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gretchensinister · 4 years ago

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Little Souls and Careless Gods: An Exploration of Worldbuilding in Toy Story

Sid did nothing wrong.

Or, let me clarify. The things Sid did wrong were: taking his sister’s toys and modifying them without her permission. That’s it.

Hi, my name is gretchensinister and I have a lot of thoughts about the worldbuilding in Toy Story.

I should admit at this point that I haven’t seen Toy Story 4, only talked about it with someone who has, so if some of my questions are answered by that movie or if it torpedoes some of my speculations, that’s just—that’s just an imperfection of this essay.

I barely know where to begin, but, I started with Sid, so I’ll keep going with Sid. Sid is a kid. Sid is a jerk to his younger sister, but she’s freely yelling across the house tattling on him, so it doesn’t seem like she’s suffering irreparable damage from this. Other things Sid does: wins a squeaky toy for his dog in a claw machine game, blows up toys with fireworks, takes toys apart and joins them to other toys to make new toys. Burns a toy with a magnifying glass.

None of these things is an immoral action, for a person who, through all lived experience (until the toy attack) understands that toys are objects. It’s not bad to give your dog an object to chew on. It’s not bad (morally) to blow up an object with a firework. It’s not bad to take objects (that are yours) and make them into new, different objects. It’s not bad to burn an object with a magnifying glass. From the toys’ perspective, Sid is a sadistic mad scientist type, but from everything he could possibly know, his “torture” of Woody is messing around with an object! His object! That he got from a claw machine! The pretend torture as a choice of play is worth questioning, but it’s not so uncommon as a media trope that an average kid would never have seen anything like that in an action-adventure context. And it doesn’t predict how Sid will treat actual living beings!

(As an aside, I’m firmly of the belief that if you own an object, you should feel free to do whatever you want with it. Set it on fire, take it apart to see how it works, use it as raw materials in a craft project, etc. And yeah I would make exceptions to this rule for like, privately owned culturally significant art or scientifically significant artifacts…but if they’re that significant…they shouldn’t be privately owned.)

So yeah. Sid gets traumatized because he treats objects like objects, and the objects don’t like that. Because they’re actually alive and have now promised to constantly surveil him.

And let’s be clear: Andy doesn’t know toys are alive, either. He never does. He just has a different play style than Sid, and more of an interest in keeping his toys intact. Andy has no empathy with Woody and Buzz, because he is not aware that they are beings that he could empathize with.

All right. Beyond Sid, what I really want to talk about is the nature of a toy’s mind/soul in the Toy Story universe. I will call this the toy’s animus. Much like with the soul and mind of a human being, the animus raises several questions. How is the animus created? Where does the animus reside? Is the animus a tabula rasa, or does it possess innate knowledge? Where does this innate knowledge come from, if so? Is the animus mortal or immortal?

The Toy Story universe offers various pieces of evidence to answer these questions, and they are all extremely worrying if toys and humans are both morally significant beings, though humans do not know this about toys.

Is a toy mortal or immortal?

In the Toy Story movies it is clear that toys believe they can die. Sufficient destruction of the body would cause a toy’s death. Sid’s plan to blow up Buzz Lightyear with a firework threatens his life. In Toy Story 3, the toys in the trash incinerator clearly believe that burning/melting will kill them. But, short of catastrophic destruction of the body, toys are immortal. Jessie suffers, but does not die, from withdrawal of her owner’s love. Stinky Pete was never played with by a child, and he’s alive as any other toy. Additionally, human-mimicking toys are not killed even when damaged in ways that would kill a human, though this does affect their ability to communicate. In the tea party scene in Toy Story, the headless dolls wave when they are referred to. (This raises more questions—how does a headless doll experience the world? They can still hear, but how? Also, why doesn’t the headless teddy bear move? Perhaps they simply don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on with Woody and Buzz.)

I think, according to what we see in the movies, the animus is divisible, and each part of the divided animus contains only a portion of the cognitive ability of the whole. Moreover, the animus is not centered in the head, but rather dispersed throughout the body. I would further argue that splitting the body/splitting the animus, is traumatic, even when reversible. Consider that Buzz’s mental breakdown coincides with the detachment of his arm.

What does this mean for Sid’s creations? Well, it would explain why they don’t talk. The baby-doll head with the spiderlike erector-set body (aside: is this a reference to The Thing (1982)?) really has no reason to be mute, if a toy simply must have a mouth to speak. Its form is unconventional, but, I would say, still “complete.” But if the head only carries an incomplete animus, and the erector set parts carry no animus of their own (an assumption which will be questioned later) then the whole toy would not have enough animus for verbal communication.

Janie the doll and the pterodactyl, with their switched heads, suffer significant disruption of their animi. Would their fractured animi eventually merge to form a new animus for each new body, with a different personality than Janie or pterodactyl? What part of the “Barbie” personality lingers in the animus of the toy crane with Barbie legs?

There is an exception to the concept of the fractured animus, however, and that is Mr. Potato Head. Mr. Potato Head exists in several parts to begin with, and mere separation does not fracture the animus. Curiously, though, some parts of Mr. Potato Head do not appear to contain any part of his animus, such as his plastic potato body. He retains all of his personality and ability to communicate when he has to put his features on a tortilla (?—don’t remember this part well) even though he is from an era of Mr. Potato Heads where his features are only meant to be put in the plastic potato body, not random foodstuffs. (Another question here: what would happen if an even amount of Mrs. Potato Head and Mr. Potato Head features were put on one plastic potato body? Do both animi retain coherence?) It is impossible not to wonder how far apart the features of Mr. Potato Head could be spread and the animus remain whole. At least as far apart as different buildings, as shown in Toy Story 3, but how much farther?

Creation of the animus and innate knowledge.

We are now about to embark on the specific topic that fills my thoughts now when I think about the Toy Story universe. I believe I will first fix myself a vodka cranberry (note: not just vodka and cranberry juice. To make it properly you must also add a splash each of orange juice and lime juice) and read a synopsis of Toy Story 4. Forky’s creation is a deep source of trouble here, and I must fortify myself to face it.

Where do I even begin? Okay. Bonnie, a kindergartner, creates Forky from items salvaged from the trash and names him. He comes to life after being named. According to the synopsis Forky then suffers an existential crisis because he believes he his trash and not a toy. So in this case, the animus appears to arrive after naming, and the animus is not a tabula rasa. The history of the materials appears to have some effect on the animus? (What this might mean for Rex or the plastic army men is especially concerning here.) It doesn’t make sense for Bonnie to think of Forky as trash, so this conviction has entered Forky’s animus from somewhere other than his creator. Also Bonnie has created sentient life without being aware of doing so, probably before being able to write a full sentence.

That’s troubling enough, because, to the eyes of adults or even older children, Forky is garbage. I project Forky’s lifespan of play to be that of months. And he won’t get passed onto other children. Depending on how Bonnie’s community disposes of trash, he may linger with an intact animus, at a landfill, for longer than Bonnie’s own life. It boggles the mind. (And invites hoarding in the empathetic.) However, despite all this, I would be cool with it if this was the only way toys became animate: being owned/named/played with by a child. That could be a complete worldbuilding conceit.

But that’s NOT how animi are generally formed in the Toy Story universe. Let’s back up to Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear has a personality and memories of his history as a space ranger right out of his box. And as we see in Toy Story 2, every Buzz Lightyear comes with that same initial personality. A commercial in Toy Story shows aisles upon aisles of Buzz Lightyears. Something has enabled the creation of thousands, if not millions, of identical animi. There is no direction this can go that isn’t kind of batshit.

Buzz Lightyear and the story that forms his memories were designed and created by adults. It was someone’s (and probably a team’s) job to design a toy that would be popular for a specific demographic, with (if I remember correctly) a cartoon that elaborates on the story and can basically serve as a long-running commercial for the toy. There were probably team meetings, and focus groups, and brand analysis to come up with the name “Buzz Lightyear.” And in such an endeavor, while I would like to imagine that there were some truly creative people involved who cared about the design and story, the people involved would not be the ones playing with the toys as toys want to be played with. And this is where every Buzz Lightyear animus comes from? But how? A manager or director approves the name and then…what? Is there a wellspring of animus that forms? Is it tied to the prototype? The factory workers in Taiwan don’t care about Buzz Lightyear the way Bonnie cares about Forky, and yet their actions in completing Buzz Lightyears call the animi to the plastic bodies. (And the animi are there, without a child’s touch. Stinky Pete was aware in his unopened box. Other toys opened a new Buzz Lightyear and got a living Buzz Lightyear.) And even leaving aside how the animi get into the Buzz Lightyears, the fact is that with millions of Buzz Lightyears out there, we have to conclude that the process that created his animus/animi is orders of magnitude more powerful than what Bonnie did to make Forky. Even assuming some personal care held by Buzz’s designers towards their design, it gets weird. The imaginations of adult toy designers are that much more powerful than a little girl creating and naming her own toy? NOT the way I would expect such a story-world to be set up, but the evidence is there.

And what if the designers of Buzz Lightyear weren’t particularly passionate? What if their boss just said “space is popular now, make me a space toy” and that’s the only reason why they did? That could very well be the case for a different type of toy in the series: the claw machine aliens. Those toys were not designed as a soulful passion project. I’m trying to write this to not be mean to designers who work in not-so-great places, but seriously. We have all seen generic toys in claw machine games before. They were not made to be immortally loved. (And yet! This is what the animus of a toy inherently desires!) Now, the claw machine aliens do seem to have much less backstory than Buzz Lightyear, and have personalities (or maybe just personality)/culture based on the nature of the claw machine. That makes sense, since they wouldn’t have been given a backstory with creation. The point is, though, that they still have animi. In the process of creating these cheap, cheap toys, by the dozens and hundreds and thousands, somehow their bodies were invested with full, identical animi. Adult, corporate creation somehow gives more life to toys than individual, child-led creation.

There are more questions to ask. If adults still have the power (and MASSIVELY MORE power) to invest toys with animi that they also possessed as children, then what can be invested with an animus? What are the limits of toy-ness in the Toy Story universe? Is it the name? I don’t think it’s the face, because there’s Woody merchandise in Toy Story 2 with Woody’s face on it that doesn’t talk. And I think that some faceless toys are shown to move independently/have an animus (possibly including things like LEGO—are the bricks a hivemind? Do the minifigs live inside sentient structures? Can they communicate with these structures? Also, if so, the erector set legs on Sid’s spider baby toy should have added to its total animus. But that’s not the corporate intent, so they’re still voiceless.). Christine (1983) could fit into this universe if the name is of primary importance (movie backstory for Christine, not book). But this would also mean that literally every boat and ship was sentient, but secretly so.*

If the name isn’t the important thing, is it the intent that the object be played with as a toy? In this case, that would mean that Bo Peep’s animus was not mass-produced, as she was originally part of a lamp if I remember correctly. Child-created animi would therefore be more common among non-toy objects than manufactured toys. I also want to bring The Brave Little Toaster (1987) up at this point. In this movie a group of appliances behave similarly to Toy Story toys in some ways, including being played with by their owner and then missing his attention to a high degree when he goes to college. However in this film all appliances and cars have animi, and I personally do not want my vacuum cleaner to feel any kind of way about me, or ever think I have played with it, because I hate vacuuming and would neglect it to death if feasible. (That being said…roombas in the Toy Story universe can hardly avoid being invested with animi, I imagine, no matter the details of the worldbuilding structure.) I bring this up, though, because Wikipedia notes that the original members of Pixar worked on The Brave Little Toaster. Toy Story was released in 1995 and was Pixar’s first feature length film. There is a connection, is what I am trying to say.

I think I have to go with: intent of the object to be a toy and/or being played with as a toy invests a toy with an animus. If it was the naming, then many, many public statues would be as alive as Woody and Buzz, and the people of Denver I’m sure have enough to worry about without Blucifer (Jiménez, 2008) galloping around. Bizarre to say that the least troubling option places mass production on a higher level of investing power than a child’s imagination. And I mean what I say about the mass produced animi being somehow more powerful than child-created animi.

Let’s go back to Sid’s creations. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they able to communicate like Forky? Possibility 1: Sid just doesn’t have the creative power that Bonnie does. I don’t like this because, as I said at the beginning, Sid is not doing anything wrong by making these chimera toys. He’s treating objects as objects, and the difference between Sid’s chimera toys and Forky is that Forky’s component parts were not originally part of mass-produced toys. So, (from a worldbuilding/Watsonian perspective), I have to go with possibility 2, which goes like this: mass-produced toys are imbued with animi because they are toys. Sid’s chimera toys suffer from their animi being fractured when he alters them. But these fractured, mass-produced animi retain enough coherence and power that Sid, a child, cannot replace the fractured animus with whatever he imagines for his new creations. He’s an imaginative kid! But the corporate animus cannot be expelled. The factory animus is the underlying animus and cannot be removed once the toy is a toy. It can develop with memory and experience, but it will always be the toy making corporation that brought the spark of life, not the child that actually plays with the toy.

And this actually corresponds to Sid’s toys’ decision to rebel and help Woody and Buzz. Their animi are more loyal to the corporate intent that first created them. Sid made them into something new, presumably plays with them, and yet they are not Sid’s. They are meant to be read as broken and tortured (Sid has changed them from their factory-created wholeness), not as new beings. A factory-created, owned object, is meant to be held with the same level of care and maintenance of coherence as a living being in the Toy Story universe. What a child imagines about their own toys has less creative power than a distant designer who’s been told to come up with something appealing to put in a claw machine. Children only have animating power for their toys when they make them out of raw materials.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to say that of course the toys aren’t Sid’s, they’re their own people—isn’t that what having an animus means? But Woody, for example, find it very important that he’s Andy’s toy—a possession—“a child’s plaything.” Andy writes his name on him and this is very important to Woody, enough a part of his identity that when Andy’s name is painted over by the restorer in Toy Story 2 the scene reads as an erasure of something important to him, not as a restoration of his autonomy. Time and again we see that toys want to be owned by children.

This is another place where things get weird. First, I raise the question: What do toys need to keep animus and body together? Not much—only a certain baseline of bodily coherency. They don’t need to take in anything from their environment. More interesting, though, is that they don’t need anything from the children they bond to. Shelved, boxed, and forgotten toys suffer, but they don’t die from these states. No toy will ever find a toy’s corpse the way a human could find a human corpse—whole in every way except for the absence of the animating spirit.

So: toys as entities need little. The next question is then, what do toys want? Toys want to be owned and played with by a child (I say child and not children, because the communal state of the daycare in Toy Story 3 is clearly not desirable to the toys). Woody relishes his place as favorite and most played with toy at the beginning of Toy Story. In Toy Story 2 Jessie grieves when her child outgrows her. Stinky Pete was ignored by children for years, causing him to develop the abnormal belief that it would be better for the Woody’s Roundup toys to be preserved in a museum.

(At this point, I spot another thread to follow. It seems that for a toy, the most important relationship in their existence is meant to be toy + owner. In Toy Story Woody is very invested in making Buzz understand that Buzz is a toy and not a space ranger—Buzz is supposed to stay with Andy. In Toy Story 2 the consequences of not being owned by a child are grief and violence. But at the end Woody tells Buzz he’s not worried about Andy outgrowing him, since they’ll always have each other. Now, Toy Story 3 builds up Buzz/Jessie and in Toy Story 4 Bo Peep returns and Woody leaves Buzz and the other group of Andy’s toys for a life with her, but Woody also leaves the toy + owner life to be with Bo. Toys aren’t made to have an independent existence, yet this is how they end up, also acting as matchmakers to help lost toys find new owners and enter into new toy + owner relationships? THERE IS A WHOLE OTHER ESSAY HERE.)

To stay within just one rabbit hole here, however, I must focus on this: Toys want to be owned and played with by a child. They bond with child owners who do not deliberately alter their bodies (I add this because again, Sid’s toys do not appear to be bonded with him). But within this framework, there must be essential pain within a toy’s existence. Toys are immortal unless destroyed. Toys will experience actual play with a child for, let’s say, ten years, maximum, and that’s if the toy is given to the child when the child is very young and the toy is more classic/versatile than most. That’s way shorter than the best human friendships and familial relationships, and at least human beings can often reasonably hope to have lifespans that are of comparable lengths. Oh yeah, and among human beings people are usually AWARE of the relationship that’s taking place. So toys want to form deep bonds with their children and want to have these relationships last. But the relationships can’t last. I’ll gladly state that play, in some form, is necessary for humans to thrive throughout their lives, but the kind of play that the toys in Toy Story find ideal is a childhood phase of play that that most people naturally outgrow. And even if a human did engage in play ideal for toys throughout their entire life, toys are immortal unless destroyed. All toys will lose their owners, and usually after a pretty short handful of years.

The aftermath of the owner + toy relationship is always painful for the toy. What are the options? To remain owned, but not played with: perhaps the “best” option, but it still leaves the toy with only a memory of a full life. Is a shelf life really a life? This is what was facing Woody, I believe, if Andy had taken him with him to college. Another option: to be outgrown and forgotten. This is what happens to Jessie, and it is a deeply, deeply painful experience for her. She develops claustrophobia from being stored in a box. To be donated or sold at a garage sale: also a source of trauma and panic for the toys, but still better than the worst fate, to be thrown out. But toys that have been separated from their previous owners are so often grieving and/or bitter in the Toy Story series.

This is troubling, to say the least, but it also loops back to questions about the animus and memory. Toys are not tabula rasa. Buzz has a strong personality and memory set from his unboxing. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head do not need to court each other. Tour Guide Barbie will act as a tour guide in the absence of children. But with time, and accumulation of true memories as a toy, the toys will develop their own personalities, even if the animus starting point can often remain a strong influence. In Toy Story 3, however, we learn that certain toys, such as Buzz Lightyear, can be returned to the original animus state through a factory reset. I hardly know what to do with this. It wasn’t a permanent reset; Buzz’s memories and the personality he’s developed do come back. (But now he also has access to a “Spanish mode” that is…sexier (can such a word apply?) to Jessie than his English mode. Also other toys can put him into his mode against his will. There are so many worms in this can. Sexualization of Latinx people, can a toy expect bodily autonomy from other toys, etc.?) But not every toy has a reset button. Woody doesn’t. Slinky Dog, Rex, Mr. Potato Head, etc. don’t. Does the threat of a reset only affect toys with bodily components that could be considered brain analogues, i.e., microchips? But the animus is not the “brain” and neither does the “brain” store memories/personality. I really, really don’t know what to do with this, except it seems once again to assert the ultimate strength of the adult/corporate-created animus.

The point is, toys can lose their memories, but when we see that in the movies, it leads the toy to go back to their earliest state.

Now: a mystery. In Toy Story, Woody has developed enough memory and personality that he is well aware of being a toy and is involved with the life of Andy’s room in ways that neither his sheriff role or Andy’s imagination reasonably encompasses. (Consider the “Plastic Corrosion Awareness Meeting.”) All right. This would be of no concern if Woody was a generic wild west doll, but he’s not. He was made to represent a character on the Woody’s Roundup TV show in the 1950s. He would have had an animus strongly imprinted with that backstory just like Buzz Lightyear had his strongly imprinted space ranger backstory. Well, then maybe this means that Woody just never lost his memory. That would be the best explanation. That’s why he has a personality mostly free from this imprinted backstory, having been Andy’s favorite toy for some time. But Woody has lost his memory. In Toy Story 2, Woody learns (learns!) that he’s a representation of a TV character. He meets Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete without knowing who they are at all. Woody has somehow completely forgotten his origins. He experienced memory loss that brought him farther away from his animus starting point.

Okay, so there are multiple kinds of amnesia for toys; I was wrong in my earlier assertion that memory loss tends to the origin animus. But I want to keep poking at Woody’s memory issues because of something else that Woody’s timeline leads me to conclude: Andy is not Woody’s first owner, OR Woody was boxed up and forgotten for DECADES before Andy. Actually, he’s probably spent a significant amount of time in storage or on a shelf regardless of whether Andy is his first owner or not.

Toy Story was released in 1995. If the story is set in the present, then Andy is very close to my age. Now, Woody is “an old family toy” according to Toy Story 2, and Al, as a toy collector, was so thrilled and astonished to find a Woody at a garage sale that he stole him when he learned he wasn’t actually for sale. This leads me to the conclusion that Woody toys aren’t in continuous production. Woody was probably only manufactured during the height of Woody’s Roundup’s popularity, in the 1950s. So there’s two options for Woody’s ownership history. I’m also going to presume in both cases that Andy’s father was the parent that previously owned him, though there’s no reason why his mother couldn’t have been the owner.

So, option one: the young parents/young grandparents option. If Andy’s grandparents had his father when they were about twenty, and then Andy’s parents had Andy when they were about twenty, then Andy’s grandfather could have gotten Woody at ideal playing age and then later passed him down to Andy’s father and then Andy’s father would have passed him to Andy. I don’t think this is the case, though, because Woody still has his incredibly rare hat and a functional voice box. If Woody had been played with by a child at ideal playing age at the height of the popularity of his character’s show, I think it’s likely that he would have gotten played with so much (and taken to places so much) that he would have lost his hat and his voice box would have worn out. Woody didn’t start off life as a collectible, and play causes wear and tear on toys. And if Woody was originally the grandfather’s toy, then he would have gone through another round of play with Andy’s father. Woody’s condition is too good for that. Unless, that is, Andy’s whole family is made up of people who are unusually careful with their toys? That’s sort of an intriguing idea, since it means that Sid’s actions look even more horrifying by contrast, and generations of “ideal owners” for Woody obscure the bizarre nature of the life of a thinking, feeling toy. However, the Toy Story universe keeps raising questions in Toy Story 2-4 about what it means to be a toy, so there doesn’t seem to be a motivation in the series for such obscuring. This is despite the fact that Woody’s amnesia does obscure some things about the nature of a toy’s life, at least in the original Toy Story. (I know the Doylist perspective answers all this easily—this isn’t what the audience is meant to think about, Woody’s backstory as a toy from a 1950s TV show isn’t important in Toy Story, and in fact this backstory didn’t exist until Toy Story 2 was created.)

Regardless, I don’t think the young parents/young grandparents option is the right one. Instead, I choose option 2: the slightly older parents option. Woody’s Roundup is a TV show from the 1950s. It was popular enough to lead to a lot of merchandise, not just the dolls of the main characters. Brief research shows that in the 1950s television Westerns were incredibly popular, and there were Westerns made for kids and Westerns made for adults. The question I’m trying to get at here is trying to figure out how Andy’s grandparents would have known about a kid’s Western show. But, it’s really not that difficult. In this timeline I’m building now, Andy’s father would have been born in the 1950s, making him in his early-mid thirties when he became Andy’s father. Given this timeline, it’s overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s father has siblings, including older siblings, that might already watch Woody’s Roundup. Or, even if Andy’s father was the oldest child, it’s also overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s grandparents’ friends had plenty of kids of their own and probably talked among themselves about what kids liked. The significant thing in this timeline is that Woody would have been given to Andy’s father when Andy’s father was very young. Perhaps too young for a Woody doll, but perhaps also with the assumption that Andy’s father would grow into the doll. So Woody is unboxed and waits on a shelf for a couple years while Andy’s father grows a little. My theory is that Woody’s Roundup was no longer on television by the time Andy’s father was at the right age to start playing with a doll of Woody’s type. This would have two consequences. One: Andy’s father would have been unguided by the TV show in regard of how to play with Woody, meaning that Woody would have formed many memories unrelated to his original animus in this early stage of his life. Two: even though Woody was played with, he never was Andy’s father’s favorite toy, which is why he was able to be passed down to Andy in good condition (and still with his hat).

In this option 2, which I feel is more likely, Woody has probably spent at least 25 years on a shelf or in storage. So why is this important? I think it’s important because Woody doesn’t act like he’s been through the decades-in-storage experience, or the experience of having an owner outgrow him. He sympathizes with Jessie after learning her story, but he says nothing about having experienced anything like it himself. And as far as the movies are concerned, his worries about Andy outgrowing him are new worries. But they can’t be new! He’s already been outgrown at least once before! I mean, with Andy he’s a favorite toy, so that’s a unique owner + toy relationship status that he (probably) didn’t have before. Maybe that amplifies what he’s going through this time?

But there’s another aspect to Woody’s experiences that I want to touch on. All the other toys he would have known as Andy’s father’s toy are gone. There are no other “heirloom” toys in Andy’s room, or at least there is no evidence of this. All of Andy’s other toys seem to have been purchased just for Andy, and purchased new. There is no reference to garage sale trauma, previous owners, or anything like that. And as we’ve seen from other toys throughout the series, toys remember that kind of thing! But Woody doesn’t. His animus is one that shows years of experience building over his character backstory, but he never acts like he’s experienced being outgrown or losing all his toy friends.

Or at least he never says anything about such experiences.

I think it makes sense to read Woody’s amnesia as genuine. But I also think it would be reasonable to read his character as one that has undergone traumatic experiences and has responded by burying them so deep within his mind that he has no conscious access to them, even though they influence his current personality and life. (It’s impossible to know, but do toys in every household respond to birthdays and Christmas with such intense monitoring—with the desire for even the slightest early warning of replacement? Woody is the one who worries most about these celebrations, extremely anxious of his own status as favorite toy.) That the ending of Toy Story 4 removes him from the cycle of ownership and outgrowing can’t be ignored. Better to not have an owner than to experience losing an owner again, and again, and again?

But I do think there is one other possibility: Andy’s ownership of Woody caused him to lose all his memories of Andy’s father. A child may not be able to give a manufactured toy a new animus, but by possessing a toy in a play relationship (as opposed to a collector relationship) a child may be able to overwrite any memories of the toy’s previous owner. The process doesn’t happen instantaneously, as Andy’s toys don’t immediately forget him upon being transferred to Bonnie, but it would certainly explain why Woody makes no reference ever to a previous owner, even though he was most likely manufactured at least 35 years before coming into Andy’s possession. However, Jessie’s story argues against this. While she is happy among Andy’s toys, there’s nothing to show that she is forgetting her own past.

The possibility of a new child owner driving out all thoughts of the previous one is interesting, as it puts some degree of power over the toy’s animus back with the child. However, in the Toy Story universe, it’s clear that if this is the case, it’s not an instantaneous process. And if it’s not an instantaneous process, then it becomes overly complex. What memories would be driven out? For toys less adventurous than the main characters of the Toy Story movies, their whole lives are centered on their owners. They live in their child’s room/house. Anything that took place there would have to be forgotten to not bring up thoughts of the previous owner, including conversations with other toys that were friends of that first toy. At this point we approach a state of complete memory loss before the claim by a new owner. A gradual process would at least allow continuity of personality, since new memories under the new owner would be continually being made. But then, some new memories would have to fade, also. For wouldn’t a toy talk about their past while they could still remember it? And wouldn’t their new friends maybe bring up their past in conversation sometimes? They might even talk about the process of forgetting. That process would be noticed and known among toys. No, after thinking about it, I would say that there is no inherent forgetting process. Memories will mostly tend to stay, with whatever pain and joy they bring. And there will never be any transition process that is easy for the toy.

Woody’s amnesia remains his own, and remains his best defense against the trauma of being outgrown and shelved or stored for many years.

Toys have a strange and painful lot in life, semi-immortals being made to be silent companions to the briefest stage of a mortal lifespan. They live because they are made for children, but for most, in this world of mass production, children do not create them. Their animi are the spawn of creators who have no intent to create thinking, feeling beings. Escaping the stamp of such thoughtless creation means living long enough to know the deepest loss a toy can experience. Sometimes the only way to move forward from such loss is to forget. And yet, there is little will for most toys to move beyond this cycle. Toys overwhelmingly retain their roles as objects. I’d like to say that maybe this means that play is worth it, that temporary joy is worth it. But maybe it’s just the nature of being a toy. After all, if there’s any intent in their creation, there was the intent that they should be objects.

*I would never leave a dangling asterisk. My previous point was about ships and boats, but, if seagoing vehicles live because they are named, then there’s no reason why land vehicles would not do the same. It might be possible to argue that the Cars universe came about after some cataclysm wiped out humans and left only named vehicles behind.

Other avenues of investigation that were beyond the scope of this essay:

1) The situation between the Diamonds and every other gem in Steven Universe is highly analogous to the situation between humans and toys in the Toy Story universe, save for the crucial difference that the Diamonds have no excuse to not know that the other gems are complete feeling, thinking beings and to treat them as such. It was actually parallels I saw between Spinel + Pink Diamond and Jessie + her owner that got me thinking about aspects of the Toy Story universe in ways that I know are meant to be ignored. Also Pink Diamond bringing all those little pebble people to life just by crying on them. That’s a lot of responsibility coming from a solitary expression of emotion!

2) I’d be curious to know if a hugely popular series based on the agency of objects has had an effect on fan culture at all. Or it might at least be a way to examine actions taken on behalf of characters. Fictional characters, after all, don’t feel any kind of way about the situations and relationships people envision them in. They’re mental objects like toys are physical objects. In the real world is anyone going to argue that putting the faces of dolls or action figures together and making kissing noises is something to worry about? Is anything about putting a naked Barbie on top of a naked Ken a harmful act? In the real world I would say no. Also, with full awareness that this is a can of worms, what is the impact of such things in the Toy Story universe? Obviously this wouldn’t be addressed in any canon. But the Toy Story universe is supposed to be like reality with one big secret so there are kids that are definitely using their toys to play out love stories and stories including a vague understanding of sex. And another aspect to all this…if you’ve seen Booksmart, consider one of the characters’ uses of her childhood stuffed animal. I understand that this is not uncommon.

All right. I think I’m done now. And that I will probably go get another drink.

(I had a few baby dolls as a child that included their own toys as accessories. H—how would THAT work?)

#I've been out of school for YEARS and yet I was still compelled to write a long and slightly deranged essay in mid-December #Toy Story

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whatdidimissjm · 4 years ago

Note

not sure if you're still accepting requests but may i ask for “don’t move. i’m going to get your bath ready” jamilton with thomas' dumb ass moving anyway

I am always accepting requests! :) And I looooved writing this one! It took me like forever, but now it´s done and I hope you´ll like it!

Promp list

Felt the Shame Rise in Me

“Alex, I´m so dizzy.”, Thomas mumbles, as soon as his boyfriend enters the room.

He looks up at him with glassy eyes, a thin layer of sweat covering his fever-flushed face. Alex puts the bag with the groceries down on the table and walks over to him, gently cupping his face and brushing his hair back, so that it isn´t sticking to his forehead anymore. Thomas´ eyes flutter shut as he leans into the touch, letting out a soft sigh. The heat that´s radiating from Thomas´ skin is concerning and the fact that Thomas doesn´t even try to hide how bad he feels, worries Alex even more. A shudder passes through Thomas´ body and he lets out a soft whimper, trying to wrap the blanket tighter around himself.

“I´m so cold.”

“Would you like to take a bath?”, Alex asks, and he can see Thomas´ eyes lighting up.

“Yes, please.”

He tries to sit up, but Alex places a steadying hand on his chest, gently holding him down.

“Don´t move. I´m going to get your bath ready and then I´ll get you.”

Alex expects Thomas to protest, but instead he just nods, sinking back down onto the couch, his eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, Alex just watches him, before he presses a quick kiss to his forehead and stands up and walks over to the bathroom. He turns on the tap and waits a bit, before he adds one of the bath-bombs he knows Thomas likes. He watches the water change colour, his thoughts spinning around his worry for Thomas and he almost doesn´t hear the soft thud from outside the bathroom. Alex turns the water off and listens from a moment, but doesn´t hear anything. Just as he is about to turn the water on again, a pained moan sounds through the flat, that causes him to jump up and hurry toward the living room.

“Thomas?”

His voice is shaking, and he feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. Another quiet moan comes from behind the couch and Alex braces himself for what he is going to find. Thomas is half lying, half sitting between the couch and the coffee table, one hand grabbing at the couch, trying to pull himself up. His face is a pained grimace, and the hand that isn´t holding onto the couch is pressed again his forehead, where blood is running out between his fingers and down his hand and face. For a second, Alex can´t form one coherent though, because that can´t be happening. Thomas should be on the couch, safe and sound, and not bleeding all over the floor. Waking up from his stupor, Alex drops to the ground next to is boyfriend and pulls him into a sitting position.

“Thomas what the hell happened?”

There is a panicked edge to his voice, but Thomas doesn´t seem to notice. The fact that he doesn´t react to his question either, makes Alex´s worry just grow more, and he grabs Thomas´ hand, trying to pry it away to see how deep the cut is. Thomas struggles against him, a pained whimper escaping his lips.

“Let me get a look at it, please.”

Alex doesn´t know if the desperation in his voice gets through to Thomas, or if the other man is simply too weak to resist more, but he manages to pull the hand away. He can barely see the cut because of all the blood, but Alex has a feeling that this isn´t something that he can handle on his own at home. He allows Thomas to press his hands against the injury once more and jumps up. Thomas´ head snaps up immediately, his eyes widening in panic.

“Where´re you going?”, he asks, his words slurring together.

“I´m calling an ambulance.”

For a moment Alex thinks Thomas will protest, but then his shoulders slump and Alex lets out a shaky breath of relief. He doesn´t think he could have handled arguing with Thomas about whether he needs to go to the hospital or not, without having a panic attack. The call is mercifully short, and after that he doesn´t feel as out of control as before anymore. He unlocks the front door and goes to the bathroom to grab a towel and their first aid kit, before he returns to Thomas, who blinks up at him with tired eyes as he hears him approach.

“Help will be here in a few minutes.”, he informs him, gently switching out Thomas´ hands for the towel. He opens the first aid kit and takes out a bandage, carefully wrapping it around Thomas´ head, hoping that this will stop the bleeding. Once he is done, he leans back, regarding Thomas with a frown. “And now tell me, what were you thinking? I told you not to move!”

“I don´t know.”, Thomas mutters, his voice muffled and weak.

Alex lets out a sigh and sinks down next to him on the floor, carefully wrapping his arm around Thomas´ back. Thomas sags against him, letting out a shuddering breath and Alex holds him tighter, not intending to let go of him anytime soon.

“I´m sorry.”

Alex swallows a few times, before he is able to answer without letting Thomas know that he is almost crying.

“Yeah, well, that´s what you get for not listening to me.”

Thomas lets out something like a chuckle, weakly reaching for Alexander´s hand. Alex holds onto his hand, feeling the rapid heartbeat fluttering underneath his fingers, letting him know that Thomas is here and alive, even though there is blood everywhere. He pulls Thomas even closer, leaning his head against the side of his head, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, because Thomas needs him right now and the worst thing would be to panic. A shudder passes through Thomas and he slumps even more against Alex.

“I´m cold and my head hurts.”, he mumbles, sounding like he is close to tears.

“The ambulance should be here any second.”, Alex promises.

He twists around to pull the blanket from the couch, gently wrapping it around Thomas´ shivering form, not caring that he will probably get blood on it. Just as Alex is about to call 911 again, because surely, they must have forgotten about them, there is a knock on the door and a moment later two EMTs are standing in their living room. The sight is so bizarre that Alex almost feels like laughing, weren´t it for Thomas still shivering in his arms.

“Good evening.”, one of them says, putting down her equipment bag in the couch and kneels down on the floor next to them. “I´m Nicole Breuers and that´s my partner Karl Davidson. What´s your name?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas Jefferson.”, Alex provides, and Nicole nods and writes it down.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Thomas shrugs, holding on even tighter to Alex´s hand. It´s the only sign of strength he shows, other than that his body is limp and feels like dead weight on top of Alex.

“I was dizzy, and I think I tried to get up and fell.”

“He has been running a fever those past days.”, Alex chimes in.

“Were you with him when he fell?”

Alex shakes his head, feeling shame and regret rising in him. Maybe if he hadn´t left him alone, this wouldn´t have happened and Thomas would be alright right now.

“No, I was in the bathroom.”, he answers, his voice tight.

Nicole nods again, typing something on her tablet, before he looks up again.

“Thomas, does anything else hurt, other than your head?”

Thomas shrugs, dropping his gaze.

“I- I don´t know.”

“Okay, that´s alright. Does your neck hurt? Or your hands or back?”

“I don´t think so. Maybe my neck a bit? I´m sorry.”

Alex´s heart breaks at how lost and scared his boyfriend sounds, but the woman gives Thomas a reassuring smile and Alex feels himself relaxing the tiniest bit. They know what they are doing. Thomas will be fine. Everything will be fine.

“That´s alright. Now please move your hands and legs a bit, so that I can cross that off my list as well.”

Thomas nods and does as he´s told. She asks him a few other questions that Alex tries to answer when Thomas seems lost and then after a few minutes she is finally finished.

“We are gonna put a brace around your neck, just in case you hurt it during your fall.”, Nicole explains. “It will stop you from moving your head around, so that you don´t injure yourself more.”

Alex feels his insides going cold at that. He hadn´t even thought about the possibility that Thomas could be hurt even worse. The shock must be showing on his face, because Nicole gives him a reassuring smile.

“It´s a standard procedure. It doesn´t look like his neck is hurt, but better be safe than sorry.”

Alex nods numbly, and reluctantly lets go of Thomas, when the two paramedics put the brace around Thomas´ neck. He watches them lift him onto the lowered stretcher and feels his knees give in at the realisation that Thomas is so badly hurt that they need to take him to the hospital. He stumbles back, glad to be able to sit down. He feels a bit lightheaded and for a second he buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths.

“Can I come to the hospital with you?”

He hates how desperate his voice sounds, but there is nothing he can do. When the paramedics nod, he lets out a breath of relief and gets up, grabbing his phone, wallet, keys, and a jacket and follows them outside. His legs still feel a wobbly and he is glad when he gets to sit down again. On the way to the hospital, Alex doesn´t intend to take his eyes off of Thomas once, far too worried that there is some kind of injury that they have overlooked.

“Do you have someone to call?”, Nicole asks after some time. “You will have to wait outside while they treat him. Maybe you can get someone to wait with you.”

He tears his eyes away from Thomas, looking over at Nicole.

“Yeah, yeah.”, he takes a deep breath, giving the woman a small smile that he hopes is convincing. “I will call someone when we´re there.”

“That´s good.”

They arrive at the hospital a few minutes later and Alex gets told to stay in the waiting area, while they take Thomas away to get treated and that someone will get him as soon as he can see Thomas. After just standing there for a moment, not knowing what to do, he finally has the mental capacity to sit down in one of the chairs. He takes a few deep breaths, before he takes out his phone, remembering what the paramedic has told him. He is a bit shocked when he sees the red smudges of blood all over the screen and for a moment, he just stares at it, before he opens his contact list.

“Alex?”, James asks, when he answers the phone.

As soon as he hears his friend´s voice, he can´t keep himself from crying anymore, a soft sob escaping him.

“Oh my god, Alex what happened?”

“Thomas… he, I don´t know… he hit his head and there was so much blood. Everywhere. And now we´re in the hospital and they took him away and-”

He is rambling and doesn´t seem to be able to form a single coherent thought.

“Okay, hey, calm down. Where are you?”

“New York Community Hospital.”, Alex sniffles.

“Good. That´s good. Do you need me to come?”

Alex closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep calming breath.

“No. I´ll be fine and there´s no use for the both of us to be here, just… just stay on the phone with me please.”

“Of course. Tell me what happened?”

“I… I don´t really know. Thomas is sick so I wanted to make him a bath and then I heard a weird noise and went looking for him and he was on the ground and bleeding and James I was so scared and… and what if I hadn´t heard him? What if-“

“Hey.”, James says softly, and Alex stops, holding his breath. “No what if´s. You found him and that´s all that´s important, alright? Are you sure you don´t want me to come? I can be there in like half an hour.”

Alex shakes his head, letting out the breath he was holding.

“No, I´m fine. Really. This helps.”, he hesitates a moment. “You help. Just… just keep talking to me, alright?”

And James does just that. Alex had always thought he is good with words, but the way James manages to talk him down is incredibly impressive, especially because Alex knows that James must be worried about Thomas as well.

Alex doesn´t know how much time passes, until someone asks for the family of Thomas Jefferson, but he is out of his seat in an instant. He promises James to text him as soon as he knows more and ends the call, walking over to the doctor.

“How is he?”, Alex asks impatiently, without waiting for the doctor to say anything first. “Can I see him?”

“Good evening. I´m Doctor Lewis and I have been Mister Jefferson´s attending doctor. I guess you are Mister Hamilton?”

“Yes, I´m his boyfriend. Is he alright?”

Alex doesn´t even try to appear patient, because if she isn´t going to tell him what´s going on soon, he might actually go insane.

“Yes. He will be fine. We gave him something for his fever and the pain, and the headwound needed nine stitches. He is showing signs of a mild concussion, but there are no other injuries, so he should be fine with a few days of rest.”

Alex lets out a relieved sigh, almost all of the anxiety falling off him. Thomas will be fine.

“Can I see him?”, he asks again, and the doctor nods.

“Of course. If you´d follow me.”

She starts walking down the hallway and Alex follows her, already dreading the answer to his next question. He doesn´t know what he will do, if she tells him that they have to keep Thomas for the night, doesn´t think that he could bear to go back to their flat alone.

“Is he okay to go home?”

Doctor Lewis turns around to him, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Yes, under the condition that he will not be alone and that you bring him back if his condition gets worse.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath and nods, thinking to himself that he probably won´t ever leave Thomas alone again.

“Yes, yes of course.”

They come to a stop in front of a door and Doctor Lewis gives him a smile.

“I will be back in a bit with the forms you have to fill out, but you can go in. He has been asking for you the whole time.”

Alex nods and thanks the doctor again, before he opens the door and slips in. Thomas turns his head at the noise of the door, giving his boyfriend a reluctant smile. There is a bandage around his head and Alex is glad to see that some of the colour has returned to his face, but the dark stains of blood on his shirt still make him pause. They are a far too real reminder of all that has happened today. When Alex doesn´t make a move to walk over to the bed, Thomas holds out a hand for him and after another moment of hesitation, he takes a few steps forward. He takes Thomas´ hand, the one without the IV in it, and allows him to pull him down so that he is sitting on the bed.

“Hey.”, Thomas whispers, his voice exhausted, but he doesn´t seem to be in pain anymore. Probably thanks to the painkillers.

“Hey.”, Alex echoes, and suddenly he feels like crying again.

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. When he opens his eyes again, there is a small smile on his face.

“The doctor told me you kept asking for me.”

Alex had meant for it to sound mocking, but instead there is only fondness in his voice.

“I didn´t want you to be alone.”

At Thomas´ words Alex feels his throat tightening, but he doesn´t allow himself to give into his emotions.

“You are the one hurt, genius.”

Thomas is about to respond, when the door opens once more, and Doctor Lewis enters. She runs them through everything once more and has them sign Thomas´ release papers and then they are sitting in a taxi on their way home. Thomas is leaning heavily against Alex once more, but this time it´s reassuring, instead of concerning. He sends a quick text to James, letting him know that Thomas is alright and that they are on their way home.

As soon as they enter their flat, Alex spots the dark stains of blood in the living room and he feels a shudder running through his body. He quickly guides Thomas into the bedroom, deciding that he will deal with all of this tomorrow. After he has made sure that Thomas is sitting on the bed and not intending to get up, he turns to their wardrobe and takes out fresh pyjamas for both of them. Alex helps Thomas putting his on, even though he insists that he could do it alone too, before he quickly slips into his own.

“Let´s get you into bed.”

Thomas lets out a content sigh and allows Alex to guide him under the blanket and tuck him in. Alex pulls the curtains closed and turns off the light, before he joins him in bed. For a moment they just lay next to each other in silence, but then Thomas shifts around, so that he is looking at Alex.

“I´m sorry.”, he mumbles, a single tear running down his cheek.

Alex reaches out for him and gently brushes it away, before he leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Next time you listen, when I tell you to do something.”

Thomas chuckles softly and nods, curling up in Alex´s arms.

“I will.”

Alex pulls Thomas closer and presses a kiss to his head, mumbling a soft “good night” into his hair. While Thomas falls asleep, Alex watches him, not yet ready to take his eyes off him.

#jamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #hamilton #hamilton musical #hamilton fic #my writing #my fics #mine #cw blood #cw hospital

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 4- Man on the Moon

*Smut ahead, wink wink

Summary: So you got your ass handed to you last night, but it wasn’t a complete loss of an evening. Now here you are with Diego and Luther, searching in a library for Five.

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes

You wake up tangled next to Diego, the sun is shooting a warm ray on his back, as you feel a heavy limb pressed against your face and realize it’s just his arm. Gosh what a bed hog. You nudge him in the stomach with your fingers, when he doesn’t appear to react you tickle his arm that’s currently trapping you. He squirms away, bringing his arm with him, trailing it across your face and evidently messing up your hair.

“Thank you for that.” You mutter as he wakes up, sucking in a large breath. “Good morning to you too, grumpy.” He smiles, turning himself to the side as he props his head up by his right elbow to better look at you. You fake scowl, doing the same. “We’re gonna have to make a pit stop at subway or something cause I could eat a whole village right now.” You whine, dramatically laying back down on your pillow. Diego laughs at your early morning theatrics, you suddenly throw the blanket away from you and launch yourself over Diego. “I gotta piss, be back.” You yelp, racing to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Diego watches you take off with a giant smile plastered onto his handsome face.

While drying your hands, your mind subconsciously wanders to the pleasant shower you and Diego had last night. You could honestly have gone for a round two when you made it to your bedroom, but Diego looked exhausted so you let him sleep. But it just so happens that he’s awake and not tired at the moment, hmm interesting. You open the door and make your way back into the room, where Diego is laying on his back while staring up at the ceiling. “Hey Diego, real question? Would you be up for a continuation of last nights shower?” You ask him, standing a couple feet from the bed, his eyes grow wider. His princely face breaking out into a smug grin. “If you think you’re up for it.” He shoots back, throwing the covers away from him, sitting himself up on the edge of the mattress.

You grin back at that little comment, holding all the information you need to know that your man’s down to party. Taking him by surprise you launch yourself into the bed, rugby tackling Diego into the mattress. He lets out a huff, about to protest his annoyance when you start to kiss his exposed neck. Making a sweet trail of butterfly kisses up to his jawline, up to both of his cheeks, and finally a deep one on his lips.

He moans in delight as his hands snake around your sides, feeling you up and down, “Y/N you’re wild...but hmm... you do...things to me babe.” He purrs in between kisses. You love taking him off guard at any given opportunity, ranging from random jump scares to tackling him with your own means of loving affection. Although right now you really want some friction, so to satisfy this new craving of yours, you lay completely body to body on Diego. You’re both still clothed but now you can tease him a bit by lightly grinding into his growing bulge. Another sweet and guttural moan is pulled from his needy lips as you press your clothed lady bits over him once again, and again, and again. It’s getting you hot and driving Diego insane. He suddenly flips you onto your back in one fluid motion, you let out a surprised yelp and begin laughing when your head hits the pillow.

“A simple, take your pants off would have done it.” You tell him as he hovers over top of you, breathing heavily and noticeably shirtless. He leans down to kiss you, “Yeah well it was nice to hear you scream.” You snort at that as you roll your eyes, “You’re an idiot.” You whisper playfully in his ear, while you start to palm him through his boxers. His snarky comeback abruptly catches in his throat as he’s taken off guard by your fondling. You’re thoroughly enjoying how you’re making Diego squirm underneath your skilled touch. But you know too well he’ll take the reins in no time, and a few moments later he breaks from your heated kiss to lean back away from you. You’re about to protest at the sudden loss of contact, when he begins to pull your sweatpants down your legs. So that’s where we’re going, you think with a smirk. You lift your butt up to better help him get them off of you, and when they’re finally off he flings them across the room. “I’m gonna need to find those later.” You sass, he just smirks as he leans back into you to shut you up with a chaste kiss.

He ever so casually pulls your legs up to straddle you, tugging at your underwear while your lips are locked. You smile into the kiss, knowing exactly what he wants. “You’re in a compromising position..I can’t get them off from here.” You mumble into his lips, Diego reaches an arm out to grab something on the nightstand. You don’t care enough to pay any attention, that is, until a blade is lightly pressed against your hip, Diego cutting off your underwear. You laugh as he quickly rips them off of you, now forgotten somewhere on the floor. “That’s one way to do it.” You muse, while he sets the knife down, getting back to business which consists of taking off your shirt. You’re glad he doesn’t go to cut this one off considering Klaus bought it for you and it’s a favorite of yours.

He tugs it off the rest of the way, throwing it about the room elsewhere, his nimble finger immediately begin massaging your exposed breasts. You let out a pleased moan, that’s pure music to his hears. You grind your naked womanhood into Diego’s thin boxers turning him on even more, by now you’re soaked and about to lose it if Diego doesn’t start discarding his own clothes. To give him a not-so-subtle hint, you buck your bare hips up into his boxers, that are currently doing nothing helpful by trapping his obvious erection. He breaks from your heated embrace to lean his forehead against yours, “Alright, alright...I’m on it.” He chuckles at your neediness, as he finally pulls off his tight boxers. You bite your lip and hold in an excited moan when you see his cock springing out from its previous constraints. Diego then leans himself further down your body, starting to kiss up from your abdomen onto your stomach, between your heaving breasts and up to your neck. God he’s such a tease, always taking his good old time, revving you up with every second he’s not inside you. It’s almost torture.

At long last he makes it to your wanting lips, while you spread your legs apart even wider, granting him open access to what you’re absolutely craving. He holds himself up by his forearms as you reach out one hand to help guide his manhood into you. Once he reaches your slick entrance Diego knows exactly what to do next. You hold onto the sheets as he pushes himself fully into your core, filling you up to the brim. You let out a shaky breath as he begins to slowly thrust into you, his face hovers above yours, eyes closed in deep concentration at how he wants to move. He continues to pull in and out of you over and over again. Leaving you almost breathless each time, suddenly he begins to amp up the pace, much to your delight. Diego pounds into you with deep powerful thrusts that rock your whole body, you let out a moan as you dig your nails into his muscular back for better support. He kisses your shoulder while he pins you down to the mattress with his muscular body that’s rocking into you with gusto. The bed is shaking and the sweet sounds of sex are dissipating throughout the entire apartment. Diego’s heartbeat is thudding against his chest with each stroke, it’s a beautiful symphony in your ears that’s truly sending you places.

“Ah, fuck Y/N I’m getting close.” He grunts while continuing to pound into you. You can’t even fathom a coherent sentence with how he’s making you feel right now. Your pussy throbs with each thrust, the sensations pulling you towards your high. Without warning Diego hits your sweet spot sending you into a wave of pure pleasure, you don’t remember screaming out his name but the words leave your mouth anyways. Your walls tighten against his hard cock in reaction to your orgasm, further wetting the already messy bed sheets, he lets out a loud moan as he cums a few moments after you. Releasing his load into your hot sex all at once, he then gives in a couple more sloppy thrusts for good measure. Before slowly pulling out of you and falling onto the mattress to your left, your entrance is left dripping with some of his warm cum that runs off of you and onto the bed sheets. You ignore the fact that you’re gonna have to change the sheets before you leave later, while you turn to face a sweaty Diego. Who’s already looking at you with a dumbass smile on his stupid cute face. “I thoroughly enjoyed that, if I may add.” He tells you as he reaches out a hand to remove a strand of hair in your face that’s blocking you from properly seeing him. “I don’t remember but I might have screamed once or twice...my brain shuts off when you’re working your wonders.” He chuckles at your truthful comment, it’s not your fault he fucks up your thinking when he’s that deep inside you. Your mind no longer wants to function anymore. Diego’s dick game is that strong, but hell no would you ever fully admit that, his ego does not need anymore boosting.

For the next forty minutes the two of you just cuddle and talk about the most random and insignificant of things that come to mind. Until you look over at the time and decide you should probably get up, it’s still morning but you’ve got important Hargreeves family business to deal with at the Academy. Begrudgingly you pull away from Diego, kissing him before you stand up, walking naked over to your clothes. He props himself up on his elbow, watching you move in adoration. You force yourself to concentrate on putting on your clothes, ignoring Diego’s prying eyes with all your willpower. Once you’re done changing you turn around to face him, “Enjoying the view? Here put some clothes on we got shit to do today.” You quip while throwing him his boxers and some pants. He gets off of the bed, putting on his boxers while you go and find your boots.

“I can’t believe how much red was coming off of you in the shower last night.” Says Diego who’s now putting on a clean dark shirt. You purse your lips together, sitting on the edge of a chair, intently concentrating on tying up your boots. “It happens when you’re practically a human battering ram.” You deadpan, finishing the knot as you fold your arms looking up at Diego. He smirks at that, “Hey, so. What do you think about those crazy masked psychopaths last night? They really gave us a run for our money, huh?” He wonders, as he sits back down on the bed, sliding on his own boots, you get up and walk over to sit next to him. You hug your sides with a frown, “I have a strong suspicion that they have to do with Five. I’d just like to know where the hell he’s been off gallivanting to?”

“Good question. Guess we better head out, and figure out what the fuck is going on.” He stands up, reaching his hand out for you to take. In one swift motion he pulls you up, unintentionally slamming yourself right into his chest. “Jesus, Diego.” You huff, he just laughs holding your face gently, leaning down to kiss you. You give in, wrapping your hands around his muscular waist, pulling him in closer. He smiles into the kiss, reaching down to lightly squeeze your bum. You gasp at the sudden contact, he takes the opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth, cheeky bastard. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t enjoying this. It’s the small sweet moments with him amongst the chaos that makes you fall for him deeper and deeper every day.

You pull back, his face following yours, he pouts as you smirk at him, “I’m truly debating if we should continue this...again, but we have a mystery to solve, Detective Diego-black-is-my-favorite-color-Hargreeves.” He chuckles at your teasing comment, pecking you on the lips once again. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go see what my idiot family has got in store for us today.” He whines, breaking away from your touch to find his knife belt slash vest type thing. You walk over towards the door, putting on your jacket as you wait for him to get ready.

——

The both of you walk into the Academy, you stopping dead in your tracks to listen closely for movement. Diego walks right into you, “What the...” you shush him, “I’m trying to find Luther, shut up.” He keeps his mouth shut long enough for you to hear the sounds of Luther rummaging around upstairs in Five’s room. “Gotcha.” You smirk, grabbing Diego’s hand as you pull him up the wooden stairs.

The two of you start walking down the hallway, you in the lead, “He’s in Five’s room. With Pogo.” You add, continuing down the dimly lit hallway that you were getting shot in just yesterday. You let Diego take the lead, as he walks into Five’s room first, you right next to him. “What are you doing here?” Demands Diego, Pogo and Luther turning in surprise by your random appearance. Luther looks like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t be, he slowly rises from looking into Five’s drawers, “Uh. Do you guys know about Mom?” He questions, fixating the conversation away from his current situation.

Diego glances down for a moment, “Well, it looks like you got what you wanted, one way or another, right?” He sasses, fed up with Luther always seeming to get what he wants.

“Wanna tell me what you’re both doing here?” Luther asks, redirecting the subject once again. “Looking for Five.” You answer, while leaning your back against the wardrobe. He shifts his gaze to you, “Let me guess, Diego’s gonna save the day.” He grumbles. “It’s what we do. Asshole.” Diego snaps, before you have a chance to clap back at Luther.

“Really? Last I checked, you mopped floors. And Y/N teaches people how to box. At least she’s got that going for her.” He remarks, you scowl in annoyance. Diego snapping around to challenge him, “And what do you do? Sit on the moon....for four years, waiting for orders?” Pogo suddenly speaks up, trying his best to stop something bad from happening, “Boys. This won’t help us find Five.”

Diego ignores him, stepping closer to Luther, “Keep on being a loyal soldier after everything our father did to you.”

“What? You mean save my life?” Luther says, matter-of-factly, a flash of aggravation creeping into his eyes. God here we go.

Diego leans against the side of the wardrobe, a foot or two away from your right shoulder. “No, I mean.....turn you into a monster.” He says honestly, pushing Luther’s buttons, as he looks up defiantly at his larger brother. “Diego.” You hiss at him, a second later Luther punches a hole through the wood, inches from both of your faces. You don’t even flinch, “Nice one.” You mutter, walking around the two of them, as they continue their little matcho stare down.

“Can’t hide it anymore, champ.” Diego tells him, unflinching from Luther’s brief act of aggression. “He had a difficult decision to make, and he made it.” Luther argues back while pulling his fist out of the broken wardrobe door.

Diego shakes his head, “Grow up, Luther. We’re not 13 anymore.” You stand by Pogo rolling your eyes, they’re like actual children.

“That’s what leaders do, by the way.”

“He sent you on that mission all alone. Almost got you killed.” Diego persists, egging on a frustrated Luther further. “Yeah, well at least he was there. Where were you? You and everyone else in this family? Y/N included. You walked out.”

“And thank Christ that we did, or I would have ended up just, like, you.” Jabs Diego, pointing his glove covered finger at Luther, “Let me ask you a question. When you watch one of those nature shows..” You make a disgusted face, knowing exactly where he’s going with this.

“Please don’t.” You groan.

“Does it turn you on?” Diego finishes, trying to get a real reaction from Luther. “So what? Is he just an animal to you, too now, Diego, huh?” Luther accuses, pointing to Pogo, the tension in the room at an all time high.

“Enough!” Shouts Pogo, offended and defeated with how these two have been acting. You decide now’s a good time as ever to lay into them about it.

“Seriously? The Academy was attacked, I was shot multiple times and the rest of you are lucky to still be alive. Grace sadly wasn’t. Not to mention, Five is still MIA, and this is the shit I gotta deal with right now.” You cross your arms in irritation, “You’re both acting like angry little 6 year olds. Take it elsewhere.....Now.” You growl, sick of how both of them have been so moody towards each other. Pogo gives you a slight nod of approval, grateful that at least someone here as any sense.

Luther and Diego go silent, the two of them looking anywhere but your harsh gaze. The both of them embarrassed and annoyed at one another for taking it too far. “Sorry Y/N n’ Pogo.” They both mumble, avoiding eye contact with the two of you. They promptly exit Five’s room, Diego knowing you’re too pissed to have a conversation with right now.

You listen as they disperse down the hallway, “What is wrong with those two? Honestly.” You wonder shaking your head at Pogo. He shrugs, equally as befuddled. “Well, thank you anyways, they needed a stern talking to.” He smiles at you. “Problem is, I need them if I want to find Five. Well....technically I could do it on my own but...uh....that would not sit well with Diego.” You add, saying goodbye to Pogo as you walk out the door in search of those two idiots.

All you have to do is follow their scent down the hallway and then down the stairs to the front room. “So, are you two ready to play nice.” You retort while walking down the wooden staircase. Diego following your every move, “I guess, we can manage.” He mutters, pursing his lips together. You grin at the two of them, “Good. Let’s go find Five.”

——

The three of you walk down the street, towards the last place Luther had seen the stolen van Five was hiding out in. And there it is, parked nonchalantly in front of some hospital. “This is it. He’s still here. This is Five’s Van. Go. Go.” Rambles Luther, ushering you both towards the vehicle, as he makes a sad attempt at opening the locked door. Diego stepping up, by taking out a dagger and lock picking the door with ease. You stand behind them and watch in amusement as Diego opens the door, only for them to both move to get in at the same time. Luther announcing that he’s Number One so therefore he gets a free pass to get in first, Diego turns around to give you a look. You just shrug.

Diego and you jump into the back, scouring the small area for any clues as to Five’s whereabouts. Diego finding Vanya’s book with a ton of notes written in it, including where the book actually came from. The Argyle Public Library. “I know where to find Five.” Diego announces to the two of you.

“When was the last time you were in a public library? Oh right, since never.” You tell Diego bluntly, bursting out with a loud laugh at the end. Luther giving a small snort from his spot in the front seat, Diego just glares at you, mouthing a silent, “I’ll get you for this.” With the least menacing face you’ve ever seen.

——

Making your way into the giant public city library, you stand in front of Diego and Luther, as you take in your surroundings. “Let’s split up.” States Luther. “Wow. Good thinking.” Retorts Diego sarcastically. You chuckle lightly at their brotherly banter. “Yell if you get lost. Or don’t, I don’t care either way.” You mumble sarcastically, turning left to walk up the stairs, Diego following you. Luther taking the right staircase, helping to cover more ground.

You and Diego search the first floor, then the second, and finally you make it to the top. Meeting back up with Luther, who looks as puzzled at you two. “Anything?” He wonders, lost as to where Five could be. “No.” You and Diego reply bluntly. “Y/N, can’t you just hear him....or sniff him out.....like a bloodhound.” He carefully asks you. Sighing you go to answer, “To many people in one area. It’s already loud in here, as it is. Not to mention full of many, less then wonderful scents floating around.” You tell him, while leaning against a nearby cement wall. Diego holds onto the balcony railing, watching people go about their business. You turn to Luther with a shrug as you turn around to carry on your search for Five. Luther nods to you, turning around in the opposite direction in search of Five as well. You stroll down a new isle of bookshelves, deciding to try and concentrate on hyper focusing your hearing and sense of smell. Maybe that will help you find him quicker.

“You wanna know why I left?” Diego starts, choosing now as a good time to explain things to his brother, while you’re off wandering around for his other one.

Luther stops walking, turning himself around to face Diego, “What? What are you talking about?” He scrunches his face up clearly befuddled, Diego continues, “Why I left the Academy.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you couldn’t handle me being Number One.” Luther says, walking closer to Diego, who’s now leaning his back against the balcony.

“No. Because that’s what you do when you’re 17....and in love. And she’s way more appealing then anyone else.....So you move out, become your own person, grow up.” Diego explains, finally revealing his true motives for abandoning the hero lifestyle with the Umbrella Academy.

“Yeah, you’re a real grown-up.” Replies Luther dryly.

“At least I make my own decisions. You’ve never had to hold down a job. Pay bills.” Diego pauses for a moment thinking of something that would make Luther tick, “You ever even been with a girl?” He questions smiling, Luther snapping his head up at Diego at that alarming personal question. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

“Look, you wanna blame me, blame us for leaving first...and then the others...that’s okay. But maybe you’re asking yourself the wrong question. Maybe it’s not about why we left.” Diego pauses for a second letting the words sink into Luther, “Maybe it’s about why you stayed.” Luther’s brows furrow in frustration as he walks closer to Diego, “I stayed because the world needed me.” Diego shakes his head, “You stayed because you couldn’t let go of the way things used to be. The Academy. Dad. With Allison......Dad’s dead. Mom too, now. We’re orphans again, dude.” He walks away from the balcony, turning around to face Luther, “And things are never gonna go back to the way they used to....be.”

“Do you ever stop talking.” Luther cuts in, done with this brotherly therapy session. But before Diego has time to reply you burst into the open area, out from the hallway. They turn to you quickly, “I found him.” You give them a knowing smile, they follow you down the hall in collective confusion.

“Is he, um..?” Ponders Luther, not completely believing you just found Five drunk in a public library holding half a mannequin, an empty beer bottle, and laying among books and writings scribbled on the cement wall behind him.

“Drunk as a skunk.” Replies Diego smiling in amusement at Five’s current state of being.

“Yeah.” You whisper, walking over to pick him up.

——

You’re not certain what the actual time is, but by now it’s dark out, your favorite time of the day. The night air is cool and misty, and the city lights illuminate off of the dark blacktop of the alleyway. The one you’re currently walking down, along with Diego who’s to your upper left. And Luther who’s in between you and Diego, begrudgingly trailing along as he carries a conscious but drunk Five in his muscular arms.

“Well, we can’t go back to the house. It’s not secure. Those psychopaths could be back at any moment.” Worries Luther, still holding Five.

“Our place is closer. No one will look for him there” You add, referring to yours and Diego’s apartment.

Five burps loudly, Luther giving him a warning look, “If you vomit on me..”

“You what’s funny? Aah! I’m going through puberty.” He scoffs, “Huh. Twice. And I...I drank that whole bottle, didn’t I ? That’s what you do when the world you love goes bye-bye. Poof, it’s gone.....What are you guys talkin’ about?” Five wonders.

“Two masked intruders attacked the Academy last night.” Answers Luther.

“They came looking for you. So I need you to focus. What do they want?” Demands Diego, fed up with all the crap you and him had to deal with last night.

“Hazel and Cha-Cha.” States Five tiredly. Diego turning quickly to look at him. “Who?”

“You know, I hate code names.” Whines Luther.

“Ah, the best of the best. Except for me of course.” Chuckles Five, letting out a single hiccup.

“Let me guess, assassins?” You ask him, pretty darn certain you’re right. “Wow, Y/N. Someone pays attention to details.” Applauds Five, starting to ramble on about how Dolores doesn’t like it when he drinks. Diego having enough of his shenanigans whips around to face him, “Hey! I need you to focus. What do this Hazel and Cha-Cha want?”

Five gives Diego the goofiest grin you’ve ever seen as Diego continues to try and reason with him, “We just wanna protect you.”

“Protect me. I don’t need your protection, Diego. Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed?” States Five, Diego answering with a quiet no, glancing to you for a second. “I’m the Four frickin’ Horsemen. The apocalypse is coming.” He blurts out, right before turning his head over Luther’s muscular arm, and vomiting on the wet pavement.

“Lovely.” You groan in disgust, Diego and Luther looking away from the scene, equally as grossed out.

——

Finally inside your boiler room apartment, you set Dolores down by the coatrack. Diego standing next to you, as Luther gently lays a mumbling Five onto the bed. “Uh...hmm...they probably had sex here.....gross.” Mutters Five as he falls asleep almost instantly, Luther holds in a laugh the best he can, as not to wake him. You stand up snickering at Five’s subconscious comment about your place. Diego gives you an odd look, blissfully clueless as to what Five just whispered a second ago. Right, Diego can’t hear nearly as well as you can.

“Five just said it was gross that he’s sleeping on our bed, cause we probably fucked there.” You explain, holding in laughter the whole time. Diego’s eyes go wide for a moment, before something else flashes inside them. “And we most definitely did, this morning in fact.” He says lowly in your ear, sending chills down your spine. You look up at him, staring deeply into his chocolate eyes. “That makes it even worse.” You deadpan, “But we’re not telling him that.” You finish, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before turning towards Luther, who’s watching Five.

“Funny. If I didn’t know he was such a prick, I’d say he looks almost adorable in his sleep.” Whispers Diego, gazing down at Five’s oddly peaceful form.

“Well, don’t worry. He’ll sober up eventually. Be back to his normal, unpleasant self.” Says Luther, dreading when that moment may be.

“We can’t wait that long.” You mutter, thinking about how he’s involved with these crazy assassins.

“Exactly, I need to find out what his connection is with these lunatics before someone else dies.” Adds Diego, in sync with what’s on your mind.

“All that stuff he was saying before...What do you think he meant by that?” Wonders Luther, you suddenly hear footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s coming.” You quietly blurt out, Diego turns to you before moving into action. He takes out a knife as he swiftly walks up to the door, giving the two of you a nod, he turns the handle, holding up his knife. “You throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I’m pressin’ charges.......Or even betta’ I’ll have Y/N take that knife and put it where the sun don’t shine on ya.” Grumbles Al, the boxing gym’s owner.

“What do you want, Al?” Asks Diego, less then enthusiastically, letting the old grump into the apartment. “I ain’t your guys’ secretary. Some lady called for you two, said she needs your help.”

“What lady?” Probes Diego, lost as to who Al could be referring to.

“I dunno. Some, uh, detective. I think she said her name was, uh, Blotch or somethin’.” Rambles Al.

“Patch?”

“Uh, Yeah. She needs you to meet her at that motel, a dump on Calhoun. About a half hour ago.” He says, reading it off a piece of paper.

You share a startled look with Diego, “Oh shit, Patch.” You whisper.

“Uh, oh and something else. She said she found your brother.” Al tells you, turning around and promptly exiting your apartment.

You share another worried look with Diego, “Well, that didn’t make sense.” He says, thinking for a moment.

Suddenly the three of you get a look of realization, “Klaus.” You and Diego then book it out the door.

——

You smell the metallic scent of blood, radiating from a nearby open motel door. A few rooms down from where you and Diego are standing. You push forward, not sensing any signs of life, as you walk up to the open door. You look inside to find, your friend Eudora laying dead on the carpeted floor. A bullet wound in the center of her chest, you race over to her, kneeling down next to her body as Diego does the same.

“Shit. Why didn’t she wait for us.” You whisper yell, angry and in shock that this happened. Diego gently lifts her face up, stunned that his longtime friend is laying lifeless before him. “It had to have been those masked fuckers.” He hisses, upset that neither of you could have been here to prevent this.

“Goddammit, those fucking bastards.” You scream pounding on the floor in frustration. A moment later you hear the call of police sirens in the distance. Never a moment of peace. Taking in a shaky breath you reach out to touch Diego’s arm, “Police. We gotta go.” He looks up at you sadly, giving a gloomy nod, the both of you stand up and make a swift escape out the door and out of sight.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #what a time to be alive fic #falcor the luck dragon stories #number two

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badacts · 4 years ago

Text

the water is rising/i’m too tired to swim

There was nowhere else on Earth like Smallville. Or, for that matter, off of it.

Of course, little but the high holidays and complete disaster seemed to bring him back here these days. Sometimes he had to wonder whether regular adults felt the same as him, living so far from the places they’d grown up in. That aching wonder at being able to come home, with the overlapping whisper of a sense that that home couldn’t last forever.

Disaster made Clark Kent more introspective than Christmas, it turned out.

Bruce, who had stripped down to the suit baselayer with a pair of Clark’s sweatpants pulled over top, was leaning against the railing of the porch. He appeared to be watching the sunrise, though Clark suspected that was a front for him staring into the middle distance lost in thought. Clark would swear part of the reason the man kept the lenses in his cowl down during League meetings was to disguise the difference between his absent thinking expression and the force of his focus.

“How’s he doing?” Clark asked, voice kept low. Ma and Pa would be up soon anyway, but after the late night they’d caused it was the least he could do.

“Lantern is fine,” Bruce replied. His only tell was a tightening of his knuckles on the railing, there and then gone.

“And you?”

This earned him a look. “Any word from Diana?”

“She’ll be here by tonight with news. But we have our orders.”

“Orders.” Bruce’s expression was one of immense distaste. “We have a round table for a reason.”

“That’s what I’m usually telling you,” Clark replied, just as he normally would, and then winced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Now Bruce’s face had gone still, an indication either that he was angry or that he genuinely had no idea what Clark meant. Clark, used to treading that particular line on the side of caution - at least in this one respect - felt his eyes becoming inexorably attracted to his feet. Being back home turned him into an ashamed eight-year-old too easily.

“I should have been prepared,” he said.

Because he should have been. He should have known. Of all the temptations and causes, there were few other things Hal Jordan would like to throw his life away for with that particular degree of abandon. This had been Clark’s problem, and he should have been able to solve it without ever involving either of these two men, with their particular idiosyncrasies.

Just - kids were a hotspot for both of them, even kids from far-flung planets being trafficked across a variety of civilisations that just so happened to include the human ones. Bruce had long accepted that it was more reasonable to live for children, not die for them, but Hal hadn’t got that memo yet.

“You can’t possibly imagine that I’m angry with you.”

“I,” Clark began, and then stopped. To be honest, he hadn’t really imagined that Bruce wasn’t.

Bruce turned to look at him more fully, coolly assessing. The huff afterwards was indecipherable.

“Bruce-”

The man had turned back to the horizon. He said, “Clark, have I ever struck you as the type to make excuses for Green Lantern?”

Clark stepped up and leaned against the railing next to him. “There was never any danger of anyone accusing you of favouritism, certainly. Well, not towards Hal.”

The huff this time was definitely shaded with amusement. “Lantern can take responsibility for his own mistakes, Kal. He doesn’t need you falling on your sword for him.”

It wasn’t a mistake, Clark didn’t say, because he didn’t need to. But Bruce’s anger would translate as it liked to - Clark had known him for long enough to know that.

“Well, what’s a mission without the post-mission pervasive guilt,” Clark replied, an attempt at humour. Because it was Bruce, it didn’t fall flat. That was one thing about the man no one who didn’t know him would guess - humourless he may seem, but he was capable of poking fun at himself. Or maybe it was just because he knew Clark well.

It was Hal’s bloody victorious smile that had done it, he thought. Or maybe it was Batman’s sudden anger, alien from beneath the cowl which usually presented only the cold judgement of old god. That fierce protective anger usually reserved for Robins, in a situation where there were no Robins to be found. Or that Clark hadn’t known that Green Lantern might be a focus of it, hadn’t known there was anything there to know.

It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense. It’s that he hadn’t considered it, not once.

“You boys need to get to bed,” Ma said from the door. She was folded warmly into her dressing gown, the one Lois had got her for Christmas a few years back. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been up all night.” Her cool hand settled on Clark’s back, like it had from the time he got tall enough she didn’t have to hunch to do it.

“I’m always up all night,” Bruce replied, with a lilt of amusement at himself.

“Well, maybe in those cities that never sleep, that works. Out here, if you don’t sleep with the sun, you won’t get through a day on the farm,” Ma replied. Her other hand pressed to Bruce’s back, there and gone. “You look exhausted.”

“Well, if I need to help milk cows later,” Bruce conceded. It was entirely possible that he had no idea Ma and Pa didn’t keep dairy cows on the property, and hadn’t since their last gentle old house cow had gotten too old to calve. For a man with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge on many topics, his practical knowledge of farming was limited to desultorily prodding at the inner workings of Pa’s old truck.

“Off you go,” Ma ushered, shooing them into the house like a woman her size shouldn’t have been able to. “I’ll wake you if the world is ending.”

“Not if I hear it first,” Clark said.

Bruce retreated to the guest room, feet soundless on the rugs along the hall floor. Martha was right enough, that he needed sleep. As irritating as it was to need it now in particular, he could concede that there was little place safer than Superman’s family home while Superman was in it.

Hal was curled on his side in the guest bed, though he twitched and roused at the sound of the door opening. “Mmff. Hey, baby.”

“Lantern, it’s me,” Bruce replied brusquely.

“Nothing wrong with my eyes,” Hal said. He moved under the duvet, and then hissed out his breath. “Unlike my ribs, fuck.”

“Give me a pillow.”

One incredulous brown eye focussed on him from amidst said pillows. He seemed to have placed them strategically, though Bruce wasn’t sure when. “Over my suppurating corpse.”

Of course. Bruce picked up his cape from the pile of his gear in the corner and spread it on the floor beside the bed. There was at least a thick rug, some kind of synthetic shag.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Bruce replied. “You ought to do the same. You’ll be coherent enough for a strategic meeting later.”

“That’s a funny way to describe you and Clark arguing in the kitchen while Diana watches and laughs internally,” Hal said, “But it does explain a lot about your personal approach to injury recovery.”

“It’s just a concussion.”

“If you could tell yourself from six hours ago that, I’d appreciate it.”

Bruce wore that like the censure it was meant as. He knelt down on the rug, though it made his spine complain and his hip crack audibly. Another shade of embarrassment. At least this one was in front of the team member most likely to understand human fallibility.

Hal heaved a gusty sigh. “Just get in.”

“What?”

The single eye managed to convey challenge as well as the rest of the man tended to. A hand pushed the blankets back.

“It’s a double,” Bruce said. The Kents clearly didn’t have many guests visiting who measured over 5’8”.

“We can snuggle,” Hal replied.

“With those ribs?” Bruce asked, but conceded. The floor had never looked tempting, but it failed to even begin to measure up against a bed with Hal Jordan in it.

“Unbelievable,” Hal muttered as Bruce slipped in beside him. The mattress was body-warm where he’d sprawled across it, and a touch too soft. It rolled them into the centre together, something Hal seemed eager to take advantage of. Wary of bruises, Bruce allowed himself to be nudged onto his back with Hal’s good side belly-down on him, head cupped into his shoulder.

Once settled, Hal let out a momentous sigh. “Nice.”

“I live to serve.”

“Well, that’s not true, but okay,” Hal said into his shirt. “You scared the fuck out of Clark.”

That’s not at all how Bruce remembered the situation, but it seemed cruel to contradict someone with a head injury. Also, Hal’s good arm seemed to be trying to wriggle between Bruce’s back and the mattress, and it was distracting.

“He thought you were going to produce kryptonite from some orifice and rip his stomach out his nose,” Hal continued. “You told him it wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I told him it was yours.”

Hal huffed a laugh. “Actually, it’s yours, if anything.”

Bruce looked down at him. After a moment, Hal’s head rolled so their eyes met. There was amusement on his sleepy face. “You really shouldn’t’a started going out to fight gods and aliens in leather and kevlar. Or you shouldn’t have slept with me. One of those two things.”

“Guess which one I think it is.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got regrets. Well, so do the rest of us, you’re not special. And, might I just add-”

“I’m not sure I could stop you.”

- you still ended up in bed with me right now.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, looking to the ceiling. “There’s only one spare bed.”

“You could have shared with Clark. It wouldn’t be the first time, right?” The tone was distinctly lascivious. Hal shouldn’t have had the blood content for that quite yet, but it proved his healing capacity if nothing else. Bruce felt an expression of distaste cross over his face, but doubted Hal could see it from his position.

“This is purely for practical reasons,” he said, like there was anything in his life he’d done out of practicality. And like he didn’t have an arm around Hal’s shoulders, curling him close.

“Sure, pull the other one,” Hal said, “It’s got an alternate reality where we somehow managed to only ever fuck once on it.”

“The regret gets stronger every time you open your mouth.”

“As if.” To prove his point, Hal gave him a lazy grope. “Did you share those regrets with your-”

“Shh,” Bruce interrupted. He removed Hal’s hand, though not with any particular degree of firmness.

The truth of the matter was that Bruce was not in the habit of lying to himself - he was firmly of the belief that that particular habit, more than any other, got one killed. And perhaps the best he could expect was dying in a manner of his own choosing, but if he got to pick, being surprised by something he’d willfully ignored was not the way he would go.

He’d known since that night that it was never something that he’d do just the once. Case in point: Hal Jordan wouldn’t let it happen that easily.

He’d also known that it was a problem. A personal problem. One that didn’t start or end in the bedroom. That had also proven true.

In the quiet, Hal had settled. His breath was warm on the skin over Bruce’s heart.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled. “How do you always feel so good?”

Bruce had been wondering the same thing. He just held back tighter.

#batlantern #halbruce #hal jordan #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc #how many times did i CHANGE TENSE y'all #my fic #batman #green lantern #title from drown by martin garrix

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zackcollins · 4 years ago

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blue jays on the radio || b. bichette/c. biggio

Author’s Note: As you all may know, I write hockey fics. What some of you may not know is that baseball is my other true love when it comes to sports. That’s why I had to write something based upon this. I just had to. It would be a crime not to. This is my first time writing something for baseball, so please be gentle on me. GIF credit to austonandersen!!

Warning: Nothing, I don’t think. Feel free to let me know if you disagree though. I’ll add a warning for anything you think deserves one.

Word Count: 1.4k+

Title: Soggy Bottom Summer by Dean Brody (I will not be taking comments about it at this time)

Additional: If you found this by Googling yourself, are in this yourself, or know someone in this, please click back. No harm was meant in the creation of this fic. It’s purely fictional and for fun. That being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Cavan’s brain was running rampant with emotions. He was elated that he was headed to the postseason in the Major Leagues. This had been a dream of his for as long as he could remember. He was exhausted from having played a full baseball game. His body ached but he didn’t much care because of the circumstances surrounding the end of the game. In his mind, that made the exhaustion and the body aches worth it.

As everyone was sequestered into the middle of the infield for a photo, Bo laid down and put his head on Cavan’s lap. Cavan froze, unsure of how to proceed. His brain was turning on all cylinders in an attempt to produce a coherent thought.

After a few moments of panic, Cavan regained composure of himself and jostled Bo’s shoulders, screaming excitedly in his face. Bo laughed and screamed back, crossing his arms over his chest at the sudden movement of his body. Cavan patted Bo’s chest, exhaling in relief.

Lourdes leaned over from Bo’s left, patting Bo’s chest and screaming something in Spanish that Cavan couldn’t quite understand. Bo laughed again, head falling backwards onto Cavan’s lap a moment later. Cavan squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling heavily through his nose. When he opened his eyes, Lourdes was looking directly at him, a smirk on his face.

“What,” Cavan asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“You know none of us will care, right,” Lourdes said, cryptically.

Cavan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Lourdes sighed and raked his hands down his face.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Lourdes motioned to Bo, who had turned his attention to Teoscar on his right. “I look at my wife the same way.”

“Lourdes, I—“

“Save it, Cavan. I don’t care if you’re attracted to men. I only care that you’re being an idiot about your attraction to one specific man.”

Heat rose in Cavan’s cheeks as he sat there. He looked over at Bo. Bo was swatting hands and laughing happily with Danny who had migrated over from where he had been sitting. Cavan felt more heat rise on his face, reaching as far as the tips of his ears. His face was burning red-hot as he looked back at Lourdes.

Lourdes reached over and squeezed Cavan’s shoulder. Cavan relaxed, sighing in defeat. He brought his hands up and raked them down his face. Lourdes reached up and ruffled Cavan’s hair before he stood. He looked at Cavan and then cast a glance at Bo before he walked towards the dugout, yelling excitedly at everyone in his path.

Cavan raked another hand down his face before he looked down at Bo. He squished his hand into Bo’s face, making Bo shift his attention away from Danny and over to Cavan. Danny glanced at Cavan and quickly smirked before standing and chasing Alejandro over to the dugout for a hug.

“Can…” Cavan started, pausing to swallow a nervous lump. “Can we talk after everything has settled down?”

Bo gave Cavan a sideways glance but nodded.

“Yeah, man,” Bo said. “Whatever you need.”

Cavan smiled, ruffling Bo’s hair before he pushed Bo forward far enough to allow himself to stand up. Bo grumbled a little bit but Cavan stopped the grumbling when he offered Bo a helping hand to get him off the field. Bo smiled, gripping Cavan’s hand firmly as they worked together to get Bo on his feet.

Once Bo was standing, he continued to hold Cavan’s hand. Cavan, wanting to test the waters, squeezed Bo’s hand gently. Bo squeezed back almost immediately. When Cavan dared to look at Bo, he had a soft expression on his face. Cavan felt a ball of nerves form in his stomach. Seeing Bo acting carefree and soft made Cavan want to reach out and brush that one stray piece of hair out of Bo’s face. It made Cavan want to pull Bo in for a hug, a hug that meant something entirely different than the one they had shared five minutes before. He wanted to pull Bo in for a kiss to show how proud he was of him. To show how much he loved him.

How much he loved him.

Cavan wasn’t sure when that became the truth but there was no denying it now. He was in love with Bo Bichette and he had to do something about it.

“Come with me,” Cavan said, dragging Bo through the crowd of their teammates towards the dugout.

“Where are we going,” Bo asked.

Cavan didn’t answer. All he did was guide himself and Bo through the dugout and down through the tunnel towards the clubhouse.

Once they were in the clubhouse, Cavan directed Bo towards the trainer’s room. He triple-checked to make sure no one was there or on their way there before he closed the door. Bo gave Cavan a sideways glance as he hopped up to sit on one of the examination tables. Cavan hopped up beside Bo, leaning his head against Bo’s shoulder.

“I know I said I wanted to talk later,” Cavan said. “But I changed my mind and decided I couldn’t wait.”

Bo lifted Cavan’s head from his shoulder and turned it towards him. Cavan swallowed thickly when he saw the blank expression on Bo’s face. It never failed to amaze Cavan how well Bo could handle his emotions. It scared him sometimes, quite frankly.

“What is it, man,” Bo said, voice steady. “You look scared as hell.”

“I’m in love with you,” Cavan said, burying his head in the crook of Bo’s neck.

A sudden wave of emotions overcame Cavan. Tears fell from his eyes and onto Bo’s shirt. He sniffled a few times, shifting around to get as comfortable as he could at the awkward angle.

“Cav, Bige, hey,” Bo said, pulling Cavan’s head back and up to look at him.

Cavan sniffled a couple of times as Bo wiped away the tear stains on Cavan’s cheeks. Bo squeezed Cavan’s cheeks, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Cavan’s brain short-circuited at that. He sat there, staring helplessly at Bo.

“I’m in love with you too,” Bo said, running his hand through Cavan’s hair. “Why do you think I chose your lap to lay in?”

A small smile broke out on Cavan’s face.

Cavan reached out, brushing away that stray piece of hair that was in Bo’s face. Bo hummed, smiling softly. Cavan brought his hand down, cupping Bo’s cheek. Bo hummed again, leaning into the touch.

“Stop me if you don’t want this,” Cavan mumbled, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Bo’s.

Bo kissed back almost immediately, making Cavan relax.

As they kissed, Cavan felt butterflies dancing in his stomach. Everything about this kiss felt right. It felt even better than any kiss Cavan could’ve ever imagined having with Bo. It was everything he could’ve hoped for and then some.

“It’s about fucking time.”

Cavan jolted backwards, nearly falling off the examination table in his haste.

When Cavan turned his attention toward the direction the voice had come from, he saw Randal standing there. He was holding a heating pack to his back and wearing a giant grin on his face.

“How obvious was I,” Cavan asked, burying his head in his hands.

Randal chuckled as he walked across the room, sitting on the examination table beside Bo and Cavan.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Randal asked; Cavan nodded. “About thirteen. It’s a miracle Bo didn’t notice.”

Bo blushed, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

“Then again,” Randal pointed at Bo, “you were no better. You were also about thirteen on the obviously-in-love-with-my-teammate meter.”

Cavan and Bo looked at each other, awkward smiles on their faces. Randal dropped the heating pack on his examination table before reaching over and squeezing a shoulder each on Bo and Cavan.

“Birds of a feather, flock together,” Randal said, smiling. “In this case, the two birds are Blue Jays that were too idiotic to see that the other was in love with them until someone nudged one of them off the diamond.”

Cavan kicked Randal’s shin, to which Randal smirked and ruffled Cavan’s hair.

Bo grabbed Cavan’s hand, placing them atop Cavan’s knee. Cavan smiled at Bo, reaching over and brushing another stray hair out of his face.

Not caring that Randal was sitting right there, Cavan leaned forward and pressed his lips against Bo’s. Bo hummed softly into the kiss, following along with Cavan’s slow, methodical pace.

When the two pulled back, Randal was still sitting there, though he had a soft smile on his face. He reached over and squeezed their shoulders again.

“Let’s win this thing,” Randal said.

Cavan squeezed Bo’s hand, looking at him fondly. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Bo’s forehead, mumbling softly against it.

“Together.”

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rons-hermiones · 4 years ago

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Warning: This chapter implies dark themes during Hermione’s passage, but it is very briefly mentioned and not graphic. If that bothers you please skip!

Chapter Twenty Seven

Harry’s initial shock seemed to wear by the time they were in the Transfiguration corridor. Before that, Ron had been silent, clear dead set on making it back to the tower unnoticed.

This wouldn’t seem to be the case as the chosen one came to an abrupt stop.

“Ron, I know where she is.” He spoke in a broken voice.

All thoughts suddenly left his head.

He could give a shit less if Malfoy marched up to them right now and hexed their bollocks off. If the entire Chudley Cannons team flew in and announced they’d won the World Cup, he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

No, the only thing he could think of right now was Hermione.

Seeing her again. Looking around a room and knowing she’s safe. Telling her all he wants to say. To hold her...

“W-what?” He chokes after a second. It’s the only coherent thing.

“Sort of,” Harry adds in a whisper, suddenly feeling sorry for obviously getting Ron’s hopes up. “I’ll explain everything but not here. We need to find Neville and get back to the tower.”

And if that’s what needed to be done for Ron to get some sort of bloody explanation, then you better believe that’s what he was dead set on now.

Because of Draco's impromptu appearance at his dorm, they finished earlier than anticipated. Neville was surely still at the pitch doing all he could. Thankfully, they weren’t very far so they jogged outside for him.

“Neville!” Harry called after spotting him in the stands, waving his arms manically.

Neville looked shocked at their presence but tried to hide it as he clambered down the stands.

“Harry, Ron, I thought you still had a half hour? Is everything alright?” He whispered worriedly.

“Fine, it’s fine. Look, come on, I’ll tell you everything,” his green eyes flicked to Ron’s, “both of you, just not here.”

Neville nodded anxiously as the three rushed hurriedly back to Gryffindor Tower. Soon enough, they reached their dorm as Ron was ready to burst in anticipation.

“Okay Harry.” Ron said before Potter could even shut the door.

He hurriedly ruffled through his robes and smacked the picture atop the nearest surface, someone’s trunk.

Like before, the ginger can do nothing but stare at it in confusion.

Neville voices as much, “I don’t understand...”

Harry’s eyes lock with Ron’s. There’s a fire behind them, one he hasn’t seen since that day he ran after Bellatrix, vowing to avenge Sirius.

“Do you remember Ron that night at the Burrow. That night it happened, I saw him, I saw Hermione.” He spoke rapidly.

In response Weasley nodded, “yeah, he came twice. Once right after, once that night.” He recalled.

“Do you remember what I said? When Mad-Eye asked who was there? What I saw?” He encouraged.

Ron isn’t keen on the fact Harry’s trying to place guessing games rather than just blurt out an explanation, he supposes he’ll play along. “Yeah, you said it was just a big cold room.” Every detail of that night was burned into his brain and revisited often.

The raven haired boy nodded in encouragement more than anything else, as he cocked an eyebrow.

It was evident the chosen one was coaxing something out of him, “And...” he screwed his eyes in thoughts. Harry’s strangled voice echoing in his brain.

“The only thing I remember was a chandelier. It was the only thing shining in the room, you couldn't miss it.”

“Blimey, a chandelier.” Ron almost laughed. So overcome with a sense of hope on the realization.

A small smile struck Harry’s lips, “this,” he pointed to the photo, “this was the chandelier I saw.”

“So wherever the chandelier is, that’s where Hermione is, yeah?” Neville voiced, having caught on.

Harry nodded vigorously. “That’s where I saw her.”

The excitement that had been bubbling deep within them soon dropped, “only problem is, where is that chandelier.” The brunette Gryffindor whispered.

At this Ron’s own hope seemed to dwindle a bit, but he wouldn’t let it stay that way for long. No, they were onto something, they had to be.

Think Ron, think! What would Hermione do, come on...

It came to him a minute later, “I saw that picture in The Prophet. Over the summer.”

“Okay...” Harry said not really understanding where this was going.

“There was an article on the lower corner of the same page. It mentioned Percy. Dad was right pissed off after he read it. He incendioed the damn paper. Said he couldn’t believe his own son was apart of such trash that he was sharing a page with the Malfoy’s.” He explained.

“Ron?” His friend pushed again.

“Every article, every picture, in The Prophet article cites a place, an author, a photographer. There has to be something.”

“Mate you just said it yourself, your Dad set it on fire. Either way, I doubt your folks hoard The Prophet.” Harry reminded sounding a little defeated, but the spark was still evident.

“You're right, they don’t,” he paused, “but the library does.”

Neville’s face lit up like it was his Birthday, “he’s right! When we started up the D.A. last year, Hermione and I went through archives from the first war to pull pictures for the board. That’s brilliant Ron!” He exclaimed excitedly.

They turned to Harry, gaging his reaction. Soon, a grin etched his way onto his lips, “what are we still doing here? Let’s go to the library.”

They all began racing out.

“Blimey, spending my night in the library. If only Hermione could see us now.” He whispered to himself.

...

Her mind may be muddled but she isn’t stupid. Far from it.

There’s a small crack in the cell next to hers, right on the ceiling. If she strains her ears enough she’s sometimes able to hear what they’re saying.

“When?” She swears she hears Bellatrix ask.

“Two nights. I need time to prepare. The Order has been around.” Voldemort hisses.

“Of course my lord.” Hermione can visualize her bowing in compliance.

“Until then, not a word of this to the girl, understand?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. You have my word.” She hears Bellatrix promise.

Hermione gulps as she hears the cracking of disapparating and stomping of boots from above.

Painfully, she slinks back into the far corner to rest. It’s an absolute miracle she’s even conscious after everything upstairs.

Teeth. Nails. His hands, oh god, don’t think-

She screws her eyes in thought, pulling roughly at her shirt with her less injured hand.

Her clothes are mangled and tattered. Practically shreds at this point. Her entire body is exposed and that alone makes chills dance along her spine.

She doesn’t know if the blood covering the expanse of her most personal spots are a good or bad thing. Either way it makes her wretch.

She hears footsteps come down the steps. The candle flickers on which makes her ease a bit. It only does that when Natali- no, Narcissa, comes down stairs.

She takes a moment to berate herself. Maybe she’s not as smart as she once thought.

Stupid, stupid mind, you’re supposed to be brilliant! She scolds, the voice in her head almost sounds like Bellatrix.

She’s broken from her thoughts as a large clinging of metal practically makes her jump out of her skin.

Hermione looks up to see the woman with a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in fear.

Carefully Hermione surveys the room, trying to find what has her in such a state.

She soon realizes it’s her. This causes her to self consciously throw her arm over her breasts.

“Oh child, what did they do to you?” She cries out, dropping to her knees.

The brunette cowers a little at her words, silent tears streak her cheeks.

Like last night, she can tell Hermione needs comfort now more than ever, as Narcissa thoughtlessly throws open the bars and drops to her knees.

Welcoming the soothing touch as opposed to the burning she gets when Greyback or anyone else touches her, she falls onto the woman’s shoulder.

They sit like this for a while. Narcissa strokes her matted, disgusting hair, soothing her.

It isn’t until Hermione calms down that she realizes Missus Malfoy has thrown her cloak around her frame.

“They’re planning something. I don’t know what.” Narcissa tells her in an honest whisper, “it won’t be good for you.” She says next.

And the words should really evoke some terrible fear deep within her, but they don’t. She’s just numb to the pain at this point.

“Was it worth it?” She pulls away to look at Hermione’s dull, almost lifeless eyes, “was what you did today worth all this?” Narcissa has to know. She’s not patronizing her, she’s just trying to understand.

Momentarily she can see a spark in the young witch's eyes as she nods.

“W-worth e-everything.” She stutters out, having trust that Harry was doing something. Anything.

All the days she’s spent here she’s felt useless. Like some damsel in distress waiting for her prince to come get her out, but today was different. Today she felt like she controlled her own fate, if even a small portion.

The consequences were dreadful, unbearable, but in that moment when she called for Harry, she felt like herself again. If only for a second.

She hasn’t felt that way in weeks.

Narcissa nodded at her words and then returned to hugging her small frame.

Neither knew that what Hermione did today would cost her nearly everything.

…

Madam Pince gave them no trouble when they requested the archives. Ron imagines it’s pretty empty here considering it’s most common occupant has been away.

The book is an enchanted one. You tell it a date or just a general period time and it’ll open to the exact copy from the requested time.

Harry currently had it in front of him at the table.

“What do we say?” He asked, eyeing it curiously.

Ron thinks, “well, the article was over the summer. It was after school, but before Hermione arrived. So I reckon it was between a two week period.” He thinks aloud before deciding, “The Daily Prophet, June Twenty-Seventh 1996.” He told it.

Suddenly it’s pages fluttered to life, lightly ruffling the boys’ hair as it flicked hurriedly. It stopped after a few moments with a large headline labeled, ‘Dumbledore due to Retire after Ministry Break-In!’

“Rubbish.” Neville mumbled reading it.

Knowing this wasn’t it, he told the book to keep flipping.

Most of the headlines were shite. All boasting about how wonderful the ministry is, how awful Hogwarts is, even mentions of Harry.

‘The Boy Who Lies, Again!’ The title for June thirtieth read with a picture of Harry from the Ministry.

Upon seeing that, Ron only hurried his calls to the book.

“Next day!” Nope. “Next Day!” Another page down.

Just as he prepared to call for it to move on, Neville yelled out, “stop!”

His blue eyes peeled from Harry and to the book. In front of them sat the picture of the Malfoy’s, above it read ‘Malfoy Mentality’ in thick capital letters.

For good measure Harry shakily held up the photo from the dorm next to it.

A complete match.

Wordlessly, the three moved closer and anxiously began to read the contents of the article.

It was a load of rubbish. Just going on and on about how the Malfoy’s manage to remain so respectable during these times (their words not his). A few quotes from Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were also sprinkled about.

Ron can’t say he was shocked when the whole article was written by one Rita Skeeter. Even more maddening, not once did they talk about wherever the hell that picture was.

Next, he flashed his eyes to the photo in question, squinting to make out the small font underneath it.

Photographed by-

“Balthasar Bartolo Brimblehawk!” Neville yells out, causing someone to shush him from nearby.

He flushes red and drops into a whisper, “Brimblehawk, I know him.” He tells them.

“You do?” Harry asked, astonished at their luck. It’s almost as if they raised Slughorn’s stash of Felix Felicis prior to coming here.

He nods a little madly, “he was a big deal way back then, with The Order and all. Those pictures, the ones we had from the D.A. I reckon he took all of those.”

“Then why the hell is he now taking pictures of the Malfoy’s?” Ron asks before he can help it.

Neville goes on, “he took my parents wedding photos, my Gran’s too. He even took some photos of me when I was little, my Gran owl’s him from time to time. Last Easter she was having tea with Mrs.Criswell and I heard them talking. I mean normally it’s just gossip mind you, you know about other women or-“

“Neville.” Ron says gently, trying to steer him on track.

“Right. Sorry.” He says, “anyway, I zoned in because they mentioned You-Know-Who. When The Prophet had their little, uh, change, they wanted only the best. Brimblehawk is the best photographer for this type of thing I reckon, war times and all.”

“But?” Harry interjected knowing it was coming.

Sadly, Neville nodded, “but, apparently he refused to be a part of it. Next day his shop was broken into, ransacked. They never said who it was, of course one can only assume...” he trailed, “scared for him and his grandkids, he agreed to do work for them. Reckon he didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Bugger.” Ron mumbled. He wasn’t naive, he knew how wars worked. His Mum lost her brothers to the last one, but it didn’t make the fact innocent people. People like Brimblehawk, like Hermione, were paying the prince.

“Last I heard he stills develops photos from time to time down at his shop, he lives above it. Heard he takes less pictures now because of everything, plus he’s rather old, probably around Dumbledore’s age now.” Neville finished with a shrug.

“And could you get in contact with him? Your Gran maybe?” Harry questioned anxiously.

He sighed and shook his head, “If I sent an owl he’d surely be confused, tell me Gran and all. Then my Gran would demand answers, well, you know how that goes. I don’t wanna ruin this whole thing, it’s a bit of a secret.”

“Yeah a bit.” Ron scoffed sarcastically.

The dark haired boy monetarily glared at his friend, “okay, so that’s out of question, I think face to face interaction would be best. Where’d you say his shop was?” He asked.

Neville looked a little defeated, “I didn’t. It’s in Diagon Alley.”

“Diagon Alley! The next time we’ll be allowed over there is Easter holidays. I can’t wait that long!” Ron exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

“I know, shite.” Harry mumbled, nibbling nervously on his finger nails.

“Maybe someone else could? I mean, you guys said McGonagall and Dumbledore-“ the brunette started.

“No.” Harry dismissed, “they’d ask too many questions. If too many people knew, word could get back to whoever has her. They could move her. We need someone who understands how important this is. Someone who knows Hermione as more than the Brightest Witch of our Age.”

“Who?” Neville asks after a moment, thinking the chosen one was onto something.

Harry didn’t speak, but Ron did.

“Fred and George.”

#Ron Weasley #Ron and Hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #ron x hermione #Hermione Granger #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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my-miraculous-headcanons · 6 years ago

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Message Belatedly Received

It’s probably been months since Marinette had opened up her most treasured (non-magical) possession. Which truly is a crime, but it couldn’t have been helped. Things have been particularly busy, ever since Alya had found and returned her lost sketchbook all that time ago.

Hawkmoth had went on a rampage for a solid month, specifically targeting Chat Noir, and in that time, hadn’t even demanded the Ladybug or Black Cat Miraculous. In fact, all of his attacks seemed angry, overly violent, and uncoordinated. Marinette worries that their nemesis may very well be going off the deep end, and had been taken hold of by a bout of insanity.

There was also the matter of Adrien. He had taken special interest in frying her internal circuitry, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why. Not that she was complaining, of course, but...

No, yeah, she’s definitely complaining.

Having the object of her affections flirting with her every day should have been a dream come true for her, but in actuality, it’s a total nightmare. She hasn’t been able to get a coherent sentence out around him for ages, which is a huge step backwards on all the progress she made! She’s been coming home feeling absolutely mortified almost every single day, and at this point, she just can’t handle it anymore.

But, for the past three days, Adrien has not been in school, giving her time to finally get over all her embarrassment, think hard about his recent behaviour, and finally, jump, dance, squeal, and gush in absolute joy over the development.

Which ultimately led her to remembering the forbidden sketchbook.

How could she have possibly forgotten about it?!

She berates herself rather harshly for making such an error. She’s not one to forget something so important so easily, especially for that length of time. At the very least, even if she didn’t have the time to add anything, she should have thought or remembered it at least once!

There’s no use dwelling on that, however. Now that she actually has the free time, there’s no question on what she’s going to use it for.

With a look of fierce determination, Marinette draws out her mighty pencil from her desk drawer, and flips the forbidden sketchbook wide open.

And then she nearly has a stroke.

There’s a sticky note in it, peeking out ever so slightly behind pages that cover over it.

Alya had promised that she hadn’t look in it, and that she never would, but somehow, there was a sticky note in it, and she sure as hell wasn’t the person to put it there.

Hand shaking, she lets her pencil clatter to the desk, and hastily flips through the pages. She lands on the last of the occupational pages, where she had drawn Adrien in his pajamas, cuddled up with their three possible future children, the top of the page labelled Stay-At-Home Dad.

This one’s my favourite! :D

Her hear stutters to a stop. She recognises that handwriting.

As soon as realisation sets in, her heart restarts, then beats ten times faster.

Abruptly, she stands up, her chair forcefully pushed to roll across the room and slam into her bedroom wall. She flips to the first page, then lets a strangled noise emit from her throat.

There’s another sticky note.

Your designs are awesome! I can’t wait to see this when the time comes! ;)

Beside the sticky note is her in her wedding dress. Her face goes bright red as she lets out a whimper.

“Marinette?”

Tikki flits out from her corner, cookie crumbs on her cheeks, looking at her current Ladybug in concern. The expression on Marinette’s face isn’t anything new, especially recently in the wake of Adrien’s advances, but it’s certainly strange to be seeing it on her within the confines of her bedroom.

“Are you alright?”

Unable to gain control of her mouth fast enough, Marinette nods almost violently, snatching the forbidden sketchbook and pressing it flush against her chest.

“Don’t worry, I won’t look,” Tikki says in slight amusement. “Well, if you say you’re alright, I believe you. But if you need anything, just ask, alright? Or... snap your fingers, if you go nonverbal.”

At Marinette’s agreeing nod, Tikki goes back to her corner to consume more cookies.

With her kwami no longer inquiring, Marinette takes in a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down enough so that her face is no longer a furnace.

“I’m gonna– balcony!“ Marinette cringes, but knows that Tikki’s familiar enough with her babble to know what she’s trying to say.

“Alright! Be careful though, it’s chilly!”

“Right, yeah!”

A minute or three later, Marinette is bundled up in one of her spare blankets like a burrito, resting against the lounge chair on her balcony. The cold air stings her cheeks, and it’s exactly what she needs to gather up the will to continue.

She opens the sketchbook up again, and flips to the next page, featuring Adrien in his wedding suit.

I like how I look here. I look happy and loved.

I want that.

She closes her eyes and simply breathes, feeling tears gathering up behind her eyelids, chest feeling full and warm despite the cool air. She takes a moment to herself before she continues on, flipping pages until she gets to the next sticky note.

I’d make a pretty handsome professor, wouldn’t I?

She lets out a surprised laugh. She was going for the dorky, borderline conspiracy theorist look, with unkempt hair, a wide grin, and a tacky tie, having him gesturing animatedly towards a chalkboard in front of a class.

Yeah. He’d be a pretty handsome professor.

She continues.

Hey, you give me too much credit. I love fencing, but am I really gold-medalist material?

Rugby? As a career? And ruin this pretty face? My father would have a coronary.

Okay, your idea of being a model looks so much more fun than my father’s idea. Yes please.

Baker? I can’t bake. I’d love to learn, though. I wouldn’t mind continuing the family business. Think your dad would teach me?

You know, I’ve never thought about being in a band full-time. I love that idea.

Ice dancing? Okay, I won’t deny I was interested in those lessons, but I think I’m too old to start a full-time career out of it at this point. Or was that figure skating?

She keeps flipping until she finally lands back onto the Stay-At-Home Dad page, smiling so widely it’s almost painful.

Adrien was giving her input on their shared future. He made no comments about how it isn’t guaranteed, or that he didn’t like her like that, or that he was upset with her, or that he liked someone else. No, instead he went along with it, seemingly happy with this find, and narrowing down the options for their future paths.

But, she can’t deny that the occupational pages and the wedding pages weren’t the most important ones. It’s what came after that truly mattered. And she can see the outline of the next sticky note against the page, so she knows he’s seen it.

Taking in a deep breath, she flips the page.

Hugo Dupain-Cheng-Agreste.

Louis Dupain-Cheng-Agreste.

Emilie “Emma” Dupain-Cheng-Agreste.

They’re beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

Thank you.

The tears that had been threatening to spill finally break free, rolling down her cheeks, and she smiles so wide she’s almost embarrassed, reaching a hand up to block the view of her grin.

“What do you got there, Marinette?”

She yelps and topples off the lounge chair, blanket slipping halfway down to her waist. Her head whacks painfully against the flooring, since her hands are too busy protecting the forbidden sketchbook to break her fall.

Chat Noir winces and helps the poor civilian up and back into her seat, apologising for startling her.

“It’s nothing, Chat Noir,” Marinette eventually responds, not too surprised to see him on her balcony. He’s been visiting more and more frequently lately, which is just another thing to add to the list of time-consuming distractions that’s kept her much too busy to even think about the forbidden sketchbook.

Honestly. How dare that cat be part of the reason that led her to committing such a crime.

“You’re not the type to cry over nothing,” Chat Noir says simply, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“It’s not like they’re sad tears.”

“Happy ones, then?”

Her eyes dart away, cheeks going pink. Chat’s expression becomes devious.

“Of a boy, purrhaps?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Au contraire, mademoiselle! You have no idea just how much it is my business! But, since I am your absolute best guy friend ever, I promise not to push any more. Isn’t that noble of me?”

Marinette breathes out a relieved— and slightly amused— sigh, shooting her companion a grateful look. She looks down at the sketchbook, inspecting it to make sure it wasn’t damaged in the fall, then shuts it and places it on her lap.

Unnoticed to her, Chat Noir’s eyes finally make contact with the object of her happiness, and his smile goes tender and soft.

So, she’s finally noticed.

“It’s getting a little cold out here, don’t you think? Let’s go inside. Besides, last week you promised me we’d have an anime marathon. It’s Friday now and I’m getting antsy!”

Marinette laughs and shakes her head, kicking her blanket off her legs so she can stand up.

“Sure thing, minou. You know my desktop and Netflix password, I’ll go downstairs and sneak us some snacks.”

She flicks his bell.

“Be good.”

And with that, she descends into her bedroom and down the trap door, leaving a stunned superhero in her wake.

Huh, Chat thinks, heart thudding rapidly against his ribcage. Would it be a rational response to move our marriage date up a couple years? Eighteen isn’t too young, right? Right.

To the surprise of no one, he thinks that with full sincerity.

To the surprise of everyone but Adrien, she would say yes.

... But that’s a story for another time.

#Marry That Girl #Miraculous Ladybug #ML #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Adrienette #Marichat #Adrinette #Maximilian Speaks #Maximilian's Writing #Tikki #Chat Noir #We're nearing the end of the series

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ruthoakenshield · 5 years ago

Text

Thorin’s Anniversary Gift

You wake to gentle kisses on your neck and the sound of little pitter pattering feet and the giggles of your twin three year old daughters entering your room.

You groan and keep your eyes closed pretending to be asleep. Thorin chuckles, and you hear him grunt in pain as your daughter most likely got him near the groin...again, as she climbed up onto your bed and started trying to wake the two of you up.

“Mamad, hungweeee!” she said as she bounced on the bed next to you. “Yeah, Mamad, Bweakfas!!!!!” your other daughter squealed as you both heard her tummy growl.

Thorin chuckled and told them to go in the sitting room and play. That breakfast will be served soon.

You felt the bed bounce as your daughters vaulted themselves to the floor and ran out of the room.

Thorin pulled the pillow off your face that you were hiding under and kissed your cheek. “You ok, Love?” he asked as he caressed your side. His expression on his face showing concern.

“Don’t feel well.” you mumbled. “Just need to sleep. Can Dis or your nephews watch the girls today so I can sleep?” you ask. He frowns and feels your forehead. It feels fine. He looks at your sleep tousled head and chuckles and peppers your back and shoulder with more kisses. “I will take the girls to get breakfast and then bring them to Dis’.” he tells you as you roll over to face him.

He grins when he sees your exposed breast and leans down to give it some attention. He caresses it with his tongue, drawing moans from you and you reach up and entwine your fingers in his dark mane that is streaked with more silver strands, giving it a gentle tug. He give you a low growl, sending shivers through your body when he starts sucking your nipple, creating a pull deep inside you. After a few minutes of this he sits up and caresses your face when he hears the girls squeal, “Auntie!!!!”

“Shall I have Oin come check on you later this morning?” he asks. You nod. “Okay, Love. I will stop by the Healing Halls and ask him to do so. I will come and check on you when my meetings are finished.” he tells you and kisses your cheek. Then he gets up and goes to get your daughters ready for breakfast and spending the day with their Auntie and Cousins.

You roll over, cover yourself back up and go back to sleep.

Later in the morning you wake to the sound of a gentle knocking on your bedroom door. “Who is it?” you ask sleepily.

“It is Oin, my Queen. Thorin said you were not feeling well and asked me to check on you.” he replied.

“Come in Oin.” you tell him as you roll onto your back and cover your chest.

He enters and walks over to your side of the enormous bed. He sets his bag on the foot end of the bed and comes over to feel your forehead. “What seems to be troubling you, My Lady? You have no fever.” he asks.

You tell him you have not been sleeping well, have been rather moody, and just feel exhausted. He hums for a moment. “Well I know you have said your monthly cycles are irregular, so we can’t use that to say for sure whether or not it may be a pregnancy. Since you have no fever, i doubt it is an illness. Let me check you just to make sure you are not pregnant and then we will go from there. Hmmm?” he suggests.

You sigh and nod. He gives you an examination and when he is finished he is smiling. “Well, my Queen, it looks like you are indeed expecting another little pebble to add to your brood! Congratulations!” he says happily.

You look at him in disbelief. “What? How can I be pregnant when it’s only been three years since the girls were born? You ask surprised.

Oin chuckles. “Though it is rare, it is not unheard of for a fertile dwarrowdam to become pregnant so soon after giving birth, my dear. You are just one of those dwarrowdams who seem to easily become pregnant, which I’m sure will make Thorin very happy as he has always wanted a sizeable brood of little ones.” he chuckles.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I will make sure you and the babe stay healthy.” he assures you. “Now just enjoy the day free of your little pebbles and get some rest. Thorin said he will come see you after his meetings finish this afternoon. I will send Bombur with lunch for you after a while.” he tells you as you snuggle back down into the warm comforter. “Oin, do not say anything to anyone about this. I want to surprise Thorin with it.” you tell him. “As my Queen wishes.” he says with a bow and a wink.

“Thank You Oin.” you tell him. He smiles and pats your shoulder. “Happy anniversary, my Queen!” he tells you with a grin, then he grabs his bag and takes his leave, closing the door behind him.

You fall back asleep and wake when Bombur knocks and brings you lunch. You eat and then go back to sleep.

Later that afternoon, Thorin enters the bedchamber and finds you on your side cuddling a body pillow. Your arms and legs wrapped around it. The silk sheets thrown off and your body exposed to him. He grins and begins to strip off his clothes quietly.

He comes over to his night stand and grabs the bottle of strawberry flavored lube out and squirts a little into his hand after he crawls up into the bed. He coats his hard member and then snuggles against your back, gently slipping himself into your warm entrance. You moan quietly but don’t wake. He realizes you are in a very deep sleep and he grins.

As he starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, he reaches around your chest to find your breast with the hand he had put the lube on. He begins to use the remaining lube to massage your breasts and you let out another groan of pleasure and roll over onto his chest, still asleep as he nuzzles your peppermint scented hair and kisses your neck.

He smirks and continues his ministrations. Nibbling your shoulder and neck, giving you gentle kisses and love nips, massaging your breasts, sucking on them and your now strawberry flavored nipples. He reaches down between your legs and gently rubs your pearl as he continues to slowly move in and out of you with his hard member, enjoying the feeling of you surrounding him with your warmth and wetness.

He is in no hurry to come, he just wants to enjoy this time alone with you, giving you pleasures and wake you with this intimacy and the love he has for you.

You gradually waken in his arms as you lean on his chest. Your husbands ministrations rousing you from deep slumber and you open your eyes and give him a sleepy grin. “Hello, my Ghivashel.” he whispers in your ear and then kisses your cheek. “Did Oin come to see you?” he asks quietly.

“Mmmhmm.” you mumble sleepily and moan as he plays with your clit.

He grins. “And what did Oin say. Why do you not feel well?” he asks in a low sensuous voice.

“He said i am fine and that I just needed some extra rest.” you mumble, struggling to form a coherent thoughts while Thorin worships your body with his ministrations.

“Then may I join you while you rest?” he asks as he reaches back up and caresses your lips with his fingers. You open your mouth and suck on his fingers, tasting yourself and the strawberry lube. “mmmmmmm” you moan and he thrusts become a little more demanding.

He grins and worships your back and sides of your body for a while longer. Tracing the battle scars on your back with his tongue and lips, and caressing your sides as well as your stretch marks on your hips and rear with his hands.

After a while, he pulls out and moves you onto your back. He lays down on top of you again and begins to worship the front half of you as he ever so slowly enters your warm cave.

He watches with delight as you moan and writhe under his ministrations and your eyes roll back in your head and you arch up to him as he ever so slowly enters and exits your cave repeatedly.

“Ooooohhh Thorinnnnn!” you moan out in extacy. He gives you a devilish grin and begins to pick up the pace as he nips at your chest and nipples. You groan again and he continues to worship your body.

He feels your body tightening and he feels the tightening in his groin. He wraps his arms around you tightly and his thrusts become more erratic and feverish. Finally he feels you orgasm and your muscles clamp down on him, pulling him over the edge and into his own orgasm and you both cry out each other’s names as you come hard, panting and gasping for air.

He collapses onto your chest and you both are panting and chests are heaving. Once he comes down from the post orgasmic high, he tells you “Happy Anniversary, my Love.” and he kisses your chest as he rests his head there over your heart.

You sigh contentedly, knowing your secret will please him.

“I have a present for you too, My Love.” you say happily. He looks up at your face and then looks around. “Where is it, Ghivashel?” he asks.

“You are laying on top of it.” you giggle. “Oin informed me this afternoon that i have not been feeling well because we are to have more pebbles in our brood.” you inform him grinning.

He pushes himself up for a moment, looking at you not comprehending what you told him. You laugh and he moves off of you to lay at your side with a confused look on his face.

You take his large, warm hand and place it on your lower belly and pat it. He looks down at it and you see the light bulb finally go on. He looks back up at you in disbelief, then you see it flit to amazement and joy. “More pebbles?” he asks wide-eyed. You grin and nod.

His huge sapphire eyes get glassy as he looks from your face to your belly and back to your face. He leans down and nuzzles your neck and holds you close. “Thank you, Ghivashel” he tells you as he peppers your face, neck and chest with more kisses. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift.” he tells you with glassy sapphire eyes that now sparkle with joy.

“Happy Anniversary, My King.” you tell him as he begins to make slow, passionate love to you for the rest of the evening in celebration of the news of having more dwarflings with you.

@fizzyxcustard @rachel1959 @quenofmankind @thorinthehottotty @dumbassunderthemountain @deepestfirefun

#thorin oakenshield #king thorin #anniversary #pebbles #more pebbles #intimacy #body worship #reader #queen under the mountain

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goffilolo · 5 years ago

Text

Revival of Midoriya Izuku chapter 3

It’s been 84 years huh? As always the fanfic is up on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/52652386

also im aware of like some formatting issues with the fic when it comes to tumblr, so reading it on ao3 might be better if you particularly care about like italics and what not, but otherwise it’s all the same stuff.

“Move your ass Boom Boom Bitch, I wanna get there early!” shouted Izuku, as him and Bandit sat on rather stylish, but uncomfortable couch in the Bakugous’ living room that was probably worth more than both of them put together, which probably wasn’t even that much anyway since they’re both garbage, but it’s about the principle of the thing.

“Shut your mouth you Trash Twink, I’ll get there when I get there! And what the fuck are you doing in my house?” screamed Bakugou all the way from upstairs, although with his voice being as explosive as his quirk he might as well be standing right next to you considering the damage he does to everyone’s eardrums.

Speaking of hearing damage “Katsuki!!! Is that how you talk to our guest you rude brat?! Get over here!” exclaimed Aunt Mitsuki.

“Shut it old hag! Deku’s not a guest, he’s just an annoying cockroach that invites himself wherever he wants and does whatever he wants!” which is a fair point, considering Izuku has invited himself to Bakugou’s first day at UA for less than wholesome reasons. Some people might see it as the ultimate bitch slap to Bakugou’s ego (partially true), but for the most part it’s merely a testament of how far Izuku has come, considering he now only sees UA as a place where he can flirt with Tensei’s hot brother, rather than a means of accomplishing some bullshit dreams... But it’s not like Kacchan knows any of this, so he can fuck off.

If you were to ask Izuku what his deal with Bakugou was, he would reply “Best friends, duh” with enough sarcasm to last you the next ten years. If you were to press for any specifics his reply would be more along the lines of “I dunno, get the fuck out of my apartment” followed by having Trash Bandit sent after you. The bottom line was, his relationship with Bakugou was complicated, as were most thing in Izuku’s life, but that’s not unusual.

Izuku’s presence at the Bakugou household though? That’s quite unusual, yet more likely than you’d think.

And although the screaming match between the two Bakugous was ever so entertaining Izuku had places to be, and guys to seduce, so “Leave it Auntie” he exclaims in a dismissive manner “We don’t want to rile him up too much, otherwise he ain’t gonna get that 30-day chip from the anger management that he’s been gunnin’ for” he adds half-jokingly.

“I know, I know” she says “But you’d think he would act a little nicer by now, after all these months of therapy.”

“Wouldn’t expect miracles if I were you Auntie, you know what the say; Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree ” replies the boy with a shiteating grin as he motions towards Bakugou descending down the stairs, not missing the way Mitsuki flinched ever so slightly at his rather obnoxious comment.

“And to think you used to be such a nice boy yourself, I used to always tell your mother how great it would’ve been if Katsuki was more like you” she says in a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and regret.

“Yeah well, considering the shit I got for being nice , I think from now on I’d rather be a bastard and then some” exclaimed Izuku as he got up from the couch with Bandit in tow and made his way towards Bakugou. The other boy was getting ready to leave as well and his excitement for the day was concealed even more poorly than his mother’s discomfort at the current conversation “Have a good one Auntie!”

And with that, the two teenagers and one (1) sheep were on their way.

“Kacchan please , not everything is about you” said Izuku exasperatedly, hurrying over to the only empty seat on the train.

“Like hell it isn’t! This was supposed to be MY DAY, my first day at the school of my fucking dreams, and you’re trying to ruin it by following me around dressed like a dollar stripper!” replied Bakugou in a whisper-scream. He may have anger issues but he wasn’t a dumbass and the two of them were already drawing enough attention as it was. It wasn’t exactly easy to remain unnoticed on a train while carrying a green sheep; a task which fell on Bakugou, because Izuku was a weak-noodle-arm-bitch.

“First of all, I’m flattered that you think I’m worth a dollar” said the weak-noodle-arm-bitch in question “And second of all, this is my best outfit.” Said best outfit consisted of a worn out tank top that had THE HOES written on it in what once was a glittery pink; a pair of booty shorts with ENEMY OF STATE hand stitched onto the backside and rainbow patterned knee socks. The look was completed with a pair of pink platform crocs, because Izuku had standards ... and because he was short.

“God I hate you” murmured Bakugou.

“Don’t I know it Kacchan?”

The rest of the train ride was spent in silence.

It wasn’t until they actually reached the gates of the school that Bakugou had a thought; one that he probably should’ve had before they even left his house, but having a coherent thought while carrying a sheep and bickering with the sheep’s owner about whether the sheep should be referred to as a dog or not is in all fairness not possible.

“They won’t let you in” he said, voicing the sudden epiphany.

“Sure they will” replied Izuku.

“Oh yeah? How? Deku, you don’t fuckin’ go to this school, you don’t go to ANY school!” shouted Bakugou, because they were no longer on the train, therefore arguing with a lunatic stripper looking guy was now acceptable.

Izuku for the most part did not have a problem with that, because not only did he love having petty fights with people, he also loved proving them wrong, especially when everyone and their grandma accuses him of being a high school drop out.

“Shinjuku Metropolitan would beg to differ” he says, dropping the metaphorical bomb on the unsuspecting dipshit that is his childhood friend, after which he continues to walk, crossing the gates of UA High like he owns the damn place.

After about a minute of Bakugou standing frozen in shock, he finally snapped out of it when Bandit decided to start chewing on his uniform “Oi, hold the fuck up!” screamed the blond as he followed Izuku inside, while the sheep was being dragged along like a betrayed ragdoll “Did you just say Shinjuku Metropolitan?!”

“Kacchan, you know I can’t hold you, you’re too heavy” replies the other teen, while pointedly ignoring Bakugou’s question and the looks he’s been getting from the students.

“Don’t change the subject shitty Deku! How the fuck did your ass get into a top non-hero high school in the whole damn Tokyo you bitch?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I fuckin’ swear to God-”

“Do it! Pull the trigger piglet!”

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

Their pointless quarrel, which was on a steady way into becoming a straight up brawl (Izuku having already pulled out his axe and lighted a cigarette using one of Bakugou’s warning explosions) came to a stop when they were interrupted by one of UA’s teachers, although in Izuku’s opinion she made a wrong career choice, considering being a Dominatrix probably paid more.

On another note, when someone asks you ‘what’s going on?’ that doesn’t mean they’re actually interested in whatever is happening at the moment, it means ‘stop’, therefore Izuku’s answer to that question, which usually involves something along the lines of “You see, I’m small, horny and full of rage, and I have no outlet for these emotions” is rarely appreciated. That is not to say that the lack of appreciation is going to stop him from spawning whatever dumb shit comes to his mind when faced with the judgement from authority figures. If anything it makes everything worse.

“That’s just how we flirt” replied the teen instead, all the while looking THE Pro-Hero Midnight dead in the eye and putting out his cigarette on Bakugou’s uniform jacket. Bakugou, for the most part was unable to even be mad at the cigarette burn considering he was busy recovering from being metaphorically punched in the kidneys by that line.

“And why aren’t you wearing uniform?” she asks suspiciously, pointing at Izuku’s attire.

“Oh, I don’t go here” he replied casually.

“Then pray tell , why are you in this school?”

“To get laid”

“TO WHAT?!” screamed Bakugou in surprise.

At this point Midnight took out her phone (no, her costume doesn’t have pockets, please don’t ask where she keeps it) and clicked on one of three contacts she keeps on her speed dial.

“Principal Nedzu, we got a situation…”

After telling Bakugou not to worry and that he will see him later in class, Izuku was dragged to the principal’s office by Midnight.

On the way there he tried cracking up another joke, telling her that his safe word was ��avocado’. She did not appreciate that one either. For those of you wondering what happened to Bandit, the sheep ended up following Bakugou, much to the blond’s dismay.

Now, being sent to a principal’s office, especially of a school that you don’t even attend is usually a sign that you have royally fucked up. Not for Izuku though, because he had a plan! Contrary to the common belief, Izuku is not dumb. The fall didn’t kill off any of his brain cells, only his ability to give a shit, which made life much easier since he no longer had to worry about things like: people’s opinions, social norms, laws and heteronormativity.

Anyway, back to the plan. Izuku was not dumb, therefore even he knew that wandering around UA while not attending the school would not fly. He needed a way to stay, and for that he needed the guy who runs the whole shitshow; Nedzu.

Which is why the moment Midnight opens the door to the office Izuku stomps in like a man on a mission and stops right in front of an animal of questionable origin in a suit that is allegedly UA’s principal. A little unusual, but if a scumbag like Endeavour can hold the title of No. 2 Hero in Japan, then an animal can run a school.

The principal in question was calmly sitting on a couch and drinking tea, totally unconcerned with whatever bullshit Izuku was about to throw at him.

“Now, what seems to be the issue with this young man?” asked Nedzu.

“This young man-” said Izuku, pointing to himself in a rather cocky manner “has a message for you!”

“And what would that message be?”

The principal’s question was answered with what Izuku can only think of as the ultimate power move, or in this case; a literal ace up the sleeve. The boy proceeded to pull out a Monopoly “Get out of Jail” card out of his shorts (since he technically wasn’t wearing any sleeves) and slam it on the table right in front of Nedzu.

While to an outsider the current situation might seem absurd, it is important to remember that Izuku had a plan; one that could’ve never come to a fruition without a little help from the most unexpected person, which is why that card was no ordinary Monopoly card, but a very specific reminder that only Principal Nedzu would know the meaning of, and when he picked it up and flipped it around, the neatly written message on the back made its presence known.

It read: “You owe me one. - Hisashi”

“My dad says ‘Hi!’ ” exclaimed Izuku, taking one look at Nedzu’s face and knowing that he already won.

Was cashing in on a favour that his dad secured like 10 years ago a morally good decision? Debatable, but it got the job done so he’s not gonna complain. All that mattered was that Izuku now had a pass to enter the UA grounds whenever he pleased and nobody could stop him, and so here he was about to enter the classroom where Kacchan is supposed to be in. The bell hasn’t rung yet so he still had some time and who knows, maybe the handsome guy from the police station was in the same class?

With that in mind he opened the gigantic door and made his way into the classroom and was met with what looked like a pissing contest between his crush and his childhood friend.

“REMOVE YOUR FOOT FROM THAT DESK! SUCH AN ACTION IS INSULTING TO THOSE WHO CAME TO UA BEFORE US AS WELL AS THE CRAFTSMEN WHO MADE THIS DESK!”

“LIKE I CARE! WHAT MIDDLE SCHOOL ARE YOU FROM, YOU EXTRA ?!”

Ah yes, pissing contest at its finest, which meant that Izuku had options . The most obvious course of action would be siding up with Tenya and taunting Kacchan, which is not something Izuku would ever say no to. However , it also happens that the object of his affections had a massive boner for rules and authority, which is the exact opposite of everything Izuku stands for, so siding up with Kacchan it is.

And so he made his way to the pair of bickering teenagers and promptly pushed Kacchan’s feet off the desk, earning a scoff from the blond and an approving but baffled look from Iida, which only lasted for about 2 seconds, because Izuku being the gay disaster that he is simply HAD to ruin it all by claiming the desk as his sitting spot and giving Tenya the most ridiculous bedroom eyes that had Kacchan fake gagging like his life depended on it.

“Umm...Izuku, was it?” asked Tenya, feeling awkward under the other boy’s intense gaze.

“It sure was” replied the boy, feeling happy about leaving enough of an impression to be remembered from all those weeks ago “Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

“Indeed-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Deku!” exclaimed Bakugou, completely fed up with the cringeworthy display in front of him “Just tell four-eyes that you came here because you wanted to see him and be done with it!”

“WHAT?”

“Kacchan, not now! I’m trying to put on some moves!”

“Well your moves are shit-”

“Hey, aren’t you that guy from the news who stabbed a villain in the eye with an axe?!” shouted one of the students while pointing at Izuku. There was something ironic about the fact that it was his stunt on live TV from 2 weeks ago that got everyone’s heads turning and not his iconic outfit, or inappropriate behaviour, or literally anything else about him. Like that’s just rude ok? And interrupting him while he’s trying to flirt? Also rude.

“Bitch, I might be” he replied anyway, because his reputation was on the line and because at this point literally everyone has gathered around the desk that he sat on, so things were way past the point of return. People were throwing questions and accusations at him left and right, Trash Bandit is nowhere to be found and his quil flask is not full enough for this bullshit. At this point Bakugou simply got up from his seat and sat at the back of the room, as far away from this nonsense as possible.

“It’s you!”exclaimed the boy with dual coloured hair and equally mismatched eyes “You’re the guy who keeps T-posing in front of my house. Can you please stop?!” he asked with the most deadpan face Izuku has ever seen despite his voice being filled with desperation.

“Look, I T-pose in front of a lot of houses so you’re gonna have to be more specific” he replied sarcastically — despite knowing exactly who he was talking to — since it probably wasn’t a good moment to mention that you’re besties with that person’s mom because you were both stuck in the same loony bin and so you already know all the family drama and have dedicated a good portion of your time to harassing her abusive piece of shit husband…especially with like 20 people around you.

“You’re the one who egged my limo!” shouted one of the girls at the back. She was a very tall girl with long, dark hair tied in a seemingly gravity defying ponytail and a kind face. She had an air of a distinguished lesbian about her, which Izuku could respect even if she was rich if the limo comment was anything to go by. He egged several limos in his lifetime because seeing rich people out in public makes him go apeshit, as it should, so really how is he supposed to remember everyone?

“And I will egg it again!” promised Izuku “When I see rich people out and about it triggers my fight-or-fuck response”

“Don’t you mean fight-or-flight?” she asked.

“No”

“Are you ok?”

“Not in the slightest”

And with that more people joined in on the conversation, including a particular girl who very much looked like an alien with her bright pink skin and black sclera who ended up complementing his outfit, which thank fuck someone here actually had good taste , as well as a guy who ended up being Ms Shouji’s son, and the only reason he found out was because the guy recognised his antics based on the gossip his mom told him and isn’t that a small fuckin world? And in the middle of it all laid an inconspicuous yellow sleeping bag that has been conveniently ignored by everyone for the sake of the plot up until now.

The sleeping bag began to seemingly unzip by itself and soon enough Bandit’s head poked out of it.

“Bandit! There you are”

“Baaah!”

“Guys! Look at this dog!” exclaimed one of the students who Izuku thought looked like a personification of weed, but he wasn’t going to say that. At least the guy knew what he was talking about.

“I’m pretty certain it’s a sheep-” added Tenya, taking his role as the last standing voice of reason in this room very seriously, even though his voice has practically drowned in the sea of teenagers chanting ‘good doggo’, similarly to how one might feel if they were standing at a dance floor while Baby Got Back started playing.

It’s also important to note that while all of this was happening, Bakugou who has sat himself at the back of the room was forced to witness the chaotic force that is Izuku interacting with multiple people at once while being able to convince about 20 of them to refer to his sheep as a dog, and in that moment he turned around staring into the void and asked himself “Am I having a fuckin stroke?”

“Nah, he’s always like that” replied the one person who was sat at the back along with him that Bakugou previously did not bother to notice.

“And how would you know, you damn extra?” asked Bakugou somewhat offended, because sure him and Izuku were not on the friendliest terms and the whole incident from last year really changed him and what not. But they still knew each other their whole lives, so really that had to count for something and Bakugou was not willing to compromise on that with some random extra who looked like a Tinky Winky humansona on drugs.

Unfortunately Bakugou was not able to get an answer because the entire class was interrupted by a homeless looking guy coming out of the yellow sleeping bag to shame student kind. “If you’re here to socialise, then get out” he said. Soon enough the room was filled with a tense silence as the students were unsure of what to expect next.

“It took 8 seconds for you to quiet down. Time is a precious resource. You lot aren’t very rational, are you?” asked the man as he walked to the front of the classroom, making it very clear that he was in fact their teacher. The man was rather tall and unkept, his hair was long and slightly curled, similar to Izuku’s own and the outfit he wore could only be described as a goth onesie. There was something very familiar about him but Izuku couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to be.

However, just because Izuku’s memory aligns very closely with a slice of swiss cheese doesn’t mean that the same can be said about the teacher in question. As soon as he turned around to get a good look at his new class his eyes fell on Izuku and his face has swiftly shifted from that of practiced disinterest to shock and recognition that Izuku honestly was not expecting.

“What are you doing here problem child?” asked the man with a certain degree of disbelief in his voice. Once again there was something very familiar about him and the way he addressed Izuku and wait a minute did he just call me a problem child? That can’t be-

“Uncle Shouta” exclaimed the boy in a way that felt uncertain, yet childishly hopeful “Is that you?”

“Of course it is brat, who else would I be?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

#revival of midoriya izuku #demise!au #bnha #fanfic #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #trash bandit #aizawa shouta #iida tenya

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mythiica · 5 years ago

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Jar of Stars {IkeSen} Ieyasu Tokugawa

Title: Jar of Stars Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku Character: Ieyasu Tokugawa Genre: romance, high school au Warnings: slowburn, hint of angst, minor cringe (its a highschool au, what did you expect) POV: third person w/ mai Word Count: 5k words Other comments: a valentine's day fic! a bit different than usual, but hope its good!

“Do you need help?”

Ieyasu tips his head down, blonde bangs brushing over his eyes to hide his bashful expression. He isn’t exactly sure if she means to tease him, mainly because it’s the third problem in a row that he hasn’t gotten, but it makes his face flush nonetheless. Furthermore, it’s been at least an hour since the dismissal bell rang, but she’s still here with him. Wringing his fingers on the cords of his hoodie, Ieyasu mumbles his response: “Yes, I really don’t know what I’m doing here…”

Mai leans over the paper, tucking her hair back to prevent it from obscuring the question. The soft scent of her perfume brushes over Ieyasu.

Swallowing hard, Ieyasu fiddles with his pencil, tapping it against the desk to the same rhythm as his knee bouncing up and down nervously. The faded marks of graphite cover the blank space under the text, having been erased at least ten times.

“Do you have some paper?”

He turns around, rips one from his notebook, and offers it to Mai.

“Start by drawing what’s going on in the problem, right?” She sketches a diagram of a raft and then a squiggle for the water. For good measure, Mai draws Ieyasu’s signature scarf on the stick figure standing atop the raft before she smiles.

“Is that me?”

“Yes, you’re paddling over to the shore where I am, see?” Mai adds a small version of herself further down on the page. “We know the density of water and the dimensions of the raft,” she says as she adds a stick Mai a bit further down the page. “Wait, I take it back, you have the volume and the surface area, but you can find the height easily.”

Ieyasu takes the cover off of his calculator. Clicking through buttons, he pushes equal. “The width of the raft is forty meters? That doesn’t seem reasonable…”

Mai looks around her before pulling the chair from the next desk over. “This is in centimeters, you have to multiply by ten to the negative second power.” She takes the pencil from his hand, soft skin brushing over his knuckles. “Try now.”

“That makes more sense… it’s 4 cm.”

“Can you get the rest by using the formulas?”

Ieyasu nods slowly and leaves his hand open, silently asking for his pencil.

She obliges, handing it back to him. “If you’d like, I’ll show you what I got when you’re done. Alright?”

He taps the eraser against his paper, eyes large with admiration. Ieyasu zones out, thinking not about the physics problem under his nose, but about Mai instead. Although he appears composed on the outside, anything resembling a coherent thought tangles in itself. It’s safer if Ieyasu doesn’t speak so he doesn’t make an idiot of himself.

Mai leans back and looks over her shoulder to see if he’s made any progress, which he hasn’t, so Ieyasu sits forward quickly and scratches his temple.

Instead of returning to her work, Mai tips her head to the window and pulls the curtains back to look at the sky. It’s late after school, and the stars are already out for the night, pressed against the pinks and purples of the sunset. There’s even a heart-shaped cloud, glowing orange from the final rays of sunlight.

“I have to get going, but text me if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ieyasu flips through the origami book, looking for instructions for how to make paper hearts. The pages have coffee colored crescent stains and are also folded at the corners like someone was trying to make an origami with the pages themselves. He flips forward, worn edges rippling over his fingertips, until he finds what he needs.

Below the title is a faded diagram of loops and folds that Ieyasu isn’t really sure he can follow. The ink has sunken into the paper, leaving a light imprint of the steps in the yellowed pages.

“Thinking of joining the origami club, Ieyasu?”

He looks up and scowls upon seeing Mitsuhide, milk bottle in hand, leaning over his desk.

“No, I’m making something.”

“Well of course you are, but why are you using that? Just look it up.” He waves his hand in the air, making condensation from the bottle fall onto the book. Ieyasu frowns at this and pushes Mitsuhide off of his desk.

“Why do you have to bother me?”

Mitsuhide muses at this – Ieyasu being more defensive than usual. “Could it be that you’re making these for someone?” Ieyasu gives himself away without meaning to, and Mitsuhide laughs triumphantly.

“Leave it, just forget I had the book.”

“No, that won’t do! You must tell me.”

Ieyasu’s brows furrow. Telling Mitsuhide anything is dangerous because that information would find its way to the public by the end of the day. Not to say that Mitsuhide likes gossip, but he has a certain flare for finding out information that is meant to be kept secret.

“You know if you don’t tell me, I’ll just start assuming things.”

“Fine, assume things.”

“Mitsunari.”

“Absolutely not!” Ieyasu stands up abruptly, chair scraping against the ground. The other students in the classroom look up at him, pausing their conversations at the loud noise. Like a sad pup, Ieyasu sits back down quickly and pulls his scarf over his nose. “Stop assuming things, it’s troublesome.”

Mitsuhide spins the book around to get a better look at the open pages. “Hearts? I don’t suppose this is for our friend that you make puppy dog eyes at?”

Ieyasu can’t stop the blush from spreading across his cheeks, so he only lifts the scarf higher, but Mitushide has already received his confirmation. He slips down into his chair and tries to hide from the world, but Mitsuhide reaches to hoist him up by the scruff of his collar. “So it is…” The corners of his lips curl into a sly smirk and Mitsuhide sets the bottle down on the book. “How interesting. Shall I invite her over?”

Ieyasu steps on Mitsuhide’s foot, making him reel back. He proceeds to flick the plastic off of his book so that it clatters to the floor and rolls away, stopping only at a desk a few rows down.

“Mai, would you mind getting that? Ieyasu feels the need to abuse my breakfast.”

He looks up and realizes that she’s entered the room to witness his mild outburst. The anger fades from his mind, replaced with shame instead. Mai reaches down to pick up the bottle before she tosses it at Mitsuhide.

“What did you do, Mitsuhide?”

He catches it with a single hand. “Me?! I did nothing wrong,” he laments, bowing at the waist.

Ieyasu takes the opportunity to close the book quickly, and manages to do so just before Mitsuhide gets any ideas that would expose Ieyasu. He sticks his tongue out at his white haired friend and tucks the book under the colored paper he plans to use to make the origami.

“Guilty people always say that when they’ve done something, Mitsuhide. Are you bullying Ieyasu again?” Mai brushes her hair back, and the light filtering through the blinds catches on her earrings. They’re little star studs, smaller than the nail of his pinkie finger. Mai is always looking out of the window during class like she’s searching for something, perhaps a flicker of light against the blue sky to remind her that, indeed, the stars are still there.

When he watches her admire the sky, he thinks that Mai sees herself as a star. A single unit in an endless sea of twinkling lights emerging only at night. She claims she does best at night anyways, like she’s nocturnal when she shouldn’t be.

But she’s more than a simple star – she’s the sun.

“Ieyasu and I are only discussing this year’s club selection! He wants to try–”

“Archery. I’ll be doing archery this year.”

“That’s right! We ran into each other over the summer when I came to help organize the library. Do you think you’ll aim for an officer’s position next year?” Mai sits on the windowsill and tips her head back to lean against the glass.

Ieyasu reaches up and catches a stray lock of blonde hair to rub between his fingers. “We’ll see.”

Mitsuhide clears his throat. “Next year is so far away. However, Valentine’s Day is approaching…” He turns to Mai, cunning smirk flashing across his lips. “What shall I get you this year?”

Mai waves her hands, insisting there is no need, but Ieyasu has already focused his attention to the hair he’s holding. The sound of Mitushide’s voice fades, drowned by the overwhelming urge to get up and leave them. He can’t do that though, not without Mai asking him what is wrong. She cares too much, and he doesn’t want to worry her with that.

Instead, he slouches at his desk and looks at the whiteboard, rereading notes from class to distract himself.

“Maybe some chocolate?”

“Mitsuhide, no!” Mai says with a laugh. “Maybe you should get Ieyasu something.”

“The only thing he could give me is an hour of silence.” Ieyasu looks up at Mitsuhide. “Do you think you can manage?”

He covers his heart. “You wound me!”

“I doubt it,” Ieyasu snuffs, glancing at Mai. Her eyes sparkle, but he looks away quickly. You don’t look at the sun directly, after all.

“Anyways, Ieyasu, we’ll head down for lunch now. Are you staying here?”

He hesitates, weighing the options. “I… have to do some work.”

Mai nods understandingly and stands up, bookbag in hand. “Then we’ll see you later! Good luck!” Her hair sways at the same pace as the edge of her skirt as she walks. Ieyasu watches the two leave in silence. He hadn’t even realized that the other students also left, probably during their banter, but Ieyasu was too absorbed in the conversation to notice.

What bothers him is that the smile on her face doesn’t fade, and Ieyasu knows that it remains there even when she and Mitsuhide turn the corner.

When he’s sure that they are out of earshot, Ieyasu’s heart seizes and his throat contracts. Oxygen isn’t reaching his brain, sending his mind to speed through a dark array of thoughts. It weighs him down, the feeling of being left out, especially from something– someone– he so desperately wants to be a part of.

There’s no one left in the classroom, meaning Ieyasu is inevitably alone again. Despite this, he doesn’t feel safe to cry. He has no right to cry for something he could have prevented, so instead, Ieyasu lets himself wallow, the muscles in his cheeks twitching angrily before the sensation strangles his lungs. Ieyasu inhales sharply, over and over, forgetting to exhale because breathing out would mean he’d start properly crying.

He looks up.

The tears would ruin the paper, and he needs them for Mai.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ieyasu never got around to finishing his physics homework, and now it’s come for him, at eleven pm the day before it is due. He scratches his nose, but no miracle manifests, and he still doesn’t know how to solve the problem. Mai’s drawing is more of a distraction than an aid.

He palms his phone, turning it over until he has the courage to message her and ask for help. Would Mai even be awake at this time? He could message Hideyoshi, who, without a doubt, would be up at the moment and could help him with anything. Instead, Ieyasu rewords his text to Mai at least a handful of times, and he scoffs at himself. It’s harder to talk to Mai than it is to solve his homework. In fact, Ieyasu would rather solve hundreds of density and pressure problems than try to talk to Mai.

Ieyasu doesn’t really think that.

The bags under his eyes feel heavier than usual. Ieyasu stares at his phone for too long when he’s supposed to be sleeping, and he always gets scolded for it. So now, he turns the phone upside down and sets it on the edge of his desk, trying to convince himself that he’s not waiting desperately to see if she’ll reply.

Clicking the desk light out, Ieyasu closes his eyes and rubs the sleep away from his mind. When he sits up, instead of seeing his reflection, Ieyasu looks beyond the glass and up at the sky. His attention goes to the half moon hanging in the sky, its white splendor radiating outwards and illuminating the city.

If Mai is the sun, then Ieyasu is the moon.

He flourishes in her light and follows her path. In fact, he tends to follow her often. Ieyasu leaves his house at the exact right moment that he’ll pass in front of hers just as she is heading out. When they walk together, Ieyasu paces himself with the slightest delay so she walks first. He looks for her during lunch, and just seeing her is enough to make him feel better.

Ieyasu turns the lamp back on and spins his chair around so that he can pull the origami book out of his bag. Hearts are obviously a favorite, considering the state the pages are in, but Ieyasu considers something else instead.

It’s easier to find the pages for how to fold stars.

Actually, he flips right to it.

As Ieyasu reads the instructions, his phone vibrates. He reaches for it too quickly, but then hesitates to reply, not wanting to make it appear like he had been waiting for her (although he very much was). Mai should be sleeping at this time, but she’s taking the chance to help Ieyasu.

Did you get a pressure of 1.02 x 105 Pa?

yes! do you need help with the others? theyre about the same just dont get fooled by the last one, you need to solve for the mass by using density and volume

Ok Thank you

Ieyasu’s fingers hover over the keys.

Why are you awake?

i always stay up late its a bad habit

Sleep. Goodnight

night yasu

He waits to see if Mai says anything more, and when she doesn’t, he closes his phone and sets it down. Strumming his fingers on the page, Ieyasu reads over the instructions for folding a paper star.

Cut A4/Letter notebook into strips about a centimeter wide. One strip will become a star, so collect as many strips as needed.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ieyasu has never felt so confident about a test before.

Albeit, he struggled through the bonus problem, Ieyasu had come out of the other side successfully. Nobunaga complains about using the wrong density for the second question, and Mitsunari tries to console him, explaining he might get partial credit for having the right process.

“Did you see Mai turned it in first? Either she knew exactly what she was doing, or had no clue,” Masamune jokes with a laugh.

“You only say that because you failed.”

“Ah, I did.” Masamune rubs the back of his neck. “I should have studied more…”

Mitsuhide returns to the topic of Mai. “And she asked for permission to leave the classroom. I wonder what she could be…” He wanders towards the door, but Hideyoshi pulls him back.

“You’re not going anywhere! We have to finish the signs for the club fair now.”

“Can I make a sign petitioning your dictatorship? I thought Nobunaga was the president. He should make the signs.”

Hideyoshi grips both Mitsuhide's and Nobunaga’s wrists. “We’re all going to finish the signs. I’m not spending another moment suffering alone with the glitter glue. The two of you are coming with me whether you like it or not.” The trio marches to the hallway, and their protests can be heard echoing through the building.

Mitsunari turns to Ieyasu. “Would you like to–”

“Not now, Mitsunari.”

“Maybe tomorrow?!” Mitsunari calls after Ieyasu as he runs for the door.

Ieyasu chases his intuition and clamours up the metal stairs, bookbag hitting him with every step. He holds onto the railing to keep from falling, how embarrassing would that be if he tumbled back down? Mai is there, on the roof, and would surely hear him if he fell.

His foot catches in the step, but he picks himself up quickly.

Ieyasu must have jinxed it.

The door is partially open, letting sunlight into the stairwell. Stopping before the top step, Ieyasu watches the dust float through the golden rays. It reminds him of Mai’s hair when they walk to school together. How the morning sun crowns her with a halo of light.

Pushing it open, Ieyasu apricates, absorbing the warmth of the sun. It blinds him for a moment, but his eyes adjust.

And then there’s Mai.

She’s standing, leaning against the chain link fence and humming softly to herself. Ieyasu can hear her loud and clear, as though she were standing right next to him, because of the metal ac unit that picks up the vibrations of her song. Upon hearing the sound of the door, Mai looks back and smiles at Ieyasu.

“Did the test go well?”

Her voice is so warm, warmer than the sun itself.

“Yes. I got the bonus.”

Mai turns to face Ieyasu with an open stance. “That’s great! You remembered to draw diagrams?” She brushes her hair back and steps off of the edge to walk towards the bench. Patting the empty spot next to her, she coaxes Ieyasu over. “I think I missed one of the multiple choice problems.”

Ieyasu sits on the edge of the bench gleefully. “Don’t say that… you did fine.”

A silence falls over them, save for the cicada’s song from below. He doesn’t mind it though: Ieyasu likes just being there with Mai, and without anyone else. Leaning back, Ieyasu squints against the bright light, sunspots dotting his vision, but then he looks back at the weeds sticking up through cracks in the cement.

“Ieyasu?”

“Hm?”

Mai kicks her feet back and forth. “You had to consider what wasn’t there. In the bonus problem.”

He looks at her from the corner of his eye.

“Like, you had to do unit analysis to find what you needed to get the pressure. There were no instructions as to how to find it otherwise.”

Ieyasu nods. “I was worried I wasn’t doing it right.”

“There are a lot of things like that though… things hidden until the right moment.”

Mai tends to go off on tangents like this, but Ieyasu finds it endearing. He listens intently to her, scooting the slightest bit closer to her. At any other moment, Ieyasu would have feared their proximity, but now, boosted with the confidence of the test results, he uses it as fuel.

“Like the stars. They’re always there, even if you don’t see them.” She raises her hand to reach upward. “Sometimes I imagine just taking a jar and running it through the sky, scooping up as many stars as I can. So I can have them near me at all times.”

I believe that. I look at you and see the world, even if it’s not really there. Can you feel that my heart is pounding for you? I can’t voice it, but it’s there. Just like the stars you love.

Ieyasu and Mai look directly at each other. He knows he should avert his gaze, but her eyes are wide with wonder and it’s almost like she understands.

Even though you, the sun, are too far from the stars, I’ll get them for you.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The origami book is long overdue for the library, but Ieyasu keeps it an extra week, determined to finish making the stars. His fingertips are numb from repeating the same motions, and there is a cramp in his palm that aches. He’s been working at this for at least an hour and now has an army of them.

He takes one of them, holding it gently between his fingertips, his thoughts drifting to Mai. Ieyasu hopes she’ll like his gift.

As he gets up to walk downstairs, Ieyasu smiles at the thought of her. He thinks of her tiny earrings and how they perfectly match the paper ones he’s made. There’s a wish tucked away in each little star. A paragraph at the bottom of the folding diagram explains that one hundred stars is a lucky occurence in certain cultures, but Ieyasu likes the notion that he’s given each individual origami a sliver of his feelings for Mai.

The house is empty as usual, leaving Ieyasu to hunt for a jar on his own. There should be some in the pantry… but they are filled with jam. Ieyasu steps on his tiptoes, stretching his arm to reach one of them. Upon successfully doing so, he transfers the contents into a small reusable bento instead, making a mental note to eat some of it later.

A drop of jam hangs off the edge of the jar, so Ieyasu passes a digit over it. It’s sweet and reminds him of summer. He rinses out the container carefully, even scratching his nail against dried plum skin to flush it out.

This past summer, Ieyasu went to school nearly every day to practice his archery skills. He still has calluses between his thumb and index finger from the string snapping against his skin. It was hard work, and the heat made it nearly unbearable. The targets stayed outside and had to be parallel to the school to avoid accidents. (It happened in the past, the current president warned Ieyasu, that someone shot an arrow directly through the third floor window and nearly hit someone.)

He remembers knocking the bow into place, focusing on the center of the target, drawing back. His muscles ached from repeating the motion hundreds of times without actually letting go of the arrow. During that time, conditioning was Ieyasu’s least favorite part of archery, next to the blisters that always formed on his fingertips.

It was a cloudy day too, the one in question that he’s thinking about now. Rain fell in some part of the city, but not directly overhead. Ieyasu wanted to make the shot – just one shot – before calling it a day and packing things so they would not get wet.

Ieyasu swallowed, inhaled, and let go of the bow. The hollow thud of the tip burying into the center circle made the corners of his lips twitch up into a smile. And then, the sky seemed to lighten, just as someone started to clap behind him.

Mai waved at Ieyasu from across the courtyard. She shouted something, but thunder drowned out her voice. It did not stop Ieyasu from seeing her bright face. Then, he didn’t know her name: all he knew was that she looked beautiful under the gold spotlight poking through the clouds.

Now, Ieyasu rips a few paper towels to dry the interior the best he can.

A grin flickers across his features for a moment before he returns upstairs. Scooping handfuls of the stars, Ieyasu lets them trickle between his fingers and fall into the jar. He made exactly one hundred of them, and they fit perfectly. In fact, the thick glass even makes it twinkle in certain lighting.

He sets it in the middle of his desk to screw on the lid before resting his chin on his arm to admire it.

�� Maybe one of the wishes will come true.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ieyasu clutches the jar close to his chest but does his best to not fold the ribbon. It took him nearly as long to tie the bow as it did to make the stars. Really, he doesn’t want anyone to see it, and by some grace, most people have already left the building.

Poking his head into the classroom, he checks to see if Mai is at her seat. Love hearts are strung at every corner: dripping from the board, taped to desks, and tucked behind doors. In previous years, Ieyasu really despised the decorations, thinking they were too imposing, but now, he doesn’t mind them as much.

There is no one in the classroom, as Ieyasu guessed, so she must be on the roof.

Just like before, Ieyasu stumbles up the stairs to the top of the building, and again he hesitates, admiring the golden haze of light slipping in through the crack. He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling strands to lay flat, even though they always do the opposite of what he wants.

With his palm gripping the handle, Ieyasu tries to think of something witty to say to Mai when he presents her the jar. Something about making a wish? Would that be too obvious… But the more Ieyasu thinks about it, the more worried he gets, so, on impulse, Ieyasu pushes the door open, stepping into the light.

But it blinds him.

It hurts more than last time he came to the roof.

Likely because, when his vision comes to, Ieyasu’s eyes fall on Mai and Mitsuhide. They’re sitting conveniently with their backs to him, so he’s the unwanted third to their pair. Mai accepts a heart shaped box from Mitsuhide, presumably filled with too-sweet chocolates that would give her cavities. Their fingers brush against each other when she takes it.

Why did she take it?

Ieyasu shakes his head, hoping that the dream will fade with it.

It doesn’t though, meaning this is some sick reality he’s being forced to witness. Ieyasu’s stomach churns, and the jar feels heavier suddenly, like it’s weighing him down.

He hears Mai’s wonderful voice as she laughs, but it’s followed by Mitushide’s deep voice telling her something that makes her blush. Ieyasu knows she’s smiling, he doesn’t have to see her to be sure of it.

They haven’t seen him, they’re too busy enjoying themselves. It doesn’t matter how far they’re sitting from each other, Ieyasu has already made up his mind to leave. He doesn’t remember closing the door behind him, and for all he knows, they could have chased after him and Ieyasu would not have realized.

He throws one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible, letting the haze in his mind guide him without question.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

He regrets not throwing the jar at Mitsuhide. Maybe it would have shattered, sending pathetic paper stars everywhere to blind him. And in the confusion, Ieyasu could have taken Mai’s hand and led her away, saving her from him.

That would not have been very proactive, at second thought, but anything is better than looking at the jar only to feel a burning sensation bubbling in his lungs. It claws at the back of his throat, and every time Ieyasu tries to swallow, he chokes on a lump.

If he threw it out of the window, would it make it to space? Perhaps then, the stars would have a better chance of doing their job.

Defeated, Ieyasu tucks his head into his arms and tries to calm his breathing. Hideyoshi had been sending him messages at the hour, but he failed to reply to any of them. There wasn’t a lick of energy in his body to fuel him to move. Despite the fact that his phone was only a few centimeters away, Ieyasu ignored everything.

If Mai is the sun, then Mitsuhide is a wave.

A wave in the middle of the ocean, tall and mysterious, ever changing and turbulent. Although the sun may know his calm facade, because he acts complacent and innocent in her presence, at night, the ocean churns madly. He accomplishes unimaginable feats, swallowing anything in his path. He’s reaching up to her with every crashing surge that comes down.

And the moon can only watch.

What could the moon offer the sun when he takes from her light?

Ieyasu bites the inside of his mouth and kicks his legs back and forth. His heart sinks to the depths of his chest. He must have made some mistake, put only ninety-nine stars in the jar, and that’s why it didn’t work. There’s no other explanation than he was too late.

Picking his head up, Ieyasu looks through the window and sighs. It’s a new moon, and the land is darker than usual. He supposes that there is a sense of serenity without the big ball of silver plastered against the sky.

He frowns suddenly and straightens his posture.

The moon is no thief – the sun shares its light. Furthermore, both are considered celestial bodies. No matter how hard a single wave tries to touch the heavens, it will never make it. Does that mean Ieyasu and Mai...

Without thinking too much about it, Ieyasu picks up his phone and types a text. He doesn’t linger on it, but sends it right away.

Are you free to meet up tomorrow?

Ieyasu flips his mobile so the screen is facing down, pretending like he isn’t waiting for her reply. He pulls the tag of the jar gently, trying to smooth out the crease in the paper. It bends back into place, but the phone chimes before he can try again.

It makes him smile, her text.

Leaning back in his chair, Ieyasu looks again at the night sky. It’s a vast blanket of darkness, save for the hopeful flickers of white and gold. There’s no moon tonight, just the stars. It makes him feel less lonely.

And the stars will always be there, even if Ieyasu can’t see them.

🌟 🌟 🌟

#ikesen #ikesen ieyasu #Ieyasu Tokugawa #ikemen sengoku #ieyasu x mai #cybird #otome #valentines day

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docfuture · 5 years ago

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Princess, part 11

[This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16. Links to some of my other work are here. Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is mostly done so I’m going to try to get it out later in August.]

Previous: Part 10

Five days after Speedtest. Three days after the isotope exchanger had worked enough for Flicker to restart her body chemistry. Then a scramble of pain, healing, and memory triage before, finally, sleep. She'd awakened, mentally fogged, to start a messy program of biological recovery and physical therapy, complicated by the need to spend more time in the isotope exchanger to reduce her not-immediately-lethal-but-still-a-problem radioactivity. For her minds, a fuzzy time of finding and patching connections, habits, and memories that were temporarily broken, misplaced, distorted, or newly intrusive. For respite, ghosting to Antarctica, gliding in the low sun over ice and cold air, never near anything living. Sleep remained fitful. Evening. The last really needed isotope exchanger session done. Body and mind were now holding together, even if neither were yet anywhere Flicker was particularly happy with. Talking to Doc in his lab. He frowned at a brain scan, some graphs, and a schematic of a cybernetic inductor. "I checked in on your medibots, because you mentioned your start routine this morning was still rough. Looks like your mind work was okay despite that, though?" "Caffeine helped," said Flicker. "And you can drink it again, and eat. Progress. I'm concerned at this scan though. It still shows signs of cybernetic interface withdrawal. I don't know how long that will last, given everything else. How bad is the ennui and poor appetite?" "Caffeine helped. A little." "Hm. Not much we can do other than wait. I had the Database forward the medibot scans and other information to Dr. Reinhart's partition." "Thanks. But I have a question." "Yes?" "You agreed to all of Dr. Reinhart's terms, including Database access, even though she's got a really questionable background, and doesn't want to meet or talk to you. Her last message mentioned it wasn't an encouraging sign, because it meant I needed help pretty bad." "Well, you do. Frankly, I'd be more worried if she was cheerily optimistic. And the Database picked her as the best choice. Fortunately Jumping Spider knew a bit about her, and was willing to do that interview. So I'm satisfied for now." "I guess I don't get how you're okay with the uncertainty about a mind control expert." "I did verify that she wasn't gaming the Database threat index. The correlations are suggestive of a mission-oriented vigilante targeting actively harmful individuals with power that have little or no likelihood of being stopped or removed by other means. Plus a few covert operations agents trying to kill her. The threat index understates her effect, because she operates in realms where data is sparse and of poor quality. As for the alleged mind control, it may just be a combination of psychological manipulation and some kind of hidden influence. But there is no question she uses her reputation as an effective tool." Doc waved a hand. "And I have a reputation for being paranoid about mind control, which isn't going to make her more eager to meet me, is it? Our security protocols may not be compatible, and I can think of several other potential good reasons for her to stay away. But ultimately it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to talk, so that's that. She owes me nothing. I wouldn't mind discussing mind control defense with her, and I don't like uncertainty any more than you do. But I've had a couple more decades to get used to it. I know I can't solve all the world's problems myself. Priorities." A crooked smile. "Now, none of this means that you should accept everything she says uncritically, or that you should strive to emulate her, morally or otherwise. And I'm sure she'll drop some unpleasant surprises on you. But she agreed to help, and she certainly understands the stakes. Are you having trouble with social boundaries again?" "When did this become about me?" Doc just looked at her. "Okay, yeah." "Boundaries are a difficult problem for you. So I hope your work with Dr. Reinhart is productive, and that you eventually have an opportunity to discuss them with her." ***** The next morning had certainly started off productive. And difficult. Flicker had been very much looking forward to finally recovering enough to talk--physically talk, with real air, vocal cords, sound, and hearing--to Dr. Stella Reinhart. Flicker faced Dr. Reinhart in her office. Stella. She said to call her Stella. She was in her late twenties, about 170 centimeters tall, with dark hair and green eyes, and wore jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and a work shirt. She looked dangerous because she was dangerous, and had the sort of intent, purposeful expression Flicker had learned to watch for when evaluating an emergency site at high speed--if someone like that was running, it was a very good idea to find out why. The office was bland, more often used by the assistant who handled paperwork for Stella's consulting business. But there were comfortable chairs. Stella sat in one, not behind the desk, after saying a few words about subconscious framing and symbolic barriers. A cable ran from her laptop to the now thoroughly guarded office net connection and from there to the Database. DASI was on duty, capital S for Security duty, with subtle and wide-ranging countermeasures. Excessive? DASI didn't think so, nor did Stella. One less thing for Flicker to worry about, which helped. The office was in a half empty building in a not particularly prosperous location, but it did have sliding doors opening onto a patio. Dr. Reinhart had left them open to accommodate Flicker's claustrophobia. Flicker had set up a portable force screen to keep out weather and complete the veil of security. Flicker's speed mind idled, handling just alerts and safety. She was talking with her physical body and brain only, entirely at human speed, about something stressful, with no help from speed mind. Holding back was hard. More so in the aftermath of Speedtest--her old problems with self-interrupting and awkward blurting had returned. She chased thoughts and sentences faster than her mouth could complete them, as clumsily as when she was thirteen. Embarrassment intruded as she veered and rambled, but Stella had suggested this starting test, after initial introductions. Every verbal issue, every bit of awkwardness that she normally compensated for, everything she smoothed over, eliminated, or hid with speed, visor and Database--all that was data, that told Stella how the human half of Flicker's mind worked. And Stella could use that as a baseline to probe how the high speed half of Flicker's mind worked, and how she coordinated. So she endured. Flicker stumbled to a stopping point. She'd managed a partial, excessively wordy, and not entirely coherent description of her problems and goals. She had digressed from and mangled her text summary, but talking out loud, in her own words, from her own mind, without notes, had been the point. She took a calming breath and tried to untense. This was the only part where talking was essential. I can switch to text now if I really have to. Stella smiled and thanked her, then turned to type at her computer. Her exact words escaped as Flicker's speed mind started a flurry of mental replays and second-guessing, but the Database flashed 'Break time' on her visor. Relief. Out through the doors, speeding past land and human complication to the Pacific. Slow coasting, well under 0.01c, while the two parts of her mind reintegrated. A wordless reckoning that normally went one way--slow mind to fast on waking up, and back before sleep. Tides flowing predictably over the sands of short term memory. Now the flow went both ways, boats loading and unloading as both minds took turns at 'Let me put that in a better place...' Still less stressful than the talking had been. Even deciding when to breathe had been awkward--speed mind had smoothed that for so long she'd almost forgotten. Fifteen minutes of waves and sunlight and motion. Coasting along crests and troughs. Manta rays breaching, sudden unexpected joy, a reminder that the world held marvels still happening. It helped. When she got the message to return, she was much calmer. Back at the office, a quick smile from Stella. "I have good data, and some preliminary assessments. I'm afraid we're unlikely to complete your priority list any time soon. One thing is clear; mind isolation during treatment is not a viable option. Your 'speed mind' is essential to your functioning and current identity, even at normal speed. So we'll work towards better coordination. But I have some serious concerns." A glance at her screen. "I should emphasize my disclaimer: This is a compassionate personal intervention in the absence of a qualified specialist. I am not a clinician, my research methods would give an IRB heart attacks, et cetera. And I have some reservations about the process by which I was selected. I sent the full text to your Database earlier. Did you read it?" "Yes," said Flicker. "I understand why you might need it for legal protection. Also if you're, like, a serial killer who eats souls, I have Officially Been Warned." "That works. I still go to conferences, and I create enough controversy on my own. It would be inconvenient to be widely banned from international travel. But I imagine you still have some questions." Flicker shrugged. "I'm curious about a few things. But if you weren't already doing weird superhero-adjacent and spyworld stuff, I don't think you'd have the experience to help without researching me for a year first. Anyway, go ahead." Speed mind shifted and reversed, back in her normal mental dance, speeding up and slowing down to aid stability and coherence. The desire to clarify and add to her awkward presentation to reduce social embarrassment was strong. But it was time to listen. "For your difficulty speaking," said Stella, "I agree with your Database AI that most of your returned problems should fade with social practice. You appear to have optimized your verbal coordination in order to present as a neurotypical human, so any change would cause temporary issues." "Because squishy brain is autistic. And yeah I did. It's a real pain to get strangers to listen if you don't talk 'normal human'." "Your distress is understandable. You do have traits in common with individuals with Asperger's and ADHD, but given your unique mind, it's probably best to view them as suggestive analogies--you have similar problems with similar coping mechanisms. 'Non-neurotypical' is as far as I'd go, and much of the cause may be consequences of the connection to your speed mind. Other issues are clearer." Stella leaned back in her chair. "Such as PTSD. You have layered coping mechanisms, but your Database stress history indicates that you tend to overwork or otherwise push yourself back to a ragged edge whenever you manage to achieve progress in reducing its effects." Stella clasped her hands in front of her face. "I doubt that dealing with the underlying issues will be an easy or quick task, but this is something you need to mitigate. I'll try to help you set realistic expectations when I understand more. One particular note. I can't speak to Doc's own mental health. But the elements of his work and life habits available for study indicate someone rather unhealthy for a PTSD sufferer to emulate. And whatever he might say, you took early cues from what he did." Stella frowned. "Your memory problems... I'm going to defer judgement on some of them until you've had more time to recover from your recent incident. And there are a number of other potentially serious long-term conditions that I now consider less likely, but can't yet rule out. But I am concerned that your Database AI already warned you about everything I've brought up so far, and some other issues that are more recent. I'd recommend revisiting your heuristics." Flicker spread her hands. "I didn't ignore the Database. I just couldn't do anything useful. I patched what I could and kept going." "That invites trouble when a new problem disturbs your patches." "Well, yeah. I get angry at things I can't fix. So I put them out of my mind to stay sane." Flicker looked away. "At least out of my conscious, human mind. Part of me remembers. And stays angry." She looked back and tried to smile. "I sometimes joke that I haven't lost my mind; I keep backups. Doc always retorted with how arduous it could be to try to restore from one. And that a mental backup doesn't bring things back the same, because the world has moved on. He was right. I had to try to restore a few things I misplaced during Speedtest and it was a pain. It stirs everything up, and I kept running across crap I'd stashed away because I couldn't deal, and I still couldn't deal because it was hitting all at once during a restore." The smile probably looked more like a fixed grimace. "So don't tell me about trouble and patches right now. I know." "Good," said Stella. "I will be going over things that seem obvious. People make tradeoffs, and mistakes, and I'd rather annoy you than miss any. But I also understand that this session has been stressful for you, and you aren't fully recovered. I can give you some initial recommendations and we can be done for the day, if you would like." Flicker took a deep breath, then let it out. "I'd like to keep going, now that I have my minds working together again. It's just... I should have reworked my priority list after you told me how you wanted to start, and put my anger issues higher on it. And there's this book I read, called Practical Power Dynamics..." An alert flashed on Flicker's visor and she sped up. The Database needed her override approval to resolve a convoluted permissions problem, which she granted. Stella's base permission level was only equivalent to a trusted outside academic researcher, so approval requests were going to be common for a while. Flicker slowed back down again to listen. "Where did you get the edition you read?" asked Stella. "It doesn't look like it was from the Database." "No. There was a version, but the Database didn't let me read that one. There were a bunch of hazards and warnings. The version I read is there now, I scanned it then locked it down. Doc doesn't know about it. I got it from Journeyman. He said he traded a bibliomancer to reconstruct an original text copy. Then let me read it, because he was worried and thought it might help me." Stella put a hand to her forehead and studied her computer display. "I see. What that alleged bibliomancer did should not be possible. But never mind that now. Was your visor recording when you discussed it, and if so, would you be willing to share a transcript?" "Sure." Another bit of access granted. Stella spoke slowly while scanning her screen. "I'd like to ask a favor of you. Please do not reread Practical Power Dynamics, or try to use any of the techniques, before I've had a chance to make some annotations for you. And assume it's more dangerous to you than the author intended. You read what appears to be an early draft that was never distributed." Flicker frowned. "How do you know that?" "I wrote it." "Oh, that's great! I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't--I mean it was still dangerous. But you can tell me what to watch out for. I loved the humor, the way you made pieces fit that everyone just seems to assume or ignore. And the parts about anger were..." Flicker trailed off. "You don't look happy. What's wrong?" "Well, at least you weren't completely blind to the danger," said Stella. "I started writing what became Practical Power Dynamics when I was about your age, at a time when I was not managing anger well. I would not write that way today. I need to see what I can do to defuse some hazards to you. I wrote it as a vector for social engineering, and I didn't devote enough attention to second-order side effects in atypical individuals. Even after I toned it down." Flicker thought about that at speed for a while. It made sense that Stella was worried. Doc spent a lot of time worrying about extending methods to new domains, and the false sense of security you could feel because you were doing familiar things you'd done many times before. The methods might only be safe because most of the unexpected failure modes had already been found--but a new domain could bring new ways to make horrible mistakes. You just couldn't be sure. That had been one of the main points of Speedtest. There were a lot of things going on in Practical Power Dynamics, and Flicker's mind was a new domain for many of them. "It didn't feel like it caused damage," she said. "I didn't try any of the active techniques because I was warned about traps, but the insights helped." "I can certainly understand why you liked it. I wrote it to resonate, but that doesn't mean it helped." Stella smiled wryly. "The text you read has the potential to magnify a number of problems. And even the distributed version was never intended for someone like you--I did not consider the psychological impact of absorbing the whole thing in under a minute. Not to pry into restricted details, but have you by any chance experienced an episode of unjustified arrogance or megalomania recently?" A sudden chill. "...I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero..." "...maybe." No, be clear. This is safety information. "Yes." "The book definitely didn't help with that." "My partner thought it would help with something. He wouldn't just..." Stella frowned. "It might have seemed appropriate as a form of disaster aversion. A 'break glass in case of emergency' psychological reset to forestall something worse. But not as a long term solution, and he'd know that." Flicker closed her eyes. "It wasn't and he did. He's gone. We aren't patrolling together anymore." Flicker had been managing to compartmentalize up to that point. Journeyman hadn't returned to Doc's HQ while she'd been recovering, or sent any message other than a brief note wishing her well. She'd set aside awareness of that, and their last conversation, pretending he was just temporarily away again. But their load-bearing social fiction had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble. Speed up. Shift focus in speed mind. Ignore her human emulation, it was working all too well. Try a different perspective. Consider the positive. She'd learned too much during her time with him for reflexive avoidance of memory to be appropriate. She had her own strength, her own self, her own plans, where he was but memory and data. That could be a placeholder, a way to consider him as Flicker adjusted. It was definitely less disruptive than an emotional shutdown. Now slow down and return. Emotion and context flooded back, but she had a reference point. Her visor was beeping at her. She opened her eyes, and saw the alerts--the reason for the beeping. Warning: Situational awareness lost, Alert: Emotional crisis reaction signs, Alert: Potential dissociation trigger, Alert: Database permission upgrade request for Dr. Stella Reinhart--crisis context information. She virtual typed to grant the permission. Then straightened, her face under control. This was her problem, not his. The book dedication had been perfectly clear. For Doc Future. It's a trap. She'd read it anyway. So had Journeyman, but at least he hadn't ignored three blocks, eleven warnings, and 47 advisories, like she had. Tap. Tap. Tap. Stella was glaring intently at her laptop display and speedreading--a page for each tap. Flicker took the opportunity to do breathing exercises and calm herself. "What a mess," muttered Stella, as she continued to read. "Flicker?" "Yes?" Tap. Tap. "I'm sorry, clinical detachment and academic objectivity aren't going to be sufficient for everything. How do you feel about 'Angry woman on your side'?" "That sounds nice, actually." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Good to know. Also, do not ever underestimate your Database security AI. She was on the phone with me for all but five seconds of the time between when you started to read Practical Power Dynamics and when she interrupted your fight with Journeyman to announce my tentative willingness to help. And she called Jumping Spider to secure an emergency override in there, too. I have a theory about that, but it's probably not something she's allowed to admit. I'll see if I can sort through it. Along with everything else. This is going to take a while. But..." She paused in her paging. "I'm curious about the last few months before you became partners with Journeyman. The Database records are somewhat opaque. You were patrolling sporadically, and it's clear you weren't very happy, but I'm wondering to what extent that was due to PTSD." "I don't think about those months very much anymore," said Flicker. "Doc tried a couple of things to try to get me to cheer up, like asking if I wanted to partner with Jetgirl. I said no. I mean, she's a good friend, and we have an arrangement where she can call me for support when she needs it, but she usually doesn't, so it would have been more like being a sidekick. And I didn't want that. Journeyman actually needed my help, so I could accept his as an equal." She looked down. "I wasn't feeling very connected during that time--not continuously, anyway. I remember specific events, but I'd have to check the Database for a lot of the dates and chronology. Everything after the Japan quake. That was just before I turned fifteen, and... I didn't do too well." Stella raised an eyebrow. "The Database evaluates your actions as saving more lives than anyone else. And it's not close." "Well, but you should really account for speed. I mean, if you scored a flower-picking contest just by numbers, I could win with speed, but that doesn't mean I'm good at it. And... I don't like to talk about the quake. There were some media bits trying to turn me into a hero of the response and... No. Just no. Not respectful. They're still rebuilding and recovering and it's not my story to tell. I usually keep it compartmentalized. Mostly what I remember is to be wary of arrogance." "Mm. Would you be willing to tell me your viewpoint? Your personal experience is most definitely yours to share." "I suppose." Flicker took a deep breath and looked back up. "It wasn't bad for me personally. I didn't get hurt. It was just... There'd been some warnings, but it was confusing because of foreshocks, so no one could really tell how bad it was going to be. I got the alert from Breakpoint before the main quake hit--his Danger Sense went off and he wasn't even in Japan, so I knew it was going to be bad. I didn't know where the epicenter was going to be exactly, so I just went off the Database's best estimate, and went up and down the coast writing giant kanji for 'Earthquake' in the air so people would know. My plasma flash and shockwave boom actually helped there, because it got people to look out windows and see. "Then the quake hit, and went on and on, and the estimates kept going up: it's 8.4; no, it's 8.6; no, it's 8.7; no, it's 8.8; no, it's fucking 9; it eventually turned out to be 9.1. And then my Database com started dropping signal because my visor couldn't synchronize my position for tight beams any more. I was used to really accurate position data, and everything had moved. Everything was still moving. Ground level wasn't ground level, and everything had literally gone sideways. GPS was messed up, and the Database kept trying to correct for shit and it wasn't enough. There was one error that caused trouble for a while that was from the Earth not rotating on the same axis any more. "So, I'm running around with intermittent comms, stopping external debris and ripping the roofs off of buildings that were collapsing on people, then making the choices for intermediate floors for the big ones--do I rip it out? Will that hurt the people who might ride it down more than having it fall will hurt the people below? And can I get the debris out of the way fast enough without blinding and deafening everyone? What kind of building is it? I knew very little Japanese, and my visor translator was shit without Database support. The hospitals were solid enough that I let them take their chances, because there just wasn't much I could usefully do, but a few of the nursing homes and big apartments with lots of old people were pretty bad. I'd pulled collapsing buildings apart before, and it was like that, except... two thousand buildings at once. And seeing all those scared people. "And finally Doc got a message through, telling me I needed to punch a hole through to the ionosphere with rocks, because the Volunteer was on suborbital coming in as fast as he ever had and needed me to get the air out of way so he didn't kill anyone with his shockwave on arrival. So I went up to a place called Fukushima and made a pathway for him, so he could keep a bunch of nuclear reactors from melting down, then went back to ripping apart buildings. Until I got another message from Doc telling me I needed to let them go and start taking the edge off the tsunami." Flicker looked out the doors. "I thought, fuck that, I'll stop the tsunami. It's just a wave, right? Moving water, way offshore, no humans near, I could use all my speed and power. Energy and momentum. None greater than mine." She shook her head. "It wasn't just a wave. A whole huge section of seabed had been stuck bent over like a big flat sheet of wood, then released. One end went up like seven meters. All the water above it went up too, and the surface was now above sea level. And all that water had to go somewhere. "It wasn't just a wave. Water flows downhill. Doc knew. "I started with the lateral plasma sweeps and the shockwave hammer loops and the entrainment runs while I had the Database figure out just how much damage I'd do if I vaporized enough of the excess water to stop the tsunami. Database took a long time." She looked back at Stella. "I could vaporize enough to stop it. But--best case--it would kill five million people with a shockwave of plasma and superheated steam. More likely fifty. And fuck up the weather over the whole Northern hemisphere for months. The floods from the rain alone would... anyway. Stopping it was way worse. So I just had to take the edge off as best I could. "It was enough to let the Volunteer stabilize the reactors. And I thought it would be enough for almost all the people, I really did. And then the Database had enough data finally to tell me it wasn't." "Why not?" asked Stella. "The other end of the board. A big stretch of the coast of Honshu dropped when the seabed rose. What had been sea level--was now a meter below sea level. And the ground above it, and the people on that ground, were now a meter lower. So what looked safe--wasn't." "I went back one last time to write more Kanji. 'Run.' But not everyone could run. And not everybody who could would leave behind the ones who couldn't." "I did as much as I could," she said. "Maybe too much, some places--reflections and a change in the shape of the seabed meant I likely made things worse in one spot. But 'only' about two thousand people died in the tsunami. Plus maybe fifty or so I killed trying to stop it. Most of them in boats in really bad places, but they might have lived, except my shockwaves meant they didn't. I couldn't... it was just 'Sorry, it's not your day, ever again'. "Even after it started hitting I kept running around, clearing debris, trying to give people a little more time. And then, finally, it was over, ebbing back, and Hideki and the Japanese superheroes were arriving, and Golden Valkyrie's Choosers, and all the emergency responders. And all the ordinary people who helped. If anyone was heroes it was them. "I went on autopilot for a while, just followed Database instructions after my com was back, not trying to process, because I couldn't. There was a weird voice yelling on my com whenever I saw bodies for a bit until I figured out it was me and stopped. And... Well, I don't really remember much after that. You can read about it in the Database if you want." She waved a hand. "You know what? You want a hero? K'Krowl the Younger. Kaiju from the Deep Kingdoms. Big lizard. Lived up near the Aleutians. He was headed south along the coast, on his way to attack Tokyo, when the quake hit. He was underwater, I didn't know he was there. And there was this boat. Just... in the wrong place. K'Krowl felt the quake and knew what it meant. He headed inshore and surfaced, and just before the biggest wave hit he picked up the boat. And held it in his arms. Except I was coming down on a lateral plasma run, chopping away at the wave. I'd seen the boat, and they were just... I mean, they weren't gonna live. I had a massive entrained stream of plasma, steam, and seawater behind me. "K'Krowl crouched over, and tucked that boat under his chin, and took the wave on his chest and my plasma on his back--I burned him bad, his upper back was just cooked. But he kept his footing, and protected the people on the boat. From the tsunami, and from me. And when it was all over, he put the boat down at the shore, and waved to them, and went back into the water. He decided he didn't want to attack Tokyo that day after all, and went home to heal. Hardly anyone saw him except me and the people on the boat. And with everything going on, no one else knew until the people he saved contacted the Deep Kingdoms embassy, and they ended up with a ceremony, and gave him a medal, and if anyone ever finally resolves the Tokyo Compromise, and turns the attacks into, like, ceremonial visits or something, it'll probably be him." Flicker shook her head. "K'Krowl the Younger. That's a hero. Not me. I didn't get hurt, and mostly ran around a lot. Nothing bad happened to me. Not bad bad. Just memories." ***** Eventually, Flicker realized she'd been staring at the 'Low Situational Awareness' advisory on her visor for a long time, and came back to the present. There was a text from Stella: Let me know if and when you're ready to speak aloud. Flicker focused on the room again. Stella was frowning thoughtfully, tapping at her computer. "I'm ready," said Flicker. "Did you have questions?" Stella looked up. "I was a little curious where you got those death numbers. They don't match the Database, and that's very unusual for you. The death toll from the tsunami appears to be closer to 1,500, and you can only get close to 2,000 if you also include everyone in the area who was killed by the quake, went missing, or died for any other reason for the next week. Or use one early, inaccurate media estimate." She tapped her chin with a finger, still frowning. "And I don't see any clear evidence to indicate that you were responsible for any excess deaths while mitigating the tsunami. There were people you didn't save, but that's not remotely the same. The only way I can get to your estimate of 50 is to take everyone dead or missing who started on a boat in the tsunami region, and everyone missing in the region who started on shore, but who had a boat that also went missing, and assume they were all alive before your intervention, all dead afterwards, and all would have survived if you'd done nothing." She locked eyes with Flicker. "There was exactly one boat that definitely had live people on it, was in your path, and could have been destroyed by you while they still had a possibility of surviving. That was the boat K'Krowl picked up." "Does it really matter?" said Flicker. "Yes. You're guilt-maximizing, and you need to stop. It's not healthy. Don't want to be a hero for this? Fine. But you helped." Stella waved a hand. "I'm not a hero. I've done far worse things than you. But I still try to help. You really didn't want to talk about this and you want to stop, so we'll stop. Perhaps sometime we can come back and get you a little better perspective. But not now. You're in worse shape than I thought." "Well, I was technically dead for two days last week, so I suppose--" "Not short term. Long term. You're better at compartmentalization, coping, and masking than I expected. That means you've been better at hiding worse problems. But it just means more work, for a longer time. One thing I strongly recommend--no patrols for a while. No going 'on duty'. You can intervene in events classified by the Database as 'major disaster' or higher, or a serious threat to someone you know personally. Otherwise find something else to do. You need to recover, and not just from being dead." "But--" Softly: "No. Patrols." Stella sighed. "Are you familiar with boiling liquid expanding vapor explosions?" Flicker blinked at the change of subject, then got the analogy. "Yeah. Can't always stop them so sometimes I just rip the tank to control the direction and shape of the explosion. But I'm not close to blowing up. I know how to reduce the pressure." "I understand. But we need to do some work the slow way--reduce the temperature first. There are other things that might increase the pressure." "You want more of a safety margin?" "Yes. I am reasonably good at giving advice, but bad at providing comfort," said Stella dryly. "I'm not neurotypical either, and certain choices and events in my personal development shape my approach. I have no desire for it to increase your difficulties." "You seem pretty functional to me. And--" Stella shook her head. "If I weren't able to convincingly project normalcy, I'd already be dead. But I do have a talent for constructive distractions. So, why don't we leave off diagnostics and recommendations for a little while and have something to eat instead--I took the precaution of preordering takeout. Perhaps we can discuss a few things you might find interesting and less stressful." "I'm not..." Think, don't just react. "Okay, that does sound good." They ate, and talked, and it helped a little. It was a start.

Next: Part 12

#FallofDocFuture #FallMisc

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rainbow-okapi · 5 years ago

Text

Binder Breaks

Damn Jason and his stupid fucking face. Damn his fucking thighs. Just staring at him made his boyfriend's blood boil. It wasn’t fair he had such intimidating eyes or how Jason could throw him around however he pleased; which is exactly how they got into this situation in the first place. Being on the bathroom floor was half a surprise and Jason’s smirk was not helping in the slightest. 8 hours wasn’t enough. It came and went too quickly and dammit if Jason wasn’t an overprotective ass it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.

No, Maisy’s partner just had to ask for the time. Sure, he might have skimmed the care manual that came with the binder but Maisy didn’t expect Jason to follow it. Neither of them had the best self-care routines for the most part. He half expected it to be brought on by Roy and Kori after both had shown similar tactics when this issue came up. Somehow it always ended up with Maisy in the bathroom getting undressed one way or another, but he’d be lying if the memories weren’t the cause of his fluttering breath and rosy cheeks. Roy had been the first one to tackle the issue during a late dinner date. Jason was on a crucial patrol to get intel and Roy had just gotten back from off-city business with some suppliers. The marksman had simply decided to drag Maisy out to some dainty 24hr Diner without any forewarning whatsoever. What he didn’t know was Maisy had put on their binder earlier that morning and was running the gauntlet for wearing it for his longest time yet. Roy probably wouldn’t have known had Maisy not fidgeted as much as he had. It bit into his ribs and no matter how he twisted and pulled, the feeling would not disperse. Of course then came the explanations to a curiously well intentioned Roy; prompting smothering before a pointed jab sent Maisy towards the restrooms. There he spent 10 minutes or so chilling in a stall before Roy finally convinced him to come out without it in exchange for a milkshake. Being so vulnerable was refreshing in hindsight, and the endless praise that came with it wasn’t bad either. Roy, being the stubborn romantic that he was, had made it his mission to make the boy as flustered as possible, even getting the waitress in on it too. Whatever traditionally masculine compliment he could think of dripped off his tongue; starting off innocent but gradually dipping into filthy innuendos for the foreseeable future. Roy knew exactly what he was getting into by the time Maisy’s forehead pressed into the plastic tabletop and the only coherent word he could relinquish was his tormentor’s name. Finally, to top everything off, Roy grazed his hand through the shaved crown of Maisy’s head and whispered in that honeyed voice exactly what they should expect at home. It left him wondering if Maisy was always a sucker for firm hands and a sweet voice, since the results were absolutely precious. There’s a reason he earned the pet name “Pup” from Jason. Kori had been another story. Maisy assumes that Roy held an impromptu meeting afterwards to assign tabs since nearly every other day afterwards, he was getting hounded over the group chat. While Roy may have been maternal and swift, Kori was firm and absolute. It just happened to be a slow day round the safehouse where they gathered. Maybe it had been a little silly looking back at it; Maisy hadn’t even planned anything outside of the compound but he had put on a binder anyway. Kori was presiding over a frustrated Roy when the dreaded question was brought up, an innocent reflection as ever. Too long. He was always wearing it for too long. His body wasn’t his own, the excessive skin and fat never mirrored him. Wearing the binder helped relieve that burden of flesh and at times like this; those words clawed at his throat. He didn’t care if his ribs bent and his spine contorted. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breath anyway. It didn’t matter to him, but it did to them. Maybe there was fear in his eyes, or the stoop of his spine gave it away, but Kori was there with him anyway. Maisy would never admit it directly, but he loved when they cradled him. All of their little group was tall and muscular, compared to his own tiny frame. Kori knew this though; they all knew it, so there he was; pressed against her collarbone while she gravitated towards the restroom. One of her hands was teasing his ear and he didn’t have the heart to bite back and demand solitude. It wasn’t until she kicked the bathroom door closed did the realization seep into his stomach. Kori was patient when it came to their comforts though, that much was given due to the way she held him like a child tucked against her hip, lazily drifting above the tile. She was soothing, the way her hair faintly glowed to illuminate the dark restroom and her warmth all but enveloped him. Their positions’ shift and Kori takes the boy into her lap; still floating leisurely but turning her low spin into sluggish bobbing. He couldn’t bring himself to stir as her hands toyed the hem of his spandex bindings, nor did he protest as his shirt was removed. It was folded across the boy’s own thighs but he hardly noted it. He was more focused on the resuming digits tracing designs across the scars of his torso and the foreign hums echoing across acoustic porcelain. If he sighs when her hands ghost across his now exposed chest and sides, she doesn’t mention it. Spandex joins the shirt in a similar fashion and they stay there. They stay there amidst sweet whispers and soft tears. Kori warms them away, and returns the shirt onto him but leaves the spandex behind. The others don’t vocalize anything aside when the pup is deposited into Jason’s lap moments later and he grunts in acknowledgement; their eyes say enough. Roy chuckles when Jason drops a hand from his book and cards it across the boy’s scalp. There, he curls in the damned prince of Gotham’s lap, like he was always meant to. As if it was the most natural thing for the both of them. Then Jason, sweet fucking Jason. If Maisy didn’t know better, he’d say Jason was waiting for this. Waiting for his chance to get the boy under him and draw out the scene he wanted. That’s just how he was. It was as if all Maisy could do was fall into those Lazarus eyes. They glowed in the dim light of the restroom, containing the heat of his cold body. Fuck, he was so cold. Sandwiched between the living dead and cold tiles, any warmth given was pulled into Jason. Instinctively, he arched closer to the man above him. A chuckle echoed out, rumbling low in the looming body and tightening the hand across the boy’s wrists. “Now,” Jason breathed out, letting the breath fan across a blushing cheek. “This is being generous of me. You’ve got some options…” His hands are more callus than both Roy and Kori’s, larger too, however there’s a reverence to them as one strokes across the body below. A finger snags the spandex hem and yanks sharply towards him; shirt coming taunt with the movement. To anyone else, his snarl would paralyze those who heard it, but Maisy finds himself whimpering at the sight of vicious canines. “I could tear this off of you.“ Maisy knows he’s not joking, not with slightest uptick of strength against his wrists. Another breath crosses his skin, this time tickling his ear and finally bringing forth a fruitless struggle. Jason’s voice lowers to a bare whisper, “Or… if you really are a good boy for me.” The same hand that jerked at his clothes smooths them before sneaking under and tracing the faintest edge of Maisy’s chest. “I can peel this off of you, nice and slow. We can get off the floor.” He adds the last part like an afterthought. It almost makes Maisy laugh. He didn’t feel like a good boy just yet. Jason must have seen the hesitation in the boy’s eyes, so he shifts his weight back. What was an almost bruising grip on his wrist turned into a soft caress. His thumb wedged itself into Maisy’s tense palms and pried them open. “You’re my good boy aren’t you?” The question seems to get drowned in the silence and pulled in by each shared breath. There, under his Lazarus eyes and sly tongue, does Maisy finally feel the flaring vestiges of flames. When he grins, of teeth and charm, Jason matches it. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Maisy breaks his own silence. “Hell yeah I am!” The snap of words clear across tile, chased by a groan when the barest edge of lips trace his throat. The charcoal of his shirt separates the two bodies in a fleeting severance before it’s tossed haphazardly into the corner. The reverence is still there, dipping into the spaces between his ribs and once more, the spandex is pulled. Jason baritone purr stokes the smallest shard of embarrassment blooming across his chest for the man to reveal. There is air in his lungs and the cold steeps in with excess and the lack of protection; soothed only by the husky whisper burning him up. Spandex joins the shirt with impatience in the throw. “Of course,” The sass drips and pools in their guts, Jason’s own Cheshire grin hidden against Maisy’s jugular. “You’re always such a good boy for me.” Arms slip under and across the boy’s pale scarred back driving tremors in their wake until Maisy is pulled flush into Jason’s lap. In his arms safe and secure, it’s like nothing else can touch him. In his arms, Maisy fists his black shirt and claws desperately for some semblance of warmth. His own warmth still taken and taken until Jason’s body matches. Only then does he begin to give. He gives with his words and soothing hands, tracing concave scars and jutting vertebrae. Sweet murmurs are muffled against skin and drowned in accompanied whimpers. The two stay in the wake of burning tears and choked confessions, murmuring still; only to be quelled by those ever worshiping hands. When the silence does come, it breathes relief. When the silence comes, Jason rises with the boy still embraced, top bare and rosy. In the bedroom, silence stays. It stays and blesses the damned pair with sleep. Finally, in Jason’s arms, there is warmth. From his chest, it blooms and curls into his palms; gracing his lips when they brush the boy’s forehead and coating his voice to deliver them to rest.

#self ship fanfic #my wriitng #self ship #DC #jason todd #Red Hood #jason todd fanfiction #kisses and cuddles #my f/os #f/os #they speak #my s/is #fanfic #trans #lgbt+#trans s/i #roy harper #starfire #Joyfire

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jimlingss · 6 years ago

Text

Jungle Park [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 5.7k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warnings: swearing

Right as things seem to be improving and you’re slowly being less ostracized by the others, it plummets all to hell again. It’s no wonder that so many people hate HR. You’re constantly going after the employees and you’re really beginning to feel like Hoseok’s personal henchman. “Am I being fired?” Lisa cuts straight to the point, eyeing how the conference room door is closed and the shades have been drawn for the utmost privacy. She faces you from across the table and glances at Hoseok who’s behind you, chair against the wall, preoccupied with some work and flipping through a stack of papers. “No, no, you’re not,” you try to reassure the female receptionist to no avail. You’re perfectly aware that out of everyone, Lisa has the most hostility towards you. It’s justified too, since you basically fired her best friend and now she thinks you have it out for the receptionists. “Then what is it?” “I would like to just brush up on the dress code with you.” You try your best to offer the kindest smile while damning Hoseok on why he made you do this. It’s your job, but still. “It’s not a huge deal, but the firm’s dress code is business professional and it applies to everyone. For men, it’s buttoned suits with ties or dress pants and sports jackets. And women can wear pencil skirts or dress pants with a top and jacket, or a dress or suit as well. Muted and neutral colours are generally encouraged, but there’s some flexibility there. Shoes can be opened toed or closed, as long as they’re not sandals or sneakers or boots...” Your hands are clasped on the table and you continue, “There are a lot of choices to choose from. But Jung and Park find it especially important for you to adhere to the dress code because you greet clients that come in. In a way, you’re the face of the entire firm—” “So what you’re saying is you want me to button up my blouse more?” She interrupts you and her glare is directed towards Hoseok for a few seconds before she looks down at her own shirt. “Yes.” You retain your reserved smile, keeping your voice light and trying your best to clearly deliver your message without misunderstandings. “It’s a bit revealing. You look fantastic! I really like your fashion sense! But maybe it’s more appropriate for an evening out with friends rather than a professional office setting.” “Maybe people shouldn’t let their eyes wander,” she mutters passive aggressively and moves on before you can address her concern. “If the dress code is so important, then I’d like to tell you that Taehyung comes in his pajamas sometimes.” “I will talk to him about it,” you promise her and she nods, already moving to do up two more buttons on her white blouse. “How is Dahyun? Is she doing alright with you?” “She’s fine,” Lisa says in a curt tone. “If this is all, can I go now?” “Uh...yes, you can go now. Thank you for this discussion.” It’s shorter and easier than what you were preparing for. In the next few seconds, the receptionist swiftly stood and opened the door, waltzing out. You’ve also stood up, shuffling your stack of papers. Hoseok continues to sit there without moving, flipping to his next page, but the corner of his mouth moves. “You need to be more stern,” he mumbles, barely coherent. “I’m doing fine,” you tell him and with that, you leave. No one said your job would be easy. When Jimin told you this place was full of high conflict, he wasn’t kidding. It seems like office drama and gossip runs like the wild west here. But recently, the flood of complaints made against each other seemed to stop entirely. Maybe people didn’t want to file official complaints or they simply decided to band together against you and Hoseok. If it’s the latter reason, you’re happy that you at least got to lessen the tension around the office. It takes teamwork to revolt against authority figures. And….well, even if no one wants to be your friend anymore, you still like your job. It’s a lot better than driving a damn taxi around. “Um, Y/N?” There’s a timid knock on your door and you bolt your head upright, tearing your eyes away from the computer screen. At the doorway, Sebin linger hesitantly, arms holding onto a thick file. “Do...do you have some time?’ “Of course!” You stand, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Nonetheless, you welcome her in and when she takes a seat, you happily close the door for privacy. You just can’t believe that someone’s actually here, greeting you, asking for your help, and you’re about to pull out all stops. “What can I do for you?” “I just need to talk to someone.” The girl brushes her long brunette hair until it’s behind her, draping her backside. Her eyes divert to her lap, fingers playing with the hem of her beige pencil skirt before she looks up at you. “I’ve been having a hard time recently.” “Do you know what you’re having a hard time with? Is it your family or your personal life or is it because of someone in the office?” She shakes her head with a modest smile. “No, no one’s been anything but nice to me here. I just feel stuck.” You nod, actively listening and reading her expression. “Can you elaborate? What do you mean by stuck?” “I just…” The legal assistant sighs, a heavy exhale squeezing from her lungs. “I wonder what I’m doing. I like my job. I think it’s easy and straightforward. It pays the bills too. I really love and adore everyone here. Jimin was the one who hired me and I feel like I owe it to him to stick this out...but I don’t know...I keep thinking about it and I can’t get rid of this feeling.” “Sebin, you don’t owe it to anyone to stick it out.” You repeat her exact words and you reach across your desk to squeeze her hand. “There’s no one here who would understand better than Jimin.” She smiles, thankful that you’re offering her comfort. “I don’t know if this is what I want for myself anymore. But if I leave this place, I don’t know where I will go, I don’t know where I would get money.” “Do you have any savings?” “I do. But what if I can’t find another job? What if no one’s hiring? I know the economy isn’t great.” “At this point, I don’t think the economy will ever be good.” You grin and she laughs behind her hand, agreeing with you. “There are a lot of reasons why you shouldn't do something. Sometimes...you just gotta go for it, as stupid as that sounds.” The girl is kind of surprised. She expected you to coerce her to stay and she wondered if you’d just turn around and tattle to Hoseok later. She wouldn’t be all that shocked if Hoseok chucked a cardboard box at her head and told her to clean out her desk before the end of the day for even thinking of leaving her job. But Sebin is pleased to hear your encouragements and a part of her thinks you won’t tell Hoseok. Your sincerity reaches her. “Can you be honest with me?” “Of course,” you reassure, wondering when you’ve ever been dishonest. “Do you think it’s dumb?” The paralegal makes wild gestures with her hands. “I mean...my job right now isn’t hard…” “Just because it’s easy, it doesn’t mean you’ll like it.” You hum and begin to reminisce. “I’ve been at jobs for the sake of money before and I was miserable the entire time. Actually, I only have this position right now because I made the decision to quit my old job….for the same reasons as you.” You continue, “And as hard as this job can be sometimes, I love it a lot. I don’t think there’s anything I’d rather do than be here and help people, get to know them and boost office morale while still being a part of the team.” Sebin smiles warmly, in awe at how you speak so passionately even when you know HR is a mundane job. “I’m not even sure of what I want.” “Well…” You lean back. “If money wasn’t a concern, what would you want to do?” “I don’t know.” It’s a typical question, but the legal assistant considers it carefully. “I’d travel. I’d eat a lot. I...I always wanted to become a teacher, so maybe I’d do that. I had a job as a teacher’s aide before. I just never thought I could be an actual teacher. Somewhere along the way, I applied for this job...and then I stuck to it.” “And now you’re really stuck,” you say lightheartedly and she nods. “I think you would be a great teacher, Sebin. You have the patience for it for sure and it’s never really too late to do anything. If you have savings, you could do it, return to school and see what you need to complete your degree. There’re tons of bursaries and scholarships for adult students as well. In fact, I may have something for you.” You open your left drawer, thanking the heavens of your bad habit of taking brochures that you don’t need. In ten seconds, you’ve fished for the right one and you slide the pamphlet over to her. “You can also continue working while going to school. There’s a lot of options out there.” The girl’s eyes are glazed over, holding back tears. “Thank you for this, Y/N. I really appreciate it. I had no one else to talk to and...this just means a lot to me.” “No problem.” If you were happy before, now you were on a high. Why should people do drugs when helping people was for free? “If you want, you can keep me updated on what you decide, but you don’t have to. My door’s always open if you need to talk to someone.” At the end of the conversation, the both of you are over the moon. Sebin leaves while dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand and you’re ecstatic that you actually got to help someone in their career development. At this rate, you’re sure she’ll still be working while going to school part-time, eventually becoming a teacher, or maybe not. She’s promised to see where things go and to take steps to make herself happier. And you couldn’t be happier yourself. Except, the next day, someone by the name of Jung Hoseok takes a big fat dump on your bliss. “You called me?” You pop your head through the door and he motions you in. You’re forced to awkwardly shuffle, moving to stand in front of his desk like you’re an elementary student about to be scolded by the principal. “Explain this to me.” He throws a letter onto his desk and he glares at you hard enough to set your skin aflame. “Sebin just handed me her two weeks notice.” Oh shit. Turns out she won’t be working and going to school at the same time. Maybe it’s better that she fully focuses on achieving her goal. It’s a good decision either way. But you don’t tell Hoseok any of your thoughts. Instead, you manage a skeptical expression. “And you called me because…?” “Because she came in here talking about being stuck and her dreams and needing to take charge of her life. I was thinking about who could’ve fed her all this nonsense and I realized that it could only be you.” There’s a murderous look in his eye and you begin to break a sweat. If Hoseok didn’t hate you before, now he definitely did. You scramble to reply, “That...that’s a big assumption. Aren’t lawyers supposed to avoid assumptions?” “Do you realize that in this busy season, we cannot afford to lose an important member of staff?” “Yes.” “Do you know how much work it will take to hire another paralegal that will fulfill the correct requirements and fit the needs of this office?” “Yes,” you mutter before adding on, “but isn’t it my job to find someone suitable?” Jung Hoseok is not amused and from the way he glares at you dead in the eyes and his hands are clasped, it makes you ponder if this is what Satan looks like in hell. “Did she or did she not visit you in the past few days?” “She did.” “And what did you talk about?” “That is confidential material.” “I am your boss and it is your job to tell me,” he demands and your life flashes before your eyes. You wonder if this is the end, if he’ll toss his sharp scissors at your exposed neck and the rest of the lawyers will end up hiding your corpse and burning it in some forest. They’d get away with it too, considering they’re the top lawyers in the industry. Oh god. How would your mom even react if your death became an unsolved mystery? “Either way, you would’ve had to fill out a report, correct? I could always read it.” “Sometimes reports are not necessary to fill out,” you mumble while scratching your hair and downcasting your head. The lawyer seated across from you persists without missing a single beat. “Did you or did you not speak to Sebin about her professional goals?” “Perhaps.” “Did you at any point suggest that she should quit if she is feeling unhappy?” You’ve watched enough law television shows to know how to respond. It might be ridiculous, but you don’t care. “I refuse to respond on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” Hoseok’s frown deepens, but the corner of his mouth twitches. You’re not sure if he’s become slightly amused or absolutely furious with you. “Are you….are you pleading the fifth?” He asks it like he can’t believe his own ears. You cringe in your spot, avoiding his glare. “Yes.” “This is not an interrogation.” “Then what am I doing here?” The male is brought to a loss for words, so he simply scoffs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and waves you away with his other hand. “Get out of here before I toss my mug at you.” “That’s a threat and verbally abusive, also highly inappropriate.” Despite your words, your legs bolt upwards and you’re on your toes again, collecting yourself as you slowly back away from his desk. “Just letting you know as HR.” “You’re testing me,” he chimes and returns back to his work. “Alright...goodbye.” You run for your life and Hoseok lifts his chin, staring at the space where you just occupied. The corner of his tilt mouth again and he lets out a hopeless puff of air through his parted lips before it stretches into the smallest of smiles. // If life at the office could be charted, it would be one of the craziest graphs you would need to draw. The line would currently dip and rise, like the drop and incline of a rollercoaster with no stops. Often times when you’re having the time of your life, it plummets to the bottom. And when you’re having the worst time, things improve so drastically, you remember why you wanted this job in the first place. At the moment, it feels like things were at a standstill, half between the rise and fall of good and bad. While the employees of the firm aren’t exactly friendly with you anymore, they aren’t hostile or passive aggressive either. Sure, you’re almost certain Hoseok hates your guts and probably wants to throw you out of his window, Jimin has been nothing but understanding and kind. Things are okay. But it’s about to be a new low for you. “Are you the one who fired my girlfriend?!” “Pardon?” You frown in confusion, forced to a halt in front of the office building as the car pulls up on the curb. An unfamiliar man has his head popped out of the window, half his body hanging out as he angrily screams the question at you. It’s only nine a.m. in the morning and your mind is still numb without coffee. “Are you the fucking HR bitch that fired my girlfriend?!” He repeats, shouting so loudly that it hurts your ears. What you don’t notice is who is sitting in the driver seat and the familiar lawyer that is walking down the street, noticing the commotion going on. It happens too quickly. The driver of the car moves the man out of the way to see out the window. You recognize the ex-receptionist immediately and she wastes no time to point an accusatory finger at you. Kei frowns and shrieks, “That’s her!” The man in the passenger seat brings up a bucket from in-between his feet and then there’s a sudden stream that glistens in the morning sunshine. There is the sound of sloshing that follows. The beads glimmer against the light like stars and then it falls like a tsunami. You’re doused in cold water. It shocks your system, hair drenched and clothes dripping, doused from head to toe. There are gasps that surround you, people passing by that move out of the way to not get wet. The man shouts, “Drive, drive!” And then tires screech on pavement as it pulls off and zips down the road. Hoseok runs over towards you and pulls out his phone, swiftly snapping a shot of the license plate before the car is too far gone. If you thought he was furious before, now he was completely livid. “What the fuck!” His hands curl around your shoulders, firm yet still gentle, and he doesn’t notice when you flinch from his touch. “Are you okay??! Y/N?!” The man searches your face before he locks his eyes with yours. “I...I’m fine.” You’re violently shivering, still shocked by the sudden change of temperature and also humiliated by people’s stares. “It’s just water, I’m fine. It’ll dry off.” He doesn’t wait and takes off his suit jacket, draping it over you as if it could warm you up and shield you away from stranger’s gazes. The security guard of the building runs out while catching his breath and Hoseok casts one mere glance at him. “Give me the footage of that security camera.” “You got it,” he responds and goes off again. “Hoseok.” “Do you have a change of clothes with you? Actually no, go home,” he says it quickly, nearly getting whiplash at how fast he turns to look at you again. You can’t imagine taking the subway in this state and he must read your expression well with the next question he asks. “Did you drive here or do you need me to drive you home? Wait, no, we need to file a police report as soon as possible. Okay, let me drive you home to change and then we can head to the police station and file a police report.” “Wait…” “We can get a restraining order by noon. See if we can press charges on grounds of harassment and assault and verbal abuse. From now on, I’m your attorney, understand?” “Listen to me,” you say as calmly as possible whilst gazing into his eyes. “I don’t want to press charges or file a police report. I’m fine.” His jaw clenches and the knit between his brows deepen. “No. You do not get to argue with me on this.” “It was water. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” You just want to go away from the prying eyes and pitiful stares. “I’ll dry off. And she was just upset, she lost her job.” “That does not justify her actions. Why do you let this happen to you?! Are you really okay with it?!” Hoseok’s composure is completely lost and he steps away, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fine, you might not want to press charges, but I’m still going to get a restraining order for this office. I have a responsibility to protect my employees, do you understand? And you are my employee. No one is allowed to hurt you or put you in danger.” You’re caught in a trance, staring into his brown irises that seems to catch light in all the right places. Eventually, you’re pulled back to attention when Sunyi comes rushing over, asking what happened. Miraculously, the lawyer has a change of clothing since she was planning to switch to more formal attire to meet an important client at two. She’s happy to let you borrow her clothes. The ride up to the floor is uncomfortable and smothering. Everyone in the office stops to gawk, baffled out of their minds at the sight of you, considering you look like you went showering in your attire. But no one whispers or murmurs since Hoseok stomps into Jimin’s office and the door slams shut, hard enough to cause the hinges to break and the goddamn wall to crumble. You change and Seulgi makes a cup of hot coffee to warm you up. Even Lisa lingers in the kitchen and asks if you’re alright. Within the hour, Hoseok appears again, beelining from his partner’s office to yours. He seems much calmer now, vein no longer popping at his forehead, wrinkles no longer prominent and brows not furrowed. “I know you don’t want to press charges. Tell me if you change your mind, but the entire firm is getting a restraining order against both parties. She will not be allowed to be within five hundred meters of this office building.” There’s an extended silence. The lawyer nods, having nothing more to say and he turns to walk out. “Hoseok.” Your voice stops him. “Thank you.” “It’s a given,” he murmurs in an oddly softer tone and then turns so you can see the profile of his visage. The edge of his mouth lifts. “You’re my responsibility, you know....even if you are a headache.” You smile back at him and he leaves.

As usual, with the new low, comes a new high. And you can only hope naively that things stay this way forever. Rumours of what Kei did to you spread and they evolve to become wilder versions — ones where you threw yourself in front of Hoseok and protected him, or she had hired a hitman to harm people in the office, but you blocked the entrance and protected them. If anything, you’re amused over these stories. But more importantly, the employees of the firm become more pleasant towards you, like when you first joined and won their trust. Maybe they turned a new leaf because they finally realized your job wasn’t as jolly and chummy as it seemed on the outside. Maybe they felt guilty since in the back of their minds, they knew you were being shunned. Maybe their kindness derives from pity. Whatever the case may be, you don’t mind. The others are surprised at how Sebin is close to you. She chooses to sit beside you during lunchtime in the break room and chatters on happily. She even tells you how she got accepted into the first post-secondary institution of her choosing and Hoseok wrote her one of the best recommendation letters that brought her to tears; it turns out the lawyer isn’t angry that she isn’t staying. Before the paralegal leaves, everyone celebrates with cake in the conference room, bidding her goodbye and telling her to visit. You’re sad that one of your best friends have left, but it doesn’t last too long when Seulgi invites you out to lunch one afternoon and the two of you have a fun chat. Even Sunyi has returned to your office every other day to do her regular complaints about Yoongi. Things are good. For the most part. “Good morning.” “Morning.” The elevator doors shut and the tension between you two and the small space is enough to suffocate you. You should’ve known he was close behind you and maybe you would’ve waited for another elevator or took the stairs. Sure, you probably would’ve ended up sticky with sweat, but it would be better than standing alone next to Jung Hoseok. All you do is focus on the rising numbers flashing over the doors…. Until there’s a large ‘clack’, the floor jolting and causing you to grip the side bars. The overhead lights flash for a moment. The bulbs die off, engulfing you in darkness before flickering back on. “That doesn’t sound good,” you mutter underneath your breath and Hoseok moves to spam the elevator buttons. They don’t light up. The elevator doesn’t move. The numbers stay the same. He curses and hits the ‘call for help’ button. “Not again.” He fishes out his phone and speed dials Jimin. At the same time, the intercom flares to life and he doesn’t wait for them. “We’re stuck in elevator two between floors seven and eight.” The woman on the other side remains impassive. “We’re on our way.” Jimin doesn’t pick up and he hangs up with a sigh. Wonderful. As if being in the same elevator with just Hoseok wasn’t painful enough, now you were trapped with him. Trapped. For god knows how long. “Does….” You attempt to break the silence and you finally shift to look at him. “Does this happen often?” “Often enough for it not to be surprising,” Hoseok mutters and sits on the ground. You decide to follow his lead, moving to lean up against the corner of the elevator with your legs out in front of you. There’s a moment of quiet before the lawyer speaks, “The last time this damn elevator did this, it was stuck for four hours.” He pauses and looks at you, smooth timbre quieting, “We should designate a peeing corner. My bladder is beginning to hurt.” Your eyes are full of horror. “Wh-what?” “I’m kidding!” He laughs at your expression. The sound of his laughter is tinkling, foreign to your ears. It’s as if sunshine itself is emitting from his mouth. “In what world would I actually piss in the corner of an elevator? And we’ll probably get out here in ten minutes.” “Oh.” It was a joke. Hoseok’s little chuckles fade off and he looks at you with a smile. “Lighten up, you always act like I’m going to bite your head off.” “Aren’t you?” Underneath your placid exterior, you’re shaken from his lightheartedness and teasing. At the moment, you’re not too sure who’s sitting next to you and if this is the same man who rules the office with an iron fist. But you know this is also a part of him he doesn’t show in the firm — though it painfully reminds you of something long ago. “That would get me arrested and trust me, you don’t want to see prison version of Hoseok.” You grin at how he refers to himself in third person. “What’s prison version of Hoseok?” “Someone who tries to escape and fails and ends up crying pathetically on a cold prison floor with a tramp stamp tattoo of a red butterfly,” he drones on and ends up sounding completely done with his life. You can’t help the giggles that bubble up your throat and he smiles, able to make both your predicaments better. The elevator suddenly creaks, sounding like nuts and bolts tumbling and you quirk your head to one side, grabbing the bar by your head tighter. “The elevator won’t suddenly fall, right? We won’t die, right?” “Don’t worry. If we do, the building will be liable for our deaths and Jimin will sue them.” “Great to know I’ll have a chunk of money in my coffin,” you deadpan and this time, he’s the one laughing. You watch the way his mouth draws up slightly into a heart shape when he’s grinning and how his eyes crinkle softly. The words spill before you can stop them. “Do you really not remember?” His laughs slowly fade away, the last of them streaming from his chest before he looks over at you, tilting his chin towards you, lips together but still pulled into a smile. “Remember what?” You stare at him for a moment before tearing your eyes to the closed silver doors. “Never mind.” “No.” He won’t take no for an answer, not when his irises are sparkling with both mischief and curiosity. “What is it?” “Nothing.” You shrug. “There’s no point if you don’t remember. It was like twelve years ago.” “What? Did you do me wrong and now I don’t remember?” “Not telling.” “Tell,” he demands childishly and leans over like he’s going to crawl closer to you. You’d rather climb up the elevator shaft like Spiderman and end up dying because you’re not Spiderman than to have him close the already small distance between the two of you. “Okay fine!” Luckily, he stops moving and you swallow hard. “I freeloaded off a group project with you.” You watch his reaction. “If you didn’t notice on my résumé, we went to the same university. But actually, we were also in the same finance class in our second year together. It was a long time ago.” “That’s it?” An endeared expression appears on his features. “That’s what you were so worried about?” “Of course, I’m worried! I freeloaded off of you! We were supposed to meet at a library, but I was in a board game club and I ditched you because I was winning at Monopoly.” As if it helps, you add on, “Which I ended up winning, by the way.” “Really?” The little shit is grinning, finding your story all the too amusing, from how you were in a board game club to how you actually knew each other and not just by name. “We failed.” “Well, that’s not too bad.” He muses, “Thought there was something deeper or more important.” “It was forty percent of our grade,” you counter. There’s a bit of a pause and then he shrugs. “.....I still made it as a lawyer and you made it as an HR member.” Since all of this is out and the open, you figure you might as well spill all the beans. “And you may or may not have asked me out to a coffee date, but I rejected you.” A part of you almost hopes that he’ll remember. Except, he doesn’t. “Okay, now I’m just hurt.” He puts a hand over his chest where his heart should be, an over dramatic reaction and he gasps. “How could you?” You laugh and he smiles at the sound, arm dropping into his lap. “Sounded like we were friends back then.” “Acquaintances,” you correct. “Well, the past is the past and it’s not like I can even remember, so you can stop tiptoeing around me.” “I’m not tiptoeing!” You defend, despite it being a complete lie. For the first time, you actually feel at ease being in Hoseok’s presence, like the weight of the past is no longer on your shoulders. It’s nice to talk to him like this, like the both of you are adults with no baggage or resentments. “Yeah, you are.” His eyebrow is cocked. “I know the rest of them are scared of me, but they have reason to be. You don’t. You haven’t fucked up yet.” You’re surprised. “I haven’t?” “Annoying if anything, but no, you haven’t really.” “I’m glad.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with your fingers and looking in your lap. There’s another thought that comes into your mind, but you wonder if you would be overstepping your boundaries. Still, you can’t imagine a better time than now. Your voice is a soft whisper when you speak, full of hesitancy, “Was your accident that bad that you can’t remember anything?” “Hey!” He scoffs in offence. “I remember everything. Just not the small details like acquaintances and stuff. But yeah, I hit a lamp post on the highway and ended up in the hospital for a year of recovery. It was rough.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. It actually worked out in the end since Jimin came to me and told me he had plans of opening a law firm one day and wanted me as a partner. That helped me get off my ass and I finished my third year of law school, did a year of articling for another divorce firm, and then Jimin and I started this place.” “That’s really amazing.” The words spill out in awe. “A lot of sleepless nights.” “But you made it.” “Sure did.” He turns to gaze at you. “You did too.” “Yeah…” The ten-minute estimate turns into twenty and with enough of Hoseok yelling over the intercom for what’s taking so long, you both eventually get freed from the elevator. The paralegals end up crowding you after, asking if being trapped with Hoseok for that long was as horrible as it seemed and if you wanted to hit your head on the walls and die, but you only shrug and keep your responses positive. In reality, you enjoyed talking to him a lot. You missed it. Hoseok disappears for the rest of the day for court proceedings, Yoongi and Taehyung following him and giving him a headache with their bickering. It’s almost as if the conversation and reconnection never happened and you’re a bit disappointed, but then the next day, you have him knocking on your door. “Is there something wrong?” “No.” He plops down his second coffee on your desk and takes a sip with the one in his right hand. You stare at the cup, not sure what he wants you to do with it or if he’s putting it down temporarily. “It’s yours.” You hold it, looking up at him. “Mine?” “It’s my offering of our truce.” Truce. Hoseok ends up leaving without looking at you and your bright smile. In your life, you’ve never had such delicious coffee before.

#Bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fluff #hoseok fluff #hoseok fanfic #BTS JUNG HOSEOK AS.....an asshole??? OR IS HE??//#OC who's past is shady as allll hellll

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21stcenturyyfoxx · 5 years ago

Text

Characters: Julian Mercer x Reader

Prompt: “It always feels like the first time with you.”

Warnings: fluffy.

Requested by: @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day

Hope it’s okay it’s a fluff. If you want I can write a follow up with some smut.

———————————————————

Your beeper sounded as you finally started to doze off, an exhausted groan boiled from your throat and fell from your lips as you sat up groggily; you grabbed it to look at the message.

You made your way to the table, grabbing the phone off the receiver; pushing the numbers down to call the line.

“Front desk, Mercy Hospital, Deborah speaking, how may I direct your call?” The receptionist said with a squeaky voice, a New York accent flooding her tongue.

“Yeah, Debbie, this is Doctor Mercer...” you said twisting the line around your finger as you leaned against the conference table.

“I was wondering why I got a message to call up front..” you sighed absentmindedly.

“Oh, your husband is here, he brought you dinner.” She said cheerily, surely she was smiling at your spouse as he stood mere feet away from her.

“I’ll be right down.” You said as you ended the call and raced to get downstairs before your beeper could have a chance to go off.

The elevator mirrors forced you to assess your appearance; you quickly checked your teeth for any signs of the red lipstick you had just applied; you smoothed your hair back, fluffing it with your fingertips quickly to add an extra oomf.

Pinching your eyelashes between your nails, and pushing them upwards with your fingers to give it a better look; you half-heartedly smiled at your new, almost fresh appearance.

The doors opened to reveal your spouse standing near front desk; he still donned his scrub bottoms from the shift he had taken at another hospital earlier in the day.

“Sorry it took so long, the elevator took its sweet time.” You smiled as you slipped your arms around his torso.

“That’s alright, babe. Just means you had time to primp before you reached me.” He smirked knowing your routine each time he managed to get a moment to see you.

You felt your cheeks heat up, a natural blush creeping along your skin.

“Whatcha bring me?” You smiled, your senses catching the whiff of something Italian.

“Follow me, my lady.” He smiled, extending his arm for you to take.

You quirked an eyebrow suspiciously before accepting his invitation; he led you to the elevator.

The doors closed and you attempted to peek at the food that was covered in the containers.

“Aht- Aht, no peeking!” He scolded you with a soft grin.

You rolled your eyes playfully, with a pout on your crimson lips.

His fingers found the rooftop button, if your interest wasn’t piqued before it definitely was now.

“You’ll see, babe.” He smiled giving you a knowing look, it was always like he could read your mind.

— —

The elevator opened to the abandoned wing of the hospital that led to the exit to the roof, making your way quickly down the hallway, Julian opened the door for you.

“What in the —? Julian Mercer, you have outdone yourself.” You gasped, tears swelling in your eyes.

The small, round table was decorated with a clean white cloth, a black sash carefully draped the length of the table; rose petals scattered across the perimeter of the table.

Candles flickered all around in a soft glow, your eyes took it in, the night atmosphere with the scene in front of you. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.

The man who’d you had been married to for only two years had done more for you than the others before him in such a short time. It was more than astonishing to say the least.

“The least I can do on our anniversary, my love.” He said as he wrapped his arms around your waist after setting the containers of food down on the table.

You closed your eyes in shame, having completely forgotten about your two year anniversary due to the stresses of the job you both entertained every day for twelve hours.

“Julian, I’m so sorry, I forgot...” you sighed, your face crestfallen.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. You can make it up to me later.” He whispered, kissing your neck tenderly.

You smiled, tilting your head for him to gain better access to your sweet spot.

All was heavenly until your stomach rumbled with hunger.

The two of you laughing loudly.

Julian slipped away from you, guiding you to the table; he pulled the chair out for you to sit down.

Opening the containers he revealed your favorite Italian dish; Chicken Parmigiana over angel haired spaghetti.

“Oh my god, thank you, thank you!” You mused, dancing in your seat like a happy child.

He just chuckled as he pulled the two wine glasses from the basket hidden in the compartment under the table; along with the red wine.

“Jule...?” You warned using his nickname.

“I got clearance from our supervisor — you are allowed approximately half a glass of wine. He said it was his gift.” He smiled pouring the liquid into the glasses before handing one to you.

Raising his glass towards you.

“To my certainly gorgeous and absolutely intelligent wife, to us for surviving the first two years of married life, and hopefully to many more years — and hopefully one day having the sounds of little feet running amuck around the house and most likely, the hospital on some days — happy anniversary, my love. It always feels like the first time with you. Falling in love over and over everyday with you.” He said as you two clinked the long stemmed wine glasses together.

“You’re the best husband I could’ve ever asked for, you know that?” You sighed happily as you rested your chin onto your hand, admiring the handsome man before you.

He fed you a piece of your food carefully, smiling to himself.

“I do what I can.” He dismisses the praise as always.

You hum in response, to preoccupied by the marvelous taste in your mouth to form any coherent words.

“Taste good?” He said chuckling his words out.

“You’d taste better...” You quipped, giving him a seductive smirk; sinful intentions glazing your eyes over.

He began to respond...

But the beeper rang out loudly through the tension.

You sighed half angrily at the tiny machine that was clamped to the waistband of your scrub pants.

“Well then, I guess that idea — will sadly have to wait till later.” He said softly.

Grabbing your hand giving it a quick kiss before moving to lean over the table, kissing your lipstick and wine stained lips.

“Go Mrs. Mercer, you’ve got lives to save.”

He smiled as he gave you one final kiss and watched as you left him eat alone; a routine that was familiar but somehow worked for the two of you.

Dr. Julian and Y/N Mercer, the resident physicians of Mercy Hospital in New York City.

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hookaroo · 6 years ago

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (40 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Friday, continued)...

How many times now?

In this exact chair, this oppressive waiting lounge with its dusty fake plants and decades-old magazines, a nearly empty water cooler in the corner, a vending machine down the hall that always jammed when you tried to get a pack of Cheez-Its. How many lifetimes had Emma spent here, always anxiously awaiting news on her gravely injured husband, fearing the worst as the minutes and hours ticked by, as people came and went and doctors brought tidings of good or ill?

Had her turn finally come to be on the receiving end of the ‘We Did All We Could’ speech?

Nearly midnight. It had been at least eight hours already. The hospital was thrumming, jam-packed with the influx of newly liberated slaves, all of whom were desperately ill, shell-shocked by the loss of that guiding voice in their minds, and the majority seriously wounded to boot. The ambulances kept coming; most were on their 7th or 8th trip by now despite having crammed as many casualties in each vehicle as was safe. Emma had not been involved in the discussion of whether some could be transported elsewhere to relieve the burden on the relatively small Storybrooke General, but it was by far the closest facility and more advanced than anything else the United Realms had to offer.

Because she’d been on the first ambulance to arrive, Emma had not endured much of a wait to have her minor forehead wound dressed, once Killian had been whisked back for emergency surgery. That would have been a different story now; even with every available physician, nurse, and allied health provider called in on disaster protocol, the ED was packed and wait times for anything less than a life-threatening condition were astronomical.

Emma’s hand clenched around the paper-flavored cone of water she held as she relived the day’s events. Everything had been such a close call. If anything had gone even slightly differently, she and all the others may not have been in this place at all, never mind Killian.

Try as she might, she could not rid herself of the image of the Vocivore as she’d seen it upon entering that abysmal cathedral. How it had loomed over a broken Killian, how grotesquely ominous her first impression of it had been.

What it had been doing to him, in plain view of her and all the other slaves in the building.

Another tear slipped down her cheek, following the salty trail blazed by countless predecessors. The last gulp of water overflowed out over her hand and onto her lap, the cone squeezed into a bitter crumple, and Emma didn’t give a damn about the wetness on her knees because it was such a minor inconvenience to all that her husband had suffered through in the month gone by. And she was at least 50% culpable, by her reckoning.

“Hey. Save some of that for the fishes,” came a gentle voice from the doorway to her left, and Emma scrubbed at her face before rising to her feet.

“Dad.” Her voice was tremulous, low and husky with emotion, and the prince was quickly at her side and wrapping her in a one-armed hug.

“You still here?” he murmured into her hair.

With a shuddering breath, Emma nodded. “Haven’t heard anything for… at least four hours,” she calculated. “They had to pause the surgery in the middle ‘cuz his blood pressure and temperature both got too low. They plan to resume as soon as he’s stable enough.”

If he ever reaches that point, was the unspoken addition.

David gave her one more squeeze before stepping back. He looked haggard, almost on the verge of collapse, so Emma took a seat in the hopes that he would follow suit. Letting out a low groan, he sank into the chair beside her, settling uncomfortably sideways to avoid touching his injured shoulder blade to the seat back. Rubbing his eyes, he gave a report of his own.

“Well, we just brought in the last of them, near as we could tell. There may still be some out in the woods, but we cleared all the buildings at least. Figure we’ll track down the rest when it gets light.”

“Thanks for taking over back there.”

“Of course.”

He was always so good to her; he and Snow both. Always willing to do whatever she asked, regardless of their own busy schedules. Emma could count on them both for anything at any time. Which made this apology so hard, but also so important. And maybe she should have waited for her mother to be there as well, or for a time when Killian could add his own, but Emma didn’t feel right putting it off any longer.

“Dad, I… I’m so sorry we lied to you.”

David looked as if he were steeling himself, and Emma cringed.

“About Hope?” he asked slowly, expression unreadable. She nodded and watched him massage his temples one-handed.

“How much did Detective Jones tell you?”

“Not much,” he mumbled. “He was in a lot of pain; mostly we just waited quietly.”

That was probably for the best, decided Emma. Jones’ own feelings of betrayal may have colored his retelling of the scheme; better for it to come from one of the bastards who had created it and pulled it off. Still, it might have been easier if David had had a little bit of preparation first…

Emma was still searching for the best place to start when David sniffed, cleared his throat, and gruffly asked,

“Does that mean… did you find… something…?”

A chill skittered up her spine. Her father was reaching for her hand, tears brimming in his eyes, and she realized she had unintentionally led him to draw a horrifically incorrect conclusion.

“Shit, Dad, I… no. Hope is fine, really and truly. That wasn’t the lie. She’s okay.”

As relief warred with confusion on David’s tired face, Emma berated herself for making things so much worse. She squeezed her father’s hand, more to get his attention and assure him that he was awake than anything else.

“Hope’s… okay?” he repeated.

“Yeah. With Belle. I swear to you; she’s fine. I’ll need to go get her, once we know Killian’s gonna…”

Emma trailed off, realizing again that there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be bringing Hope home only to attend her papa’s funeral.

“Belle?” David pulled back his hand in order to clear the wetness from his cheeks.

“I wanted to tell you so badly!” whined Emma, her voice catching on the emotions constricting her throat. “It was killing me to keep it from you. But it was… it…”

The magnitude of what they had all been through struck her yet again, and suddenly, she was crying too hard for coherent speech. She managed one more strangled, “I’m so sorry” before she found herself enfolded in David’s grasp, her face against his shoulder.

“Emma, shh, it’s okay. We can worry about the rest later; right now, all I care about is knowing that Hope is safe.” David laughed a sob of his own. “Those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.”

Emma could not be sure how much he had worked out on his own; he must still have a million questions crowding his mind, and maybe once the relief wore off, the sting of betrayal would take over. Truthfully, Emma could not think that far ahead, and she was glad for the moment of grace right now. As she took what comfort she could from her father’s embrace, she barely felt the twinge of guilt over his patience. Now that the pressure was off to tell the whole story, her focus had returned squarely on one thing: Killian. And she could only pray that, against all odds, he surprised them all and lived through the night.

*****

Present (Saturday)...

Neither Emma nor David slept much in the padded chairs, as comfortable as they were for sitting. Worry for Killian was at the forefront of Emma’s thoughts, whether awake or dozing, so that any slight noise set her pulse racing in dread of bad news.

If David had managed to reach Snow aboard the Jolly Roger, Emma had missed that moment. His soft snores at her side--when he managed to drift off for a short while--were a small comfort when panic threatened to send her bolting into the depths of the hospital in search of information. She kept reminding herself of that old saying that ‘no news is good news.’ It did seem to apply in this case, for if there were any change in Killian’s condition, especially a turn for the worse, they surely would come and speak with her. If only to give her an opportunity to say goodbye, should they deem it necessary. So when someone burst into the lounge shortly after 6, Emma nearly toppled a lamp in her haste to leap to her feet.

But it wasn’t Whale, nor was it a solemn-faced nurse.

“The monster is dead?” demanded Regina, immaculately groomed as always despite the early hour. “Why am I only now hearing about this?”

“Sorry,” grumbled Emma, rubbing at her burning eyes. “There was a lot going on yesterday.”

“I had to find out about it from Leroy, of all people. Do you know how that makes me look? A queen so out of touch with important developments that she has to get her updates from the town gossip?”

“How did he find out?” Emma asked. She’d been so busy and then distracted that she hadn’t composed a single message after contacting her father.

“Ambulance driver?” suggested David.

Regina stood glaring the wallpaper off the wall behind Emma’s head. “Care to fill me in, Sheriff?”

Emma was so tired. She lacked the mental energy to convince Regina to wait. And maybe it would have been better to share the story individually with David first, so he could react honestly without the queen watching, but tough. Emma was also too exhausted to consider trivialities like that.

She shared the whole story. And then when it was over, she sat staring at the ‘Employees only’ door, unable to meet the eyes of either person watching her as they absorbed the month of falsehoods in stony silence. Finally, Regina spoke up.

”All those search parties… you’re telling me they were for nothing?”

Emma wilted slightly. “Not… nothing, no… they were to help the monster believe in Killian’s motive. And… well… it worked.”

Regina scoffed, then turned to David. “Were you in on this?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

Emma’s heart twisted just a little bit more at the careful control in his tone.

“And Detective Jones? You mentioned that he helped you yesterday?”

“He helped me get in, yeah. Took a stun projectile to the shoulder at close range but was conscious last I saw him.”

“I’m sure he’s still here,” added David. “I saw him off in the ambulance.”

After a beat of silence, Regina began,

“This is serious business, you know; the sheriff misleading the whole town like this--”

At that moment, Dr. Whale came marching through the door, and Emma truly could not care less about what Regina was saying. The blood drained from her face, seeming to concentrate in her ears as she got slowly to her feet.

“He was touch and go for most of the night,” reported the physician without a word of greeting to anyone, which Emma very much appreciated. “He’s still not out of the woods, to be frank. I’d like to see several numbers come up before we attempt surgery again. But… there has been a slight improvement since we were forced to halt the procedure last night.”

Dizzy and overcome with equal parts relief and fear, Emma nodded and collapsed back into her seat. She had a hundred questions but could not think of a single one.

“Right now, I’d say his odds are about 50/50, and even if he does pull through, he’s got a long and difficult recovery ahead of him. But we’ll do our best for him.

“Now. I’m off to try to get some rest,” Whale told them while the bleak outlook sank in. “Day shift has their orders and will contact me if anything changes. I suggest you try and do the same: you won't be allowed back there to see him for at least the rest of the day. You may as well go home where you’ll be more comfortable.”

Emma just stared at him as if the very idea were offensive. Whale shrugged and moved toward the exit, and if anyone had felt the urge to thank him, they would have been drowned out by Regina, who was hot on his heels.

“Victor? You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Detective Jones, would you?”

Their conversation faded down the hallway, and Emma sniffed. She’d retained a fairly good handle on her guilt where Jones was concerned. True, she felt terrible that he’d been injured in the rescue mission, but at least he’d gone in fully aware and of his own volition. Emma had enough other misdemeanors to regret.

One victim of which sat silent beside her while she tried to shake off Whale’s pessimism. It was the physician’s responsibility to be brutally honest, to prepare everyone for the possible worst-case scenario. Maybe the odds were 50/50 from a purely medical standpoint, but Emma knew Killian. Surely, his stubborn resilience had to stack things more in his favor?

Cringing, Emma cast a sidelong glance at her father, who had not directly addressed her since finding out the extent of their deception. Again, and certainly not for the last time, she squeaked,

“I’m so sorry.”

Not yet meeting her eyes, David slowly asked,

“This whole plan… All of this… you and Killian did it entirely of your own free will?”

“We’re insane. I know.”

“Hope was never in any danger.”

“Right…”

“But you went through with it anyway. Killian…”

He trailed off into silence and Emma braced herself for the inevitable rebuke. And for a moment, it appeared as if David would oblige. But then he shook his head, quiet resolve on his features.

“Nope. Not gonna do it; not yet.”

“W… what do you…”

He turned to her then, and though she could make out the traces of hurt and anger in his eyes, she also saw love and understanding.

“Later. I promised.” He reached out for her hand, wearing a tearful smile. “Today, you need a supportive dad way more than a stern lecture filled with fatherly wisdom. Right?”

As Emma returned the expression with a similarly watery one of gratitude, David added,

“But we’re going to have to repeat everything when your mother gets back.”

Suddenly too exhausted for words, Emma leaned against his shoulder and murmured,

“You said it best just a minute ago. Later.”

*****

Detective Jones hurt everywhere, but strangely enough, what was bothering him the most at present was the donor blood being pumped into him as he lay waiting for something to happen. The blood had been stored frozen, and while it had thawed enough for transfusion, it remained chilled well below body temperature, causing his arm to ache fiercely and highlighting the swollen tunnel from which several inches of coat hanger had previously been removed. A hazy sort of fog seemed to be collecting around the periphery of his room, and though the clock indicated 7:15, he would not be able to hazard a guess whether that was AM or PM.

The whole encounter with the monster had warped into what felt like an abstract nightmare; were it not for the physical proof on his body, he very well could have mistaken his current predicament to be a continuation of the sword battle’s aftermath. He had vague memories of waiting with David inside the church, bleeding and in pain, then treacherous transport by ambulance over unpaved, bumpy roads for the majority of the trip to Storybrooke General. After that, massive doses of narcotics blocked out most of his time spent in the emergency department, although he did remember more pain as the staff worked to assess and stabilize his condition.

Jones closed his eyes, determined to ignore his discomfort in favor of drifting into one of the short naps that were all he'd managed to do since arriving in his room. Inevitably, a nurse would come in to check for transfusion reaction, or a loud cart would rumble by, or he'd be awakened by a jolt of pain or for no reason at all. Given his total exhaustion, it was all very irritating indeed.

Right on cue, the moment he felt himself beginning to relax, brisk footsteps approached his door, then continued inside with hardly a pause. Probably a nurse, then. With a sigh, Jones dragged reluctant eyelids open. Maybe he would inquire about some method of warming the blood so he could get some real rest for once…

It was Regina. The concern on her face gave way to obvious relief when she saw that he was awake, but she covered it up with a dramatic scowl.

"Those idiots!" she ranted, coming to a stop at his side. Jones blinked up at her, already lost. She continued regardless. "What kind of utter imbecile gives himself up to a scream-eating monster on the off-chance it will reveal a weakness to him? And all on the advice of none other than the Dark One, who just so happens to be that idiot's mortal enemy?"

"You've spoken to Emma, I take it." Jones' voice sounded like the baleful call of a territorial raven, gravelly and hoarse. Regina gave him a look, spending half a second to glance around for a glass of water for him, which was nowhere to be seen.

"I might expect something like this from that damn pirate--no offense--but Emma? No one will ever trust another word coming out of the mouths of either one of them!" She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "You didn't know anything about their asinine plan, did you?"

"Not until... whatever day that was." Jones waved his hand vaguely to indicate his complete loss of orientation, then winced as pain shot up his forearm and out through his chest.

"You're no less of an moron for going in the way you did," scolded the queen, though her tone now had much less bite to it. "You should have brought backup."

Jones lacked the energy to explain his reasoning just then. He settled for a gruff,

"Bad idea."

Regina just rolled her eyes, annoyed. "And yours was such a good one, I see."

Rather than arguing the point--an exercise he'd surely lose, even on a good day--Jones rested his head back and closed his eyes. "How is Killian?"

"Not good," she replied bluntly as she pulled a chair near his bedside. "They're having trouble getting him stable enough for the surgery needed to even start fixing him. And Whale said that the neurological deterioration compared to how it was even three days ago is very troubling. You know they still haven't been able to keep one single former slave alive, right?"

"Suppose I should begin planning my funeral then, too," murmured Jones, half asleep. He wasn't too concerned; they'd performed an MRI at some point before sticking him in this bed, and while the official results had yet to come back, Dr. Whale had not seemed troubled by his reading of the images. If there were changes, they would be extremely minor considering how short a time he'd been in the Vocivore's presence.

“You are going to be fine,” commanded Regina, leaving no room for argument. Hurriedly, she moved on. “So what exactly happened out there? The monster is dead, for sure?”

“You're asking the wrong person,” answered the detective, wishing again for a drink of water to soothe his parched throat. “One moment I was under the creature’s thrall; the next, I was flat on the floor and feeling like I'd been shot in the heart instead of merely the shoulder.”

“Emma mentioned seeing a green glow.”

“Did she?” Uneasily, Jones reached for his chest.

“It sounds an awful lot like the effects of your poisoned heart.”

Jones stared at her as dread got a chokehold on his throat. Finally, he slowly admitted,

“That's what it felt like, too.” He took a breath, shuddered slightly at the necessity of admitting it out loud at last, and winced. “But I'm completely cured and have been for nearly three years. I've even got a new heart to ensure it.”

“Well…” Regina looked to be deep in contemplation. “I've been thinking about that. Rumplestiltskin gave you his heart and that's what’s been keeping you alive. Performing all of the duties of your old heart, unaffected by the poison. But... your old heart is still in there, kind of... wrapped around the new one. You don't feel any effects of the poison because the good heart is there, functioning for you. But I think the poison was still inside, and has been all along, only you were no longer cursed.”

Jones felt dizzy, and not just from his physical maladies. "Bloody hell. Are you sure about this, Regina?"

"Of course not; there's no way to be sure until magic is restored, and we're still working on that."

The nightmare had just gotten ten times worse. Jones imagined he could feel the poison coursing through each chamber of his inherited heart, growing stronger the closer Captain Smee sailed the Jolly Roger Kiddie Cruise to Storybrooke. And he could not stop tears from forming at the injustice of it all.

“What would have reactivated it, do you think?” Even he could hear the helpless exhaustion and sorrow in his tone; there was no way Regina would have missed it. She looked stricken for a second and rushed to reassure him.

“No, no; not reactivated, Killian. Transferred. From you to the Vocivore.”

The wave of relief was so strong that for a full minute, Jones felt nothing else: no pain, no weariness or confusion, only sheer gratitude that his happy ending with Alice had not been so suddenly taken away. “Transferred?”

Regina reached for his hand and pulled it away from where it had been clutching the gown over his breast. “That's what makes sense to me.”

“But how?”

“Again, this is all conjecture at this point. Emma was certainly too distracted to give all of the details I would have liked. But from what I gathered... am I correct in believing that you went in trying to suppress any positive emotions that may have alerted the monster to your approach?”

Jones nodded.

“And I assume you accomplished that by recalling painful memories of your separation from Alice.”

When the detective did not correct her, Regina continued as if her conclusions were the most simple connection she had ever made.

“Well, those memories and emotions are inextricably linked to the curse on your heart. They dwell, in part, within the poisoned shell still residing in your chest. So when the Vocivore started literally feeding on those emotions, it drew the poison into itself along with the energy. It could not get one without the other.”

Before Jones could express surprise or amazement at the queen’s revelation, the dryness in his throat caught up to him and he started to cough. This had the unfortunate effect of jolting the wound in his shoulder as well as aggravating the marked soreness in his chest, and he spent the next several heartbeats in excruciating anguish. Regina leapt to her feet, radiating frustration.

“Can't anybody get a cup of water in this place?” She made as if to go out into the hallway and throttle the next nurse she saw until they retrieved the requested water, but Jones reached out to stop her. He cleared his throat several times and finally managed to growl,

“Not allowed. Slated for surgery soon.”

Regina somehow managed to look even more impatient than she already had. “What's taking them so damn long? Haven't you been here for something like 14 hours already?”

Jones gingerly massaged his aching chest. “I couldn't begin to tell you, love. Feels like a lot longer, yet also no time at all.”

He swallowed, winced, and cleared his throat. Regina still looked peeved.

“Let me see what I can do to light a fire under Whale’s team.” She reached for his hand, gave a brief squeeze, and assured him, “Then I'll be back.”

As she made her way to the door, she tossed out over her shoulder,

“Glad you're in one piece. For the most part.”

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#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #wish realm killian #david nolan #ouat regina #hospital #waiting room #waiting for news #emergency surgery #worry #confession #apologies #blood transfusion #poisoned heart #some questions answered #hooked queen #a little bit #Vocivore ltd

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