME: Favorite food and drink?

chicken sandwiches with pickles and nothing else, and monster energy drinks!!!

The High End of the Low:

Devour: What drains you, mentally or physically?

school

Arma-goddamn-motherfuckin-geddon: You're going to die tomorrow, what do you do today?

spend time with meh loved ones

Running to the Edge of the World: Something you wish you could leave behind?

meh trauma from being bullied

I Want To Kill You Like They Do In the Movies: Are you interested in serial killers or horror?

not serial killers in real life, NEVER anything true crime. but yes horror!!

Born Villain:

No Reflection: If you could change one thing about your appearance what would you choose?

more piercings without me having to set up teh appointments and wait and feel teh pain haha, just like magic instant piercings :PP

Pistol Whipped: Sexuality?

straight

Slo-Mo-Tion: Song you could have on repeat for hours? (Manson or otherwise)

spade by marilyn manson

You're so Vain: Last person you said "I love you" to?

meh daddy

The Pale Emperor:

Killing Strangers: Favorite Marilyn Manson album or era?

mechanical animals album wise, but era wise spooky kids

Deep Six: Is Marilyn Manson important to you for reasons other than being an amazing band?

yes <3

Third Day of a Seven Day Binge: Ever been to a Marilyn Manson concert before? How was it?

i have!!! twins of evil tour :3 it was awesomeeeee, so good!!!

The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles: Favorite music video?

long hard road out of hell!

Cupid Carries a Gun: What do you consider Manson's genre?

gothic industrial rock

Heaven Upside Down:

Tattooed in Reverse: Favorite song? + Favorite Marilyn song?

user-friendly + user-friendly ahahahah

SAY10: Most underrated song?

red in meh head

KILL4ME: Favorite member or member you most admire and why?

daisy berkowitz!! founding member who is very little acknowledged, seems like he was a total sweetheart by all accounts, extremely talented, adorable

Saturnalia: Are you attracted to any member (past or present) of Marilyn Manson?

literally so many of them 😭😭😭

JE$U$ CRI$I$: Which past member (if any) do you wish stayed in the band?

daisy berkowitz

Blood Honey: Most underrated/underappreciated member?

…also daisy berkowitz

You're so Vain: Last person you said «I love you" to?

meh daddy

Heaven Upside Down: Do you think Marilyn's a good person?

no.

Singles:

God's Gonna Cut You Down: Has his music gotten "worse" over time in your opinion?

nope!

WE ARE CHAOS: Did you like WE ARE CHAOS and/or thoughts on the new album?

i liked it very much!

[katzkinder]

I have never done this before, swore to myself I never would, but I feel obligated after my initial encounter with tumblr user @nurul-cerise led to a friendship based on lies and culminated in the most painful discovery I could have made, and I want to spare others the kind of hurt that comes with learning someone you thought was your friend is actually a violent queerphobe who wants you and all your friends dead, and only played pretend because she liked the things you wrote and drew, and then has the fucking NERVE to claim that your and others anger is only because you're """islamophobic"""

I apologize for the length, but I will not be putting this under readmore because I believe it is that important.

Cerise is a part of a lot of fandoms with strong LGBTQ presence, and it doesn't sit right with me to ignore that, especially given how american cartoon fandoms like ROTMNT and Ben 10 have a much more saturated number of young and vulnerable viewers.

This is her Instagram account, and her tumblr URL is listed above.

On this account she has made reels featuring videos from Jordan Peterson, a well known anti trans activist who has called being trans a "contagion" and made multiple appearances on the podcast of Joe Rogan, another well known extreme conservative who holds about every bigoted feeling towards a minority you could think of. The third video from him she shared is especially telling because she isn't even american. The only reason she has to share it is to be hateful and cruel.

She also shared this video of Ben Shapiro mocking trans identities in the classic style of “if you identify as x i can identify as y”. In this case, it’s claiming he should be allowed to identify as 60 years old.

This is proof of her supporting and being friends with other homophobes, with the first screenshot including OP being blatantly proud of their hatred. Be warned, the third screenshot is very upsetting.

This last set of screenshots is mostly from her tumblr. She claims to be a "peaceful" non-supporter. We all know that isn't possible, as no such thing exists. You are either helping to protect us or you are helping to murder us.

And even IF that were a possible stance to take, the above reels on instagram, along with this video she shared of a woman burning a rainbow flag, prove that she is lying through her damn, hateful, hypocritical teeth.

When I personally confronted her after a friend found some concerning things on her instagram and shared them with me, initially I only spoke to a few others in a discord server for a very tiny fandom, Servamp, about it, and warned them to stay away for their own safety. I regret not bringing that to tumblr immediately now, because not only did it not prevent people harassing her like I had hoped to (I'm soft, sue me), she has since that incident gotten even more bold in her disgusting behavior. Completely mask off in how much she hates those of us who literally make every single bit of content for these fandoms she claims to "love" so much.

Block her, don't talk to her, get rid of her. Don't tolerate this kind of person in our safe spaces. I don't want all of you to be hurt the way I and others were.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Bad Romance - Joaquin Torres X Reader

Song: Bad Romance - (961) lady gaga - bad romance ( s l o w e d ) - YouTube

Summary: The reader is an enhanced individual with the ability to replicate other people’s abilities. A member of the Avengers, she has been working alongside Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to investigate the Flag Smashers but the man calling himself the next Captain America poses an obstacle when he takes interest in her abilities. 

Author’s Note: Hello! So this is my first time posting a fic I've written. I’ve been writing since 2018 but never had the courage to post anything so I hope you all enjoy my story. Torres has only been in ‘The Falcon and The Winter Soldier’ for like five minutes but I’m in love with him. There obviously isn’t enough fiction out there about him so I took it upon myself to write one. This is an idea I came up with in my head, aside from the plot of the show. Listen to the song for added effect. I’ve inserted timings as well :)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, Canon-level Violence, blood, romance

Word count: 2.5K

Darkness is all you’ve known these past hours.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you’ve last had contact with anyone. Sam would usually check in with you about now, but that didn’t seem a likely possibility. 

Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you’re pretty confident that you have a few broken ribs from how difficult breathing is. The sound of metal creaking echoes in the empty room as you rattle your restraints. 

You’ve been quite literally chained to the wall. 

They weren’t taking any precautions.

Especially after witnessing the dozen agents you could take down all by yourself. 

Leaning against the wall, you try to reach some semblance of comfort, laying some of your weight against the hard-rock. Your neck burns from the collar they attached when you caught you off-guard. 

It was during a recon mission, you were chasing a lead about the Flag Smashers’ next meet up when they showed. Half a dozen armed men in tactical gear. 

They snagged a collar on you, disabling your powers.

You didn’t anticipate this.

All you heard was a piercing noise and then you blacked out.

You couldn’t access your powers as soon as that light buzzed. Trying to summon fire warranted a little electric shock to your system. Little, meaning severe enough to take down an elephant. 

Yeah, so getting out of here would be tricky.

Isn’t it always?

Five guards have remained in the room for the past two days, monitoring, watching. 

For what? 

You have only the slightest idea why.

The double doors which have remained close for the past two days creak open. The blue uniform is familiar to you but the face donning the outfit is not. He’s an imposter wearing a costume, a mock of the real thing. John Walker, along with his so-called ‘American squadron’, had grabbed you as a statement. Sam and Bucky certainly weren’t going to stay out of it because someone told them to. You all followed a code, to protect those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, it's been a while since we met last...I’m sorry for the way you were handled on the way here but it was the only way I could get to talk to you.”, he said, looking at the bruises beginning to form.

He talked nonchalantly as if this were a normal conversation. Your wrists were raw from pulling away from the cuffs, clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. He strode up to you, pulling his helmet off and placing it carefully on a metal crate.

“Now, I know Bucky and Sam had a lot to say about me, but you, you were always silent. I thought we had an understanding.”

‘An understanding?’

You refuse to look at him.

“You talk big words for someone who couldn’t begin to understand the legacy of that uniform.”

“I earned this! I put in the work. All they want is someone to look up to. To show them that justice still exists.”, he paces in front of you.

“Justice. Is it?”, your eyes narrow.

He pauses in thought, seething with internalised spite. Pacing the floor, he turns his back to you.

“Have you had time to think about my question?”

You remain silent, glaring at his mockery of Steve’s uniform.

“No? Okay. That’s fine,”, he whispered.

Walker signalled for a guard to open the doors once more and two more men entered, dragging someone along. You squint your eyes to identify the person as they dump them in front of you. 

“No”, you whispered desperately, your breath caught in your throat.

You spot Joaquin’s dark hair and tan complexion, more so, the blood staining his clothes. The men dragged Joaquin next to Walker, letting him slump to the floor. From what you could see, he had been beaten pretty badly, the bruises already beginning to form on his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and he’s unable to hold his own weight. 

Panic fills Torres as he notices the chains securing you to the wall. The last he heard over the coms was a struggle. He and Sam had been surveilling to get anything they could on your kidnappers.

You could only hear the rapid beating of your heart in your throat as blood rushed to your face. Your breathing quickens as you don’t quite know what will happen next. 

John broke the silence,

“I’m going to ask you again.”

“Then, I'm going to count from three.”, he said, pulling a silencer out from his waistband and cocking it at Joaquin who rested on his knees.

“What are you?”

You stare at him incredulously, unresponsive. 

You look down at Joaquin as he gazes up at you, helpless to move with guns trained on you. He’s telling you to stop, to lie, to do anything but give yourself up.

“What answer do you want?”, you asked, using all your strength to lift your head up.

“You want me to say I’m a freak? A mutant? An experiment? What good does that do you? Everyone knows it.”, you huff, sharpening your glare.

He stares down at Joaquin and kicks his foot out against the ground, clicking his tongue. Walker threw his foot into Joaquin’s back, pushing him into the floor.

“Not that.”

You watch as he points the gun harder.

“Tell me. What. You. Are.”, he grits out.

You clench your jaw hard, shutting your eyes tightly. A burning sensation fights in your chest, spreading to your arms. You suck in a breath desperately, a whimper tearing from your throat as your head drops.

The click of the safety echoes loudly.

(1:26s of the song)

Your eyes shoot open, blazing red and as the chains snap free from the wall. The metal clangs loudly against the floor, triggering the five weapons now pointed at your chest. A surge of fire ignites as you swipe your leg, knocking the agents back. The two standing closest raise their guns as you tilt your head and launch a blast of fire from your hand. The next agent replaces him, firing his gun consecutively, but you strut towards him, swiping them away with blasts omitting from your hands. You send a roundhouse kick with a wall of fire, propelling him through the exit. The remaining three encircle you with their weapons, clicking the safety off.

Your hands burn, glowing red with the heightening energy,

“Okay, you got me.”

You raise your hands in surrender as one of them steps towards. Faltering a step, you inhale deeply as he grabs your arm. Once he sets a hand on you, you exhale, breathing out a stream of fire. You twirl in a circle, the fire pushing them back and blocking their sight of you as they flinch from the heat. Dropping to the floor, you strike the cement and crack the surface. The building’s structure shakes as a cloud of energy dissipates from the contact, incapacitating the last of the soldiers.

Walker fixes his gun on Joaquin but you focus your glare on him. You wait as he stares at you, knowing he has the advantage.

"I'd stop right now, if I were you."

You silently stare at him with blazing fire burning in your orbs. The clicking of the safety reverberates in your mind as all movement stops. The muzzle of the gun is inches away from Joaquin's head.

“Alright, you’ve had your show now.”

You've got mere seconds to make a decision here.

He remains still, as Joaquin’s eyes meet yours and you nod your head slightly. 

It’ll be okay because you’d never let anything happen to each other.

"Walker, you've made your point. Look, it's me you really want, not Torres.", You snipped, grabbing his attention. 

Joaquin’s heart raced faster, 

What were you doing?

You could see the gears turning in Walker’s head, his eyebrows perk up.

"C'mon, this whole thing was to get to me, right? To weaponize me. It's my power. So take it. Just let him go." 

Walker pauses in thought,

"I don't think I will." 

You knew that'd be his answer but he was too busy looking at you to notice anything else. Joaquin threw his leg out, kicking Walker’s shin to knock him off his centre.

Moving quickly, you roundhouse, knocking the gun from his hand and driving your foot into his knee. He lets out a pained yell, ducking your elbow jab and rolling behind you. You roll forwards, swooping your flames across the floor to knock Walker on his back. He rolls to the side, standing again to flick open a compact switch from his pocket. He struggles for a moment as you strut over, but he presses the button down with conviction. 

You falter in your steps as a loud piercing sound breaches your cranium and hearing. It’s overwhelming, threatening to shatter your skull. A whimper falls from your mouth as both hands grasp your head. You can faintly hear Joaquin yelling your name from behind. The pain is unbearable. Joaquin bangs the cuffs on a metal crate behind him, forcing them to break. 

Your vision blurs as you clumsily move towards Walker. Once you’re close enough to him, you throw an uncoordinated right hook but he catches it and returns with a kick to your chest, knocking you to the floor. The pain continues, eliciting a moan from you as it grows worse with each second. Joaquin watches as you scream in agony, sprinting towards Walker and tackling him to the floor. Walker loses the switch from his hand, punching Joaquin in the jaw to get him off. Joaquin hisses as his head hits the floor, but he’s quickly grappling for the switch before Walker can get his hands on it. Scanning the floor, he sights it inches away from where you’re curled up in a ball. He’s crawling over to make it but a grip on his shoulder halts him, flipping him over and punching him repeatedly. 

Over the intense clanging, you see black dots form in your sight as you want to pass out. You hear grunts nearby and the sound of a fist making contact with skin. You flicker your eyes upward to see Walker’s figure looming over someone. 

‘Joaquin...where’s Joaquin?’

You close your eyes and force yourself up, struggling to gain your bearings. Upon opening your eyes, you notice something within your reach. Crawling forward, your fingers barely touch it. You try again and again before you feel the metal beneath your fingertips. Finally, you have it in your hands and crush it. The metal crunches and the ringing ceases. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you push yourself off the floor.

More coherent now, you angrily send a blast of energy to knock Walker off of Joaquin. Scrambling off the floor, he brings his fists in front of him, but you've already there, standing in front of him.

"I’m going to count from three.”, you said.

Striking a wave in his direction, you blast fire into his chest, your eyes imbuing fluttering embers.

‘Three’

You continue your onslaught, attacking him with multiple blows of rage. 

Your figure looms over Walker, blocking Joaquin from his sight.  

‘Two’

Your hands emit a fiery glow as you project flames, igniting a huge blast which sends Walker crashing through the window and down below.

‘One’

Gazing down the terrace, you saw Walker’s unconscious body laying on the crushed roof of a car. The authorities would show up eventually. 

Looking back inside, you finally start to feel the adrenaline rush declining. You move away from the window to find Torres leaning against a crate. Joaquin's face is bruised and cut-up as he holds his side with a grimace. 

"Joaquin, are you okay?!", 

You rush over to hold his other arm, scanning him for serious injuries. 

He stops your moving hands to grip them,

"(Y/N), I'm okay, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. You almost died. How did you do that?", Joaquin asked, concern lingering in his eyes at the magnitude of your powers.

"I-I don't know. I guess my powers have always been linked to my emotions and then you were in danger. It was kind of instinctive, you know?"

"I could never let anything happen to you. Never.", She whispered silently, not noticing if he had caught it.

Joaquin moved to grasp her chin in his hand, pulling her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"You saved me."

You glanced over his face and the clear pain he was hiding from his injuries. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay. I-I was afraid...It shouldn't have been you.", You said to Joaquin, tears glinting in your sight.

"I'm not going anywhere. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.", he said, moving closer as your eyes meet his deep and endearing gaze.

"We should call Sam.", You suggested.

"I'll call him later."

Yours eyes met as he leaned his forehead on yours. You inhaled deeply as he gripped your hands tightly as if you would fall out of his grasp. Joaquin's arms encircle your waist and pull you in his embrace. Your arms rest around his neck, nestling your head against his shoulder.

You hold each other tightly in a moment of calm, seeking comfort from that person. The one person you would always seek out. 

You pull away, but his arms remain around your waist.

"You're so beautiful.", He whispers.

Your breathing shudders for a second before you decide to go for it,

"I-I love you, Joaquin."

You gauge his reaction as his eyes widen slightly. He leans in and guides his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and passionately, his hands still gripping your waist. You sigh and stand on your tip-toes, tugging the hairs on the back of Joaquin's neck to bring him closer. You both pause, gasping for air for a moment. Kisses linger in between breaths as you both wind down from the intense 24 hours you've had, emotionally and physically.

"For the record, I love you too.", He grins, laughing at your eye roll.

"I didn't quite catch that, why don't you show me again?", You winked, biting your lip as his arms swooped around you again and tugged you closer. 

Barely brushing your lips, he looks between your eyes and then your lips.

"I think we can arrange that."

Your breath catches as your lips brush his. You smiled, closing your eyes, as does Joaquin. You swayed in his arms as his lips encased yours once more. 

Suddenly, red and blue flashing lights breach your vision from below. Sirens surrounded you both. You separated, glancing outside the broken window. 

Police cars surrounded the building. Reinforcements had arrived. His hand still grips yours and you motion to help him take some of his weight, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"We should get of here.", You pushed open the door to exit down a flight of stairs. 

"Yeah.", Joaquin replied, grinning down at you as you walked out together.

Reblog, like, comment if you liked it and any thoughts xx

[96thdayofrage]

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

[circumstellars]

Re: recent anti/fandom violence

In light of last weekends’ events that happened in the greater fandom environment, I realise how patient and tolerant I’ve been to antis and those who may quietly support anti behaviour, in hopes that knowing me (a neutral casual), and some of the amazing people I’ve met along the way, would change their minds and show them everything is okay. I can see now we don’t have that kind of luxury, and I’m wasting time. The word on the street is that the bullying, harassment and anti-shipper violence and book burning has gotten so prolific and dangerous, inescapable, that some adults have been doxxed and lost their livelihoods, or had their family and children harassed, and a MINOR, a 15 year old shipper in another fandom may have actually succumbed to the death threats sent to them (yes, possible suicide).

because it was never about protecting real people, real children, or real CSA survivors, many among our ranks who use fiction as a form of therapy and escapism, no - it’s always about fictional people first and their sick and twisted Christian extremist faux morality.

not to mention, one of the most incredible gifts to fandom in the last 50 years, AO3, is getting attacked left and right, from antis trying to crash the servers and bully the volunteers out of their jobs.

-

I know you (anti shippers) hate shipping, and villains, and having fun with imagination and reading comprehension, because you’re most likely a white, American, repressed and mentally ill kid or young adult who wasn’t taught what fiction is and how it operates in your flagging school system and that no matter what you say it’s right, but I’m done trying to reach across the aisle, educate, bring people over to a happier, more wholesome fandom.  I mean we will still have that, but hateful people will simply have to rot outside our spaces. im not risking the life, comfort, safety and enjoyment of myself, or any of the good people and friends who exist near me, around me just so i can be the bigger person. I don’t even know how to process that yet another life may have been lost to sick and twisted extremists who can’t mind their business and their own spaces. Real kids are getting hurt, and real adults too. You don’t care about trauma survivors - WE ARE TRAUMA SURVIVORS.

Anyone who is an anti, has anti leanings, has supported or harassed anyone over their fictional proclivities (whatever ship that is in whatever fandom, i don’t care for what), is NOT WELCOME ON MY BLOG. You are not welcome to our server, or to speak with me either. Anti shipping propaganda is extremely homophobic, racist and sexist at its core, and if that’s how you want to live, so be it, but stay the hell away from me and my community.

this is not to say you have to like any ships or certain ships, or dynamics that make you uncomfortable to be welcome - I am specifically speaking to those who hate and spew hatred to the real people who like things they don’t. real people, with lives, loves, families and jobs - the real people getting hurt or worse.

-

Sorry for the long post but I needed to reaffirm what I’m about, because I do have a slow but steady growth of followers as I continue on doing my otherwise quiet giffing and reblogging, but I’m clearly too tolerant. I’m not going to continue being patient with people who would laugh on twitter or tumblr about someone in the fandom committing suicide, let alone a baby, a child. fuck you.

I’m sorry this is such a dreadful and dreary topic, but it has to be spoken about. pretending it isn’t happening will make it worse. I want people who follow me to know I will defend your right to enjoy whatever the hell you want, whether I like it or not. your life is not mine to dictate, or take.

thank you all.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything is now ruined.

Chapter 22: Then It Ended

As soon as we came, Annabeth ang Grover tackled me. We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls— Percy told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched him and told him to shut up. Percy being the son of Poseidon, he didn't have any cabin mates, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make his shroud. They'd taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border, and the word LOSER painted really big in the middle.

As I was still unclaimed, Hermes cabin had made me one. (Just... IDK go crazy with your shroud IG) It was fun to burn. As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, Percy and I was surrounded by my Hermes cabinmates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past." The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive us for disgracing their dad. That was okay with me. Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the little brats didn't get themselves killed and now they'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...." Going back to the cabin I finally had time to talk to Luke. Who just expressed his relief of me being fine, and how he was scared when Annabeth told everyone about me. No wonder everyone was so shocked seeing me come back with Percy. On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors. As Annabeth, Percy and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. "I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend. Annabeth and I gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on. I asked him where he was going to search first. "Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..." "We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?" "Yeah." "And you remembered your reed pipes?" "Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed. He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway. "Well," he said, "wish me luck." He gave Annabeth and I another hug. He clapped Percy on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes. Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware. "Hey, Grover," Percy called. He turned at the edge of the woods. "Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas." Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him. "We'll see him again," Annabeth said. July passed. I spent my daysplanning out strategies with Luke for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava. From time to time, Percy and I would walk past the Big House, he'd glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle.

I tried to convince him that its prophecy had come to completion. "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned." "Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades." "You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned." "Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades." "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend." Percy recited. "Ares had pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us. That must be what the Oracle meant.... Or maybe Nereid?"

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end." He sighed. "I had failed to save my mom and lost you..."

"So why are you still uneasy?" The last night of the summer session came all too quickly. The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads. Percy and I got our own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.

"This is so beautiful..." I smiled to Percy. "The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!" The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year. * * * The next morning, Luke called me. He gave me a paper, telling me to fill it out, and asked me to meet him as soon as I could. I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear (WRONG NAME) , If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit. Have a nice day! Mr. D (Dionysus) Camp Director, Olympian Council #12 That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still don't know what to do. I had no where to go to. The only option I had was Percy's or maybe Hades was not joking about inviting me back to the Underworld. Sighing I decided to just meet Luke before filling it for second opinions. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. I was walking around looking for Luke. I jumped when I felt someone tap me from behind. I instinctively unsheathed my knife and turned only to see Luke with his hands raised.

"Whoa! Calm down just me." He laughed.

"Kinda weird seeing someone laugh at a knife pointed at them." I smirked sheathing my knife.

"I only laugh since its you." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Are you done with everything?"

"Not really. I don't know whether to leave or not yet. That's why I came. Help me?" I asked him.

He turned to me and to the forest. "How about you hear me out about something... important and private... then decide?" He gestured towards the forest.

"Not planning on killing me are you?" I squinted at him.

He gasped. "Not you. Never. I would never hurt you."

I let him lead me to a shrouded area of the forest.

"How serious is this thing that you can't let anyone see? I am blindly trusting you here Luke." I laughed nervously. But when he didn't reply I felt something was off. "Luke, okay this isn't cool. How deep into the forest do we have to go?"

"Y/N remember when you said... You want to be the person I trust...? How you promised to help me?"

"Luke?" He took my hand and pulled me sharply. I winced at how hard he pulled me. "That hurts! Let me go!"

He snapped back and let go of my wrist. "I-I'm sorry... Y/N..."

As much as I knew I had to leave, I couldn't I was worried about him. I reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening?"

"I did it..." I said and sat on the ground. "I swear I didn't mean to get you hurt. But, I confess to everything. I  stole bolt and helm, I summoned the hound, I gave Percy the cursed shoes... And just now, I tried to kill Percy Jackson." He looked at me with empty eyes.

I shot up and looked at him in emotions I couldn't put in words. "W-Wh---" I wanted to leave and check on Percy. But once again, seeing him right now... I need to stay with him. "Why are you telling me this...?"

"Join me... please?" his voice was weak. He sounded vulnerable. "Let's serve my Lord together..."

"L-Luke... no. I-I can't do that!" I took his shoulder, "Y-You should stay with me instead. How about that, huh? L-Let's explain to Chiron and the others... come on please. I could help you!"

Nothing was working.

"Come with me..." He muttered.

"Luke, I won't join you. You have to change your mind. You can't do this."

"I can't change my mind."

"I can help you with that? How about you go with me huh? I could spend all my time doing this and that. Please, just change your mind."

He didn't reply for a while until he whispered, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You'll stay with me."

"What? Luke I wo--"

"You won't join... Just...don't stay here for the year... and stay with me."

"I-If I stay with you... what would that mean?"

"Yo-You... might change my mind."

"I'll go." I replied with no hesitation. "I'll leave camp for the year. And I'll find my parent to prove to you that Gods and Goddess aren't all bad. We'll find my parent together."

"I do my lord's bidding--"

"You can still do it. If you want to. But whatever happens... stays only between us. I'll stay with you until I change your mind. And I'll bring you back to camp."

"I would never do anything to ruin your trust in me." He knelt down. It was kinda awkward but hey... "I need you."

Worry not hero. We shall stay.

"Please..."

We'll meet again. Wait for us, we shall join you soon. Now leave.

I had no idea what happened since when I came to Luke was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. How were we going to st---

We will meet him once we leave. Now go as our hero needs us.

I suddenly remembered Percy's state that Luke had told me about. So I ran. I ran to the Big House

***

Percy finally opened his eyes. He was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner. Annabeth and I sat next to Percy, I was holding his nectar glass and she was dabbing a washcloth on his forehead.

"Here we are again," Percy said. "You idiot," Annabeth said, "You were green and turning gray when we found you. If it weren't for Chiron's healing..." "Now, now," Chiron's voice said. "Percy's constitution deserves some of the credit." He was sitting near the foot of the bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale, the way it did when he'd been up all night grading Latin papers. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved." "Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened." Between sips of nectar, he told them the story.

I bit my lip trying to keep what happened between Luke and I private. It was a risky move that would not be approved by anyone after all. The room was quiet for a long time. "I can't believe that Luke..." Annabeth's voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and sad. "Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him.... He was never the same after his quest."

Percy was looking at me as if checking what was my reaction to his story. "This must be reported to Olympus," Chiron murmured. "I will go at once." "Luke is out there right now," Percy said. "I have to go after him." Chiron shook his head. "No, Percy. The gods—" "Won't even talk about Kronos," Percy snapped. "Zeus declared the matter closed!" "Percy, I know this is hard. But you must not rush out for vengeance. You aren't ready." "Chiron... your prophecy from the Oracle... it was about Kronos, wasn't it? Was I in it? Y/N? And Annabeth?" Chiron glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Percy, it isn't my place—" "You've been ordered not to talk to me about it, haven't you?" His eyes were sympathetic, but sad. "You will be a great hero, child. I will do my best to prepare you. But if I'm right about the path ahead of you..." Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the windows. "All right!" Chiron shouted. "Fine!" He sighed in frustration. "The gods have their reasons, Percy. Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing." "We can't just sit back and do nothing," He said. "We will not sit back," Chiron promised. "But you must be careful. Kronos wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently. Your time will come." "Assuming I live that long." Chiron put his hand on Percy's ankle. "You'll have to trust me, Percy. You will live. But first you must decide your path for the coming year. I cannot tell you the right choice...." I got the feeling that he had a very definite opinion, and it was taking all his willpower not to advise me. "But you must decide whether to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, or return to the mortal world for seventh grade and be a summer camper. Think on that. When I get back from Olympus, you must tell me your decision." "I'll be back as soon as I can," Chiron promised. "Argus will watch over you." He glanced at Annabeth. "Oh, and, my dear... whenever you're ready, they're here." "Who's here?" Percy asked. Nobody answered. Chiron rolled himself out of the room. I heard the wheels of his chair clunk carefully down the front steps, two at a time. Annabeth studied the floor. "What's wrong?" Percy asked her. "Nothing. I ... just took your advice about something. You ... um ... need anything?" "Yeah. Help me up. I want to go outside." "Percy, that isn't a good idea." Percy slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth and I caught him before he could crumple to the floor.

I said, "I told you ..." "I'm fine," He insisted.

He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on me. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance. By the time we reached the porch, his face was beaded with sweat. But we had managed to make it all the way to the railing. It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun. "What are you going to do?" Annabeth asked us. "I don't know." Percy replied. "I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I'm not sure that's what I want. I also don't want to leave you both with Clarisse only." Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, "I'm going home for the year, Percy." He stared at her. "You mean, to your dad's?" She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia's pine tree, at the very edge of the camp's magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver. "I wrote him a letter when we got back," Annabeth said. "Just like you suggested. I told him... I was sorry. I'd come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided... we'd give it another try." "That took guts." She pursed her lips. "You won't try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least ... not without sending me an Iris-message? Both of you?" Percy managed a smile. "I won't go looking for trouble. I usually don't have to."

"You already know my plans."

"When I get back next summer," she said, "we'll hunt down Luke. We'll ask for a quest, but if we don't get approval, we'll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?" "Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena."

She held out her hand. Percy shook it. She gave me a hug. "Take care, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth told Percy. "Keep your eyes open."

"You too, Wise Girl."

Then turned to me, "Good luck on your own quest Droopy."

"Of course Peabody." We watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia's pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world. "I made my decision." Percy said. "What's yours?"

"I'll be leaving camp... I'm going to look for my parent..." He looked at me in shock. "I'll be back next summer," I promised him. "I'll survive until then."

"Alone?"

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to stay with us? Mom said---"

"I want to find my parent. I need to. I'll be fine Percy."

I helped Percy to his cabin so he could pack and went to mine. To my surprise I see a middle-aged man with an athletic figure slim and fit with salt-and-pepper hair, and a very familiar sly grin. He had bags at his foot.

"Delivery for Y/N L/N."

"Uhm..."

"Hermes." He said.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Personally packed. As a thank you for what you're about to do." He smiled softly and handed me the bags.

"H-Huh...?"

"For helping Luke."

"I..."

Don't forget her mail!

Ooh! And tell her to bring us snacks next time we meet since it'll be often now!

No it wouldn't be often! She'll be with Luke!

"Both of you keep quiet." Pulling out a mail he handed it to me. "Luke... prayed to me telling me about your plan. He asked me to help you. I don't know what or why he did it. But I know he'll change thanks to you. So do guide him."

"Sorry you lost me at the talking air..." I blinked.

Hermes laughed and showed a caduceus. "It's just George and Martha."

"Hi?"

Hello!

Hi

"I just wanted to let you know. No god or goddess could see you. No matter how hard they tried. So your secrets.. are really secrets. Good luck on your travel."

Next time we meet you should have snacks.

Then he vanished.

Staring at the letter on my hand, I was stunned seeing it was from... my mom and dad.

Sweetie,

You've made quite a friend here.

-Mom and Dad.

I immediately knew where to look. I hurriedly took my bags not bothering to check the contents. I ran to Percy's cabin and helped him out so we could leave.

Percy got a cab and looked at me worriedly.

"I'll write you. Stay safe Arthur Curry." I ruffled his hair and watched him go.

I didn't know where to go so I just went to the first secluded area I saw.

"You have more stuffs than when you arrived." I heard someone behind me.

"You prayed to your dad. I hope he knows how to pack." I sighed turning to him. Turning around I barely made out Luke from the few days I last saw him. "You okay?"

"Do you know where to look first?"

Call upon our hound.

I whistled, I don't know why. But when I did, D/N came out of the blue. Luke looked at me and my dear dog, who was probably bigger than the hound he'd summon back then. "How do feel about L.A?" I said riding on D/N and making space behind me for Luke.

~~~END OF BOOK 1~~~

Previous | Book 1 Masterlist | Series Masterlist

END OF BOOK ONE!!! THANK YOU FOR READING YLATHB I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I'LL PUBLISH BOOK 2 WHEN I'M DONE OR EVEN AT LEAST HAVE WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS OF THE BOOK 2 ;))

I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!!

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

[wenellyb]

hey! every now and then i've seen random posts about sebastian's comment/s on colin kap kneeling among other things, but i've never seen any source material or hard facts. do you have any posts about this or deconstruction of your own? i'd be very interested, ty!

Hey yourself😉!

So I've found the screenshot of the post (at the bottom) and just so you know he also posted an apolology but that one I couldn't find a screenshot of.

There are plenty of posts talking about this but I think most of them are old so it would take some time for me to find them.

If you want my opinion. The whole thing was f*cked up and I remember being extremely surprised and unfollowing him after that post.

And he did apologize, which is good and I do think he understands that that post was not great, but it wasn't my main issue.

When the whole story with Kaepernick happened it was a real eye opener and exposed a lot of racists even among celebrities. I'm looking at you Christopher Meloni. But not only him.

So Colin Kaepernick was to kneeling to protest against police violence and racism.

And a lot of people reacted like a lot of White people react when the topic of racism arise: deny everything and get defensive "How dare he protest blablabala" "He's so rich and he's saying White people are priviledged..." "How dare he say there is racism in this country". You know the usual.

But the thing is to me, the way he protested was the most respectful, and most peaceful way to protest and also so impactful. And some people had still a problem with it...I don't understand how ANYBODY could have a problem with it ... unless they were racist in one way or the other. That was the bar for me... I could not have respect ANYBODY who had a problem with him kneeling, because their message was clear “just sh*t up and play football”.

To me, anybody who had a problem with Colin Kaepernick taking a knee... was automatically problematic and the worst.

For other forms of protests there can always be arguments against it, lousy arguments, but arguements nevertheless: "They're blocking the streets" "There was violence during the protest",... etc... But what is your argument with having a man kneel during the National Anthem, to call out something as serious as police brutality.

To me it was clear that they just wanted Black Americans to shut up, and stay in their lane. "Sports have nothing to do with politics blablabla"

And unfortunately history proved Colin Kaepernick right, and I don't think anybody could voice bad opinions about him today, but at the time, a lot of people were criticizing him, calling him names, insulting him, and even some celebrities were talking about how disrespectful he was.

They cared more about the way he was voicing his protest, than the fact that racism was a real issue.

And because of the protests last year, I think a lot of people tend to forget about that time, but Kaepernick faced A LOT of backlash, A LOT and for what....??? Absolutely no justification. With the way some people reacted you would have thought he burned the American flag on a daily basis, or used it as toilet paper.

So having that in mind, it was really disheartening to see an actor you respect take part in that...

And just to be clear, this is my personal opinion, but I don't think Sebastian had any bad intention with that post (not like other celebrities who were outright criticizing Kaepernick, for some reason I only remember Chris Meloni lol). But the timing, and the content, even as a joke, even as a promotion tool for his movie was extremely bad. You also have to understand the context, and how there were a lot of people rooting against Kap.

Worst case scenerio Seb’s post was racist and best case scenario it was tone deaf.

I can only assume Sebastian watches the news in the US, so he must have known what the caption "take a knee" meant and still decided to post it... So maybe he wasn't ill-intentioned, but to him the topic was light enough that he could post it on his social media...

My main problem isn't even with Seb's post, it was a weird way to promote his movie, or a joke I don’t know. Artists do problematic stuff all the time, and it's up to the fans who support them to decide if they keep doing supporting him or not.

My main problem was and still is the reaction of the fandom, where White Seb stans think they know and understand racism better than anyone else. And honestly this is not me saying that Seb is racist, this is me saying that we should be allowed to voiced our opinions without being silenced or accused of trying to villainize him or cancel him blablabla .

But the Seb stans don't understand that and prefer to turn a blind eye.

I make difference between stans and fans. The Seb fans are the ones who are willing to listen, understand why some people might be offended and admit that their fav f*cked up. The stans are the annoying ones who yould rather keep their head in the sand.

And nobody is even asking to stop supporting Seb... If I cancel an actor, I will stop consuming his content, supporting him, paying to see his movies etc... But I'm not forcing anybody else to do it... But I would like to be free to voice my dislikes especially if that actor was being problematic... without the stans complaining about how "I don't know their fave"

I haven't cancelled Seb btw, I just don't feel like finding him excuses and glossing over the words and if I think that something he did was racist, I will say that it was racist, not "problematic" or "tactless" or "clumsy"...

I think that a lot of people are confused about what racism is, and think it is only White Supremacists who want to harm all non White people.

But it's not only that and in my opinion, there are many layers to racism. If you have "nothing against Blacl people" but there is a part of you that believes you or White people are better than Black people, well you are racist... If not hiw would you describe it? I have already told this story, but I have a friend who swore she wasn't racist and we even had a big debate about racism, and a few weeks later, her boyfriend told me that during a family dinner, she had talked about a common Black friend of theirs saying "She is pretty for a Black girl"... But if you ask my friend, she will say she isn't racist.

If you try to silence people calling out racism, you are contributing to it instead of fighting it.

Another example, I received a lot of "problematic" comments at work from coworkers on my hair, my origins etc, but when I talked about it to my friends and said those comments were racists.. they said that I was "overeacting" that those comments were harmless or just my colleagues being "ignorant". But one time, I was done with it and I wrote to HR about it losting all the comments I had received and the HR director called me and told me that those comments were racist full stop, he didn't try to minimize it or act like I was exagerrating.

And that's how I see the reactions of Seb stans whenever something from him re-sufaces, like my friends who just act like it is nothing.

Just so you know you are not helping when you do that.

They act as if we're suppoosed to accept that because "it's not that big of a deal". Who told you that? How do you determine what is a big deal or not? Especially when you have never dealt with racism?

Fandom behaves as if people who were hurt or offended by that post were overracting. "It was a joke" "It was a long time ago" "He would never do somthing racist"

How hard is it to say " I can see that my fave did something problematic, or that what he did was racist, and I would still like to support him but I understand that people were hirt"??? How hard is it to continue to stan your fave WITHOUT trying to silence people who call out the behavior.

And also the way they refuse to use the words is annoying... it's always "I'm sorry if anybody was offended", never "What I did/wrote was racist and I know better now". If no one wants to admit it when they do racist stuff... nobody will never get anywhere... Like my friend who is convinced that she isn't racist but goes around thinking that White Women are more beautiful than Black Women, and even says it when surrounded by her family. 

And people act like the people who were hurt have no reason to be hurt because he apologized, but I hope those people realize that it doesn’t work that way. An apology is great of course, but it doesn’t take out the hurt, or the feeling that if he was comfortable enough sharing this on social media, what is he comfortable doing in the safety of his close circle?, or remove the idea that maybe an actor you adored, and respected doesn’t view Black people struggles as a serious matter.

I personally don't hate Seb, far from it. And the reason why I have so many posts about him, calling him out or not, is that he is one of the very few White actors I'm interested in. I don't know him personally, but I enjoy his interviews with Anthony and enjoy his movies. But I'm not about to act like he is perfect like some of his stan do and also I have absolutely no issue with people who have "cancelled" him because of his past behavior, because I understand them and it's their choice, it's what works best for them... I don't want to force them to root for someone who maybe wouldn't root for us.

Last point, that I won't elaborate because I have already written way to much. There's a difference between people actively trying to be racist, and people who are racist and maybe don't realize it, or people who have prejudice but are working on it...

I hate it when White people act like the worst thing in the world is being accused of racism when the actual worst thing in the world is being racist. Because it shifts the conversation from... "Oh how can I improve myself and stop this racist thing I'm doing, or how can I work on this prejudice I have?" to "How dare you call me racist!!! I would never" all the while they continue doing the racist thing they do.

TL:DR: His Instagram post was f*cked up, and he apologized. And it's up to each person to decide if they still want to support him or not, but it would be great if thise who still support him stopped pretending that those whose don't are overreacting or had no reason of being offended.

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART TWO-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. Gif by @voughtgifs​

|PART ONE|

Homelander was keeping you on edge. It had been a week since his abrupt appearance at your apartment, and you knew that the fucker was watching you every hour of every day. And you knew that he was contemplating the best way to scare the shit out of you. It was only a matter of time.

The bruise on your forearm remained. It had turned a darkish purple, almost black, which you assumed wasn’t a good sign. But you didn’t care. It still hurt like hell, and it annoyed you to have to wear long sleeve shirts everywhere, but what could you do other than hang out at your apartment wondering when the bastard would show up?

Well, get drunk of course.

Pissed beyond comprehension at a nightclub downtown, you were happy to be somewhere else for the night, escaping the fucked up reality that you now lived in. Downing another shot of vodka, you cringed at the now disgusting taste. The room was swaying, the music was too loud, and the sound of people cheering and laughing happily irked you to no end. But you loved it. It was something different, and you were too drunk to care. “Another round~” You slurred, slamming the small glass onto the bar top with a slight hiccup. The bartender winced, approaching you with a calm expression. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but we can’t serve you anymore, you’ve had too much to drink” he explained, shouting to be heard over the loud music. As you opened your mouth to respond, the crowd behind you began to cheer ecstatically. You sluggishly turned to see what all the commotion was about, feeling your buzz suddenly disappear, slamming you back into a state of mild sobriety as the crowd chanted a chorus of ‘Homelander! Homelander! Homelander!’.

You turned to face the bartender, leaning against the bar top as you slurred “Please, please just one more. I won’t tell anyone”. Hesitantly, the bartender obliged. He handed you one last shot glass, and cringed as you downed the vodka greedily. Just you placed the glass down before you, a shadow loomed over you to your right, the stupid blue suit and American flag cape obscuring your view. “Out of all the places I could find you, I find you here” Homelander shouted, leaning on his elbow against the bar with a taunting smirk. “Fuck off, I was having fun” You snapped in return, feeling a surge of happiness swell inside your chest as Homelander’s expression contorted into one of pure bewilderment. This was only your second meeting, and you had a horrifying feeling that drunk you would likely get you killed. But that small sober part of you was glad that drunk you would say what sober you couldn’t.

Homelander’s eyes narrowed, watching on in annoyance as you abruptly stood up from your seat from the bar. Tipping the bartender for his amazing service, you left the superhero behind and disappeared into the crowd, silently hoping that you would lose him as you left the nightclub. As you stepped outside into the cool night air, you sighed heavily in a mixture of frustration and content. A few moments of silence was all you could savour, as the door to the nightclub opened once more for Homelander to step out onto the street. You could hear his footsteps close behind you as you did your best to put some distance between the two fo you, though it didn’t help that you stumbled occasionally on raised parts of the pavement. “I have to ask, what are you doing here?” Homelander questioned, suddenly appearing in front of you and standing tall with his hands braced on his hips. You groaned, pushing past him as you could see your car down the street “When one has their life threatened by a supposedly beloved superhero, and their life has completely gone to shit, then I think I have a right to have a few moments of self loathing don’t you think?” you retorted, ignoring his scoff as you managed to fish your car keys out of the pocket of your jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Homelander questioned, his tone of voice suddenly changing from cocky and sarcastic to concerned. You rolled your eyes, spinning clumsily to face him whilst throwing your arms out in exasperation “I’m going home, do you have any objections?”. Homelander’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering between you, your car, and the keys in your hands. As he stepped towards you, you stepped back, challenging him with a lopsided smirk. You could tell he was growing frustrated with your behaviour, and you enjoyed pissing him off so much. “You’re too drunk to drive-” “My buzz died when you entered the nightclub, so I think I’m sober enough to drive home....” you interrupted, bracing your hands on your hips and mocking his so-called heroic stance “and if I happen to die whilst driving home, it’s not your problem right?”.

Homelander’s expression changed into a deadly glare, his eyes glowing a faint red in anger. He stepped towards you, so close now that you stumbled back against the side of your car with a small yelp. His jaw clenched as he spoke “It is my problem, because you are the only chance I have to find Butcher. If you die, I have to start all over again, and I’d rather not to that”. “Oh, that’s such an inconvenience...” You responded sarcastically, lightly pushing the bastard away from you and turning back to face your car “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m done talking to you and I just want to go home”. Before you could even manage to unlock you vehicle, the keys were snatched from your hand, and you were suddenly lifted up into the supposed hero’s arms. You screamed, thrashing around in his grip. “Put me down you fucking arsehole!” You cried, hitting your hands against his chest whilst completely oblivious to your surroundings.

Homelander stared down at you with a cocky grin, tilting his head to the side with a small shrug of his shoulders before responding “Very well, if you insist”. And then suddenly, you were falling. You barely had enough time to scream, as Homelander’s form in the sky grew smaller and smaller. The wind blew your hair in all directions, and all you could do was gasp as the ground rushed up to meet you. You closed your eyes, bracing for the painful impact before you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your form. You shrieked, opening your eyes to loud and obnoxious laughter as your found yourself in Homelander’s arms again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held yourself closer to him, out of fear that he would drop you again. You buried your head into his chest, not wanting to watch the world fly by as Homelander flew to your apartment. If you weren’t sober before, you definitely were now. Your heart thundered in your chest, and as Homelander gently set you down on the rooftop of your apartment complex, you leapt from his arms and collapsed to your knees. Your stomach churned angrily, the sick feeling growing more intense, and the alcohol didn’t help.

You could feel Homelander’s stare boring into your skull as you grovelled on the ground, as you tried to stop the world from spinning. Eventually, you managed to stand to you feet, bracing your hands on your knees as you swallowed thickly. You could feel the hero’s presence behind you, “There, that wasn’t so hard was-”

Crack!

Homelander stumbled backward as your clenched fist connected with his jaw. His mouth fell agape in shock, his eyes wide in stupor. As his gaze met yours, you stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger at his chest. Your eyes narrowed, practically seething with rage as you growled “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, ever”. Time suddenly slowed down as you realised what had just happened. You had punched him. You had punched Homelander, The World’s Greatest Superhero. “Oh fuck...” you mumbled, ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through your hand. You stood in horrified silence, as the man before you rubbed his jaw in surprise whilst an amused chuckle. If he said anything, you didn’t hear it, as you fled inside the complex and down to your apartment. Once you got inside, you locked the door, not that it would help much, and made a beeline for the small kitchen. You found a bottle of bourbon, half of its contents already gone, but you drank from it anyway. The amber liquid left a pleasant burning sensation at the back of your throat, but your true aim was to get your buzz back. It was better to be numb to everything if Homelander followed you downstairs. 

Whilst punching him in the face seemed like a good idea and an impressive feat, you were certainly regretting it. You downed the rest of the alcohol that remained and turned back to face your living room, a shocked scream leaving your lips. Homelander stood in the centre of the room, his arms folded across his chest as his expression formed a dangerous scowl. “How the fuck did you get in here!?” You exclaimed loudly, your eyes narrowing harshly whilst your grip tightened around the neck of the empty bourbon bottle. The bastard’s expression didn’t change as he responded “Your window is unlocked, you should probably fix that-” “Who the fuck is going to climb down the fire escape to the fifth floor to kill me!? You can fly, so you cheated”. The room fell into a heavy silence as you ran a stressed hand through your hair, your (eye/colour) eyes never leaving his own blue hues. You took a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart as the blue-clad tyrant approached, but it did you no good.

“Look, I’m sorry I punched you. Actually, no I’m not, you deserved it. But if you’ve decided to kill me now then go ahead and do it. But I’m letting you know that I have done everything you’ve asked. No one knows that you’re here, I haven’t told anyone that you’re practically using me as a hostage. The Boys don’t know anything about your random unscheduled visits, so do whatever you want-”

You froze mid-sentence as Homelander’s eyes began to glow, the red hue increasing in brightness. For a brief second, you thought that this was it. That The World’s Greatest Superhero was going to lazer you into oblivion. You tried not flinch as his gaze moved away from you at the last second, instead directed towards the kitchen island bench. You watched on in dread as your phone completely melted into nothing, the intense heat of his heat vision obliterating the metal mass into nothing. As Homelander approached, you didn’t meet his gaze. You could tell that the fucker was revelling in your fear, as he stood only inches away from you. “Next time, that will be you. Maybe you’ll think twice about punching The World’s Greatest Superhero, hm?” he taunted, before disappearing from your view. When you looked up, he was gone. The window to the fire escape was open, the only sign that Homelander had been here aside from the smouldering hole in your island bench.

You sighed heavily, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you trudged into you bedroom. All you wanted to do now was sleep, and forget about everything that had happened. There would be one hell of a hangover in the morning, but you hoped that it would give you something else to worry about than a mad superhero tyrant. 

[qqueenofhades]

*respectfully* another request for Russian Revolution fivan? 👉👈😶

That winter is the worst that Fedyor can possibly imagine. It turns out that for a band of idealist socialist revolutionaries, overthrowing the old system and planting your flag in fiery triumph is a hell of a lot easier than building a functioning alternative in its place, and in the meantime, everyone is going to suffer. The Bolsheviks are victorious, yes, but now they're fighting with fellow socialists, the White Russian counter-revolutionaries, other militants, and the entirety of capitalist imperialist Western Europe, who view their success with horror and are desperate to stop the Red plague from infecting their own war-weary, restless-minded populations. There is famine and cold and death at every turn, and Fedyor sees things that he will never be able to forget. Russia is a war within a war within the Great War, which itself is still raging, though the new Bolshevik government has promised to get them out of it as fast as possible; the country's ruinous losses have fueled their support. The capital, for that matter, isn't even Petrograd anymore. It's Moscow. Everything has changed.

Fedyor battles to get home to Nizhny Novgorod, where he finds his family alive but deeply shaken. They have never been wealthy, but they're comfortable, and the first time he has to see his father stand in a bread line, it rattles Fedyor too. The idea of trying to just keep their heads down and hope this nonsense blows over seems ludicrous. But now his older sister Katya is sick, can't stop coughing, and it's that, if nothing else, that galvanizes Fedyor to return to the civil war and the racked-apart world that awaits him out there. "I have... a friend," he says to his worried parents. "In the Red Guard. If I can find him again, he might be able to help."

This is, of course, a lie in almost every imaginable way. Ivan Sakharov isn't his friend, just a man who didn't kill him in the Winter Palace and sheltered him from the immediate aftermath of the sack. Fedyor has no way of knowing if Ivan is still alive, if he is in any position to procure medicine for Katya, or anything else. But everyone is desperate, and the Kaminskys are in the same boat as everyone else. His parents give in, hug Fedyor tightly, and wish him Godspeed.

Finding Ivan is the next challenge. All Fedyor knows is his name and that he is (probably) from Siberia, so he travels to the headquarters of the newly-formed Siberian Army in Yekaterinburg and asks there. This is a mistake, because the Siberian Army, while originally founded in sympathy with the Bolsheviks, has now fallen out with them, and Fedyor barely gets out with his skin. But he boards the Trans-Siberian Railway, rides aimlessly east, has a chance conversation with a fellow passenger, and is told to ask in Krasnoyarsk.

Krasnoyarsk is a beautiful city in southern Siberia, and if Fedyor was here under other circumstances, he would like to look around. But he confirms that there is indeed an Ivan Sakharov from around here, who is a member of the Red Guard, and who might be posted to the Bolshevik regional headquarters in Chelyabinsk. It's worth a try. It's advancing spring, the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk has been signed (ceding a sizeable chunk of Russia to the Central Powers, but Lenin views it as an acceptable compromise en route to worldwide socialist revolution) and Russia is technically out of the Great War. If this is true, Fedyor can't see it.

He arrives in Chelyabinsk in March 1918, a fortnight after the treaty. Travels to the Bolshevik headquarters, asks, and --

"Fedyor Mikhailovich," the voice says, sounding genuinely stunned. "Is that you?"

Fedyor's heart skips a beat. He wasn't sure that the other man would remember him, that he would find him at all, but it's Ivan Ivanovich, looking grimmer and grumpier and more hard-edged than ever. He stares at Fedyor, who stares back at him. They move convulsively, clasp each other's hands, draw into an embrace like old trenchmates stumbling on each other unexpectedly. Ivan says, "What are you -- "

"If you ask me what I am doing here one more time," Fedyor interrupts, "I will smack you."

Ivan stops short. He looks like he might not object to that, and something hot and shameful and sweet curls warm in Fedyor's stomach. There's something else in their eyes, distinctively so, when they look at each other. Then Ivan says, "Why are you here, then?"

"My... sister." It sounds foolish, flimsy, when he utters it aloud, but no matter. "Katya. She's sick."

Ivan frowns. "With that Spanish influenza? They're saying it's particularly bad this year."

"No, I don't think so. I was just hoping... someone like you, that you might be able to find medicine for her. Or a hospital."

Ivan's eyes flicker. Then he says, "Are your family sympathizers to the cause? That would make a difference in what I was able to find."

"We're desperate," Fedyor says roughly. "We can be Reds, Whites, Greens, whatever you want. After your lot have come in and shot everything straight to hell -- "

"And is it better for the Americans, the British, the Japanese, the French, all interfering in Russia and trying to overthrow the will of the people?" Ivan snaps back. "The capitalists are terrified their own people will do the same to them as the Russians, so -- "

"It's not important." Fedyor has not come here to have a political argument. He has come to save his sister. "Can you help?"

"I don't know." Ivan spins restlessly on his heel. "Maybe."

"Please," Fedyor begs. "I will do anything."

For a moment, their eyes catch, hearing a certain and unmistakable subtext in that, that he does mean anything, and might not object. Then Ivan says, "No. I will not take that."

Are you sure? They both know what he's referring to, plain as day, without another word exchanged. Fedyor takes a step. "Ivan Ivanovich," he says. "I am... at your disposal. If you help her."

Their eyes continue to lock. Fedyor is burning from head to toe, and with something he can barely articulate. Then, brusquely, Ivan shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, I will not do that. Goodbye, Fedyor Mikhailovich. I hope you find arrangements elsewhere."

"Ivan -- please -- "

It's too late.

The door closes.

Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov, once again, is gone.

[the-lady-writes-what]

Gilded Cage, Part One

Summary:

Keigo Takami, AKA Hawks, has turned villain and you don't know why. After a run-in with the League of Villains, you give chase after the former hero. When you end up taking a bullet to the knee, you're surprised that Keigo not only left you alive, but has taken you to his secret lair. He's built a special cage for you. He says it's to keep the League from coming after you, but you can't help but wonder if it's true or if he just wants you for himself.

Content: Kidnapping Sorry. No smut this time, but it'll be in the next one. Stay tuned

Villain!Hawks x Hero!Reader

(You're a pro-hero whose quirk is basically bending metal. Think Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

This part does not contain smut (See above mentioned note). For smut, please follow the links for Parts 2 and 3

                                                       ---080---

It was hard to walk down the halls of Endeavor’s agency these days. The news of Keigo Takami’s, also known as Hawks, betrayal hit Japan’s hero world like a tsunami. It turned into a question of who the next hero will be to go against their moral code and become a villain. Your workload had increased in the drama and paranoia that followed after Keigo’s sudden villainous change. Endeavor worked you down to the bone, but that was because he must have seen you as useful. Your hero name? Iron Maiden on account of your ability to bend metal, such as iron, steel, and copper. Netting bad guys was a whole lot easier when you could wrap them in a fence or trap them with a lamppost.

You finished the afternoon’s paperwork before heading to the breakroom for some lukewarm coffee. You half-expected Keigo to be sitting on the counter where you used to find him. He used to be a fan of Endeavor’s, so he frequented the agency whenever he felt like it. Of all the time you got to see him, it became evident that he wasn’t there to goof around Endeavor’s office. You should have known better than to encourage his casual flirting, but you couldn’t help yourself. Keigo was the first guy who turned your way after a dry spell in the romance department. It had been months since you last had a date, and even if Keigo was joking, it was nice to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve hero work.

If only you knew back then that his over-confident smile belied an insidious plan to turn to the other side.

Keigo didn’t hurt people. Much. It wasn’t a great comfort to know that he at least didn’t go around murdering people as soon as he became a villain. That didn’t change the fact that he had become one of them. He robbed banks, caused collateral damage to the cityscape, and set the hero society into panic mode. Nobody knew who would switch sides. Heroes and civilians were starting to look at each other with suspicious eyes ever since.

You fixed yourself a cup of coffee when the cellphone on your hip went off. You immediately stopped what you were doing to pick it up. Shocked, you found your boss’s name and number on the screen. You didn’t hesitate to hit ‘receive.’

Endeavor’s voice came loud and clear, even over the sounds of fighting.

“We need you over by Central Park. Takami’s new crew showed up, and we need your quirk to help round them up!”

“On my way, sir.”

Central Park was at least ten miles from your location. Even if you speed, you won’t make it there on time by car. Not this close to rush hour. Of course, you had other methods of getting to where you needed to go. You pried open the nearest window and lept threw it. Part of your hero costume involved strips of steel wire you could sling around with like that American comic book character. Sailing over the city and swinging in between buildings was much faster than any car. You arrived at the scene with the villains terrorizing civilians trying to enjoy their day at the park. You spotted three of them charging at you as soon as you hit the ground. They were nothing but mooks. Clustered together, it was quick work wrapping them in a bundle of wire. You spotted others and repeated the process. Keigo was nowhere in sight. You heard the sound of flames engulfing the trees. Pillars of red and blue flames shot up in the distance. You found heroes to take care of the villains you’d already captured before heading towards what should have been the epicenter of the fighting. Endeavor was busy with Dabi, and there seemed to be no other villains in sight. Still no sign of Keigo anywhere.

“Endeavor!”

You dodged a blue fireball just in time. You hoped that Endeavor would order you to go elsewhere. Five more minutes, and you’d be cooking in your costume.

“Takami headed west. I leave it to you to apprehend him!” Endeavor was so focused on his opponent that he didn’t turn towards you when he gave the order.

You had to dodge more flames, both Dabi’s and Endeavor’s, to head towards Keigo’s last known whereabouts. Away from the smoke and flames, you found a trail of red feathers. There was a moment where you stopped to wonder if Keigo had been injured and left behind some feathers by mistake or if he was deliberately mocking you. However, you didn’t have a moment to linger on that. You followed the trail of feathers regardless if it was a plot.

Keigo made it easy for you to follow. That should have been your first red flag. You were so focused on getting him in handcuffs that the apparent beeline to him was so fucking clear as day. You picked up the feathers as you went. You had a fistful in each hand by the time you reached the end of the park. Your trail went ice cold.

That is until you spotted the shadow of bird wings graze above you. Your head whipped to the sky. Hawks swooped down, nearly knocking you down to the ground. His wings grazed you. He perched himself on a branch far above you.

His appearance was vastly different from the last time you saw him. He wore an all-black suit with a red and gold tie. Pewter rings were on his fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but his smile was the most unnerving thing about him. You lashed outwards with your arms, the metal from your gauntlets catching him by the ankles.

“Keigo Takami, you’re under arrest. You have the right to—”

Keigo didn’t let the mild impairment weigh him down. His wings couldn’t be easily held down by you. He flew straight towards you. His height never hid the fact that he was powerful. He plowed you into the ground. The wires unwhirled around his feet and let him soar above you.

“Get back down here, bird brain!” You lashed out your wires again in hopes of pulling him back down to earth.

Each time Keigo moves just a little bit out of reach. You already spent so much on capturing those D-level cronies that you didn’t stop to think of conserving your limited amount of iron wire. Keigo’s wings took him high above to where your weapon couldn’t reach him. He smirked down at you before taking off.

You ran after him, going so far as to hopping over the chain-link fence and following on foot. Your wires came in handy twice today as you soared from lamppost to lamppost, tracking Keigo’s aerial movements. Citizens yelled words of encouragement as you chased after Japan’s new most wanted criminal. The air stung your cheeks, and you could feel your eyes watering as you sped faster between rooftops.

Keigo made the mistake of flying to close to the building whose roof you just scaled. There was a split-second decision. You could stop and let him get away, or you could take the chance. You lunged for him, limbs scrambling through the air to find purchase. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. Hauling yourself upon his back, you managed to secure your legs around him and put his neck in a headlock.

“As I said before, you’re under arrest!” You screamed as the wind busted your eardrums.

Keigo merely looked over his shoulder at you. His smile was cheeky as ever.

“Really, Princess? The way I see it…you’re the one at my mercy. Unless you got a plan to get us both safely on the ground without bashing our brains on the concrete.”

You growled as Keigo caught you. You didn’t think this far ahead.

You screamed as Keigo flew up towards the sun at lightning speed. Light burning your eyes, you had no choice but to shield them. Keigo used your distraction as the opportunity to shift your weight off his back. All too late, you felt your legs and arms loosen around him. Soon you were plummeting back to the ground. With any luck, your wires would find purchase on something and save you from falling to your death at the last minute. At the rate you were falling, good luck.

You were ten feet from meeting a concrete rooftop when Keigo reappeared. He wrapped you in his arms almost in a possessive manner.

“You’re way too pretty to let splatter. Come on. I’ve got a much better place to finish this!”

His clever hands worked your phone from your belt. Keigo dropped it on the ground, where it shattered several feet below you. Your only chance of survival was to let him take you where he wanted and not get your brains to plaster the sidewalk. His wings soared over the city. You once imagined being in his arms like this. It only made your stomach churn with the thought of what he was going to do to you once you were where he wanted you.

Keigo dropped down in the industrial district. Factories surrounded you. The smell of iron and diesel filled your lungs. But of all the places he picked, why did Keigo go where you had the most advantage? Didn’t he realize that with all of this metal, you were the one with the home-field edge? You didn’t have the time to ask or react when he pulled out the gun from his jacket.

In a flash, your life flashed in your mind. You didn’t stand there waiting to die. At least, you were going to make sure they say you died fighting to your last breath. You charged for Keigo, metal whips whirring to life.

BANG!

It was over. Except instead of sweet oblivion that came with death, you found yourself bleeding on the ground. Your blood pooled around your knee, where he shot you. The pain was exquisite as the bullet lodged itself in your knee cap. You weren’t going to be standing on that leg for a very long time; you could forget about fighting. Keigo’s black shoes came into your line of vision. From shock, you got onto your elbows to look at the bastard.

“What…the hell?” You ground your teeth. “I didn’t picture…you to be the sadist. Going to kill…me…slowly? Is that how you roll now?”

Keigo put his gun away. Then, he reached into the other side of his jacket. When his hand came away this time, he held a syringe.

“That was just to keep you from fighting me. I’m going to get you patched up real quick. Just as soon as I give you your medicine.”

Keigo was faster than you. Your hand shot up to grab him, but the needle was already in your neck. He squeezed the trigger and pumped you full of the drug. It took a few minutes for it to kick in. By the time he had you in his arms again, your head was spinning. A moment later, you finally found that oblivion you were looking for earlier. This time, you were reasonably sure you’d wake up this time, and you weren’t going to know where he was taking you. And that was the scariest thought you had before passing out in the former hero’s arms.

When you woke up, you noticed the stiffness in your leg. Your favorite color draped the bed you laid in. Your hero’s costume was gone and replaced with a negligee you wouldn’t own even if you had a boyfriend. It, too, was in your favorite color. The lace hem barely touched your upper thigh.

Further down, your right leg was held in a cast. Your foot rested on a pillow. As your vision cleared, you got a better picture of where you were.

It could have been described as a room if only it had more than one wall. Where plaster walls should have been, stood solid gold bars. The floors were marble tiles. There was a dresser, a desk, a lavish set up on a vanity, and a familiar coffee table on which sat a widescreen T.V. Every item in your cell was made of either wood, fiber, plastic, or metal you couldn’t bend, including the bars. Squeezed between the actual wall and the cell bars stood a small room. With its door closed, so you couldn’t discern its purpose yet. Footsteps came down the hallway. They rounded the corner. Keigo smiled at you like you were a pretty bird in his cage.

“You’ve been asleep for a while now. Doc had to give you an extra shot so you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of your surgery. Sorry I had to bust your knee cap. You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Why am I in a cage? Why am I dressed like this? Just what the hell are you on?” You started to get up from the bed, but it was difficult to swing your leg over the bed when it was in a cast.

“In reverse order,” said Keigo, “I’m not on any drugs. I thought you would look cute in that negligee, and it’s in your favorite color. I put you here for your protection, and honestly, you look damn good in it.”

“Why? Why the hell did you do any of this?” You still struggled to move your damn leg.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d hate to come in there and show you why.”

His eyes held a glimmer of that charm you once fell for, but there was a predatory light that eclipsed it. Keigo leaned against the bars, stroking the beams.

“Solid gold. It took me a long time to find enough money and resources to build this thing. A pretty little cage for my pretty little bird.”

“Just how long have you been saving?” You wanted to know how long he had wanted to put you in here, yet you still dreaded his answer.

“A couple of years. My original idea was to take us on a cruise. It probably would have been much more romantic, but things come up. You change your plans. Ideals become tainted, and you have to find new ones.”

“What happened to you? You were the number two hero! Some so many people looked up to you. There are still people who believe that this is just a rouse to capture the League of Villains. How could you do that? How could you betray everyone’s trust?”

Keigo didn’t say anything. He held his head down as if lost in the thought. He braced his forearm against the bars as he leaned his head against his arm. Inhaling a long breath,

Keigo let out an aggravated sigh. When he looked up at you, you saw a different man. “Let me ask you this, Princess. How could somebody’s parents sell their kid to the government? How could anyone take a small kid and turn them into a child soldier? For what? So they can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re morally superior to the villains. They take kids from their parents and steal their childhood. And when those kids grow into adults and realize what a shitty system they were raised in, they stare up at you surprised that you had enough of their bullshit.”

“T-Takami…”

“I realized too late that everything that was supposed to be mine was taken from me. My family. My name. My childhood. For what? So I can be number two behind a man like Endeavor. Have you spent time with the bastard? I never noticed it before, but all of a sudden, it becomes clear that society cares less about a hero’s moral code and more about their ability to beat down the nail that sticks out. Ever wonder how his youngest got that scar?”

You nodded. You vaguely remember hearing Endeavor talk about his youngest son.

“It turns out Endeavor pushed his wife around so much that she went mental. She burned the side of Shoto’s face because it reminded her of the man who knocked her around and forced to have his four kids. Does that sound like hero material to you?”

Blood drained from your face. It made sense…in a way. You never met Endeavor’s youngest, so you couldn’t verify the truth or not. For all you knew, Keigo was pulling it out of his ass to make you sympathize with him.

“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? There must have been someone who would have investigated it.”

“By the time I found out, nobody would have believed me at any rate. Endeavor might be a bastard, but he’s still the number one hero. I’m just the rejected garbage the Safety Commission doesn’t want to clean up.” Keigo unlocked the door to your cage.

“Why are you telling me this then?”

Keigo crossed the “room” and picked you up from the bed. You couldn’t move your leg without feeling a jolt of pain go up to your thigh. There was no way for you to struggle. “Because I made a deal with the League. As long as I keep you by my side and you don’t go anywhere, they won’t touch you or your family. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of the outside world for a while. At least until Shigaraki accomplishes his goals.”

“You know he’s crazy, right?” You sneered.

“Yeah. Little bit. He’s also the first person who made any damn sense when I realized how badly they screwed me over,” said Keigo as he carried you down the hall.

There were a few rooms that he walked past, but he stopped at the end of the hall. He kicked it open. Your heart fluttered like you were his bride; he carried over the threshold. Your stomach churned with guilt rotting inside it. You shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts for the man who turned into a villain and kidnapped you. He confessed to planning to keep you as a prisoner for however long it took for that maniac Shigaraki to complete his mission.

Keigo brought you to an actual bedroom. It was a little more sparse than the cage he planned to keep you in. He must have spent more on you than himself. Looking around, the bedroom contained a giant bed and little else. He had you sit on the bed for a moment. Keigo pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows before gently grabbing you and laying you out. There was a contraption hanging from the ceiling that he pulled down using a thick cord. He slipped your leg into a sling and adjusted it to your comfort before Keigo left you to pull clothes from the dresser. He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom didn’t return until he was half-dressed in a pair of black sweatpants.

Small scars littered his chest and shoulders. From what, you dared not ask. You remembered his words about a stolen childhood to be raised as a soldier. You wondered if they were true. Your mind was plunged headfirst back into the present when Keigo crawled under the sheets with you. Your face went red.

“Relax, Princess. I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbled. He turned off the lights.

“Then why am I dressed like this?” You asked in the dark.

You felt Keigo’s weight make the bed dip. He settled on his side so he could snake his arm around your waist. He snuggled uncomfortably close, but he kept his hands mostly to himself or above the blanket.

“Because you look damn cute in (fave color). I like looking at you.”

His breath against your skin created goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes eventually closed to sleep. As you drifted off, you asked yourself: How long could you live like this?

                                                       ---080---