#is it little!hawks fic you have to link it eventually if its little!hawks fic

[wander-wren]

Understood <33 reading it again has got me back into writing my own fic so I can wait

oh that’s super awesome! the more fic in the world the better

[gloamvonhrym]

oh I never posted all my silly phoenicis worldbuilding (birdbuilding) that I did while in fanfic writing hell

here’s a huge mostly-boring set of notes expanding and/or playing havoc with canon. I’m putting it here for future reference. maybe to link to it for funsies if I ever post this hell fic

phoenicis is a small insular nation with little social hierarchy, living on inhospitable mountains inaccessible to anyone except other birds. phoenicis has therefore evolved on a somewhat separate cultural track from everybody else in tellius. in this essay I will

economy/practical shit

implicitly in canon hawks are intensely community-oriented. again, they’re a small nation without much hierarchy, and with some preference for chaos. they all “just do what needs to be done”, paraphrasing ulki. they’re not the Strong Guys for the heck of it: they work together to protect & care for their own, and harbor a strong sense of collective duty and trust.

so they’re commies

with serenes out of the picture they’re the biggest commies in tellius

they don’t have currency, that’s some human shit. to each according to their need etc

(exactly how small and close-knit is. phoenicis? small enough that kilvas, a similarly small nation with even fewer resources, could kill everyone on the home front in basically a day when it was left undefended. so. take that for what it is)

infrastructure

minor architecture tangent: we don’t see much of phoenicis & kilvas except for the exteriors of their respective castles, which is kinda boring. obviously not everyone lives in the castles. but phoenicis DOES have some other visible infrastructure, namely the funky detail of these open doorways built into both the castle itself and the surrounding cliffs:

(I don’t know if there’s any kind of proper name for these, because obviously irl we don’t need them and they’re not a thing. I’ve been calling them sky doors, and I might have nabbed that from rebecca roanhorse’s “between earth and sky”, although idk if she in turn nabbed it from anyone else)

anyway there appears to be no actual barrier on these, at least not externally. what did I say. commies. who’s gonna rob and kill you in your own home, in your little nation-commune, where nobody except other birds can get to you, and everyone trusts everyone else to do their duty and provide for each other. (the answer is that other birds will betray you, eventually. sad!)

anyway it’s boring to stick around the castle 100% of the time. I imagine that this architectural idea continues down into the valleys, where maybe artisans can make stuff and services can be provided and bargain economy shit can happen

hawks have seemingly only been pirates for the last 20 years or so, and they do piracy for the sake of vengeance rather than need, and they can’t do that much of it because there aren’t a ton of them; and unlike kilvas, they abstain from trade with the whole rest of the continent, and are isolationist by choice. so they must be self-sufficient in basically every way. someone’s got to be making fabric, making clothes, making shoes, forging metals, creating pottery, creating music and art, administering medicine, providing education, etc, somewhere.

healthcare

tangent about medicine: phoenicis is probably the only nation in the continent that has historically had no contact with healing magic at all. the herons had innate healing magic, and everyone else either has human mages or contact with human mages. but phoenicis is on its own. their medical science is therefore more advanced by irl standards, because it has to be. they know more shit about practical mundane antitoxins, antibiotics, wound dressing, surgeries, anesthetics, and complications. it’s less pleasant than magical means, but it works.

(canonically, healing magic works on wounds and not so much things like regular illnesses, so everyone’s still got some mundane medical care; but when that’s ALL you’ve got, I think it follows that you necessarily come to understand the pure mundane science better than most other people. I bet phoenicis has bred its share of real scientists. if anyone in tellius is going to invent electricity,) (also: they might value physical strength very much, but because they’re commies, I figure they take care of their sick/disabled/injured pretty well, and most of them are at terms with the fact that not everyone can be the Strongest Guys. reyson’s complex about being too weak to live is likely more due to survivor’s guilt, helplessness to protect others/wreak revenge personally, and a post-traumatic focus on violence as a primary determinant of outcomes, rather than any actual pervasive cultural messaging that he’s useless.)

age

hawks live to some, what, 300+ years? janaff says a 24 year old should barely be speaking, but I feel like his ass was just being dramatic, similar to the way we needle real-life 18 year old adult humans about being tiny babies. there’s no reason why any creature should take 20+ years to be at least functional, that would be a huge evolutionary disadvantage. I posit that hawk adolescence is considered to last roughly age 20 to 70 (with heron adolescence lasting somewhat longer, given their longer lifespan; maybe to 80-85, such that reyson has somewhat recently hit true adulthood by the time PoR rolls around).

teenagers are stupid. hawk teenagers are REALLY stupid. chaos predilection + hormones. many of them will gleefully pick a fight over any dumb thing and be horny about it. strong with the vigor of youth, but exceptionally poor sense of their own limitations

by age 100+, their temperament evens out; but any contender for the king’s power is probably going to come from the young crowd at any given time. speaking of which,

government

there isn’t much of one. phoenicis is not big. everyone knows everyone and they’re very efficient commies so everything gets done that needs to get done. tibarn has 2 dumbass advisors. who needs a secretary of state.

the title of king goes to “the strongest” (I assume the intent is that this is determined by combat, against self-selected challengers who get to take over if they win, wakanda style). although canonically, his power is that he gets to call some shots but doesn’t really get any special privileges or reverence beyond that, which is nice because it means that if the king became super unpopular, the rest of phoenicis could probably depose him without much trouble if they wanted to. no divine rights here.

(worth noting: I think tibarn’s characterization is super different between fe9 and fe10, with RD tibarn being a lot sassier and more informal. FEH skewed towards the RD vibe, and I think they were right for that. given the hawks’ uniquely relaxed philosophy towards royalty, their insular culture, and the likelihood that they all knew tibarn by name before he ever had a title, it wouldn’t make sense for them to do a lot of formalized bowing and scraping. RD tibarn would never have unironically addressed caineghis as “o majestic king of lions” or whatever he said)

(by contrast, apparently, in japanese, reyson consistently addresses tibarn formally (and also naesala, up until naesala betrays him). I don’t speak japanese and can’t really count this as an aspect of my experience of these characters, but I wonder if the other birds also address each other in this way, or if it’s a trait peculiar to reyson.)

family

families are not nuclear. hawks raise their kids pretty communally, foremost in unstructured “flocks” (households or clusters of households). actual bio parents may or may not be closely involved

parenting is kind of hands-off overall. the concept of adult supervision falls away pretty fast. “let your kid do the stupid dangerous thing so that he learns what’s stupid and dangerous” ass culture; learning by experience is optimal, and if you’re not adequately responsible then others are less likely to be sympathetic and/or have your back in turn. hawk kids tend to gain squads quickly, and they often hang together for life ride or die

if a young hawk is neglected or entirely rejected by their home flocks - rare, but not impossible - likely someone else will pick up the slack, if not adults then some loyal friends

relevant headcanons: tibarn, ulki, and janaff have been sticking together since an early age. ulki in particular had some problems - his original family did not appreciate that he kept overhearing things he shouldn’t, and he was way too autistic to know what was meant to not be repeated, so after not too long he became a bit of a lone wolf. tibarn and janaff already knew each other - janaff’s exceptional sight didn’t cause him any similar problems; and were initially concerned with ulki’s misfit status, but his ability was a valuable bonus. they all adopted each other.

food

the main thing hawks don’t do is cook. because they mostly eat raw meat, fish, and bugs, which is very sexy of them. I imagine every household has certain members designated to hunt regularly on its behalf. add that one to the chore chart

(maybe someone starts experimenting more with cooking when herons are there, and further when phoenicis is open to international relations. for fun and community!)

gender

ok the shit I made up, let’s go off the rails

hawks are queer-normative. in that they don’t give a shit about the anatomy or superficial presentation of who sleeps with whom. most of them are equal-opportunity in that regard

they are, however, by human standards, masc-centric to a sort of absurd degree. they’re not dumb senseless brutes (see again, commies, intense intra-community trust); they’re also probably not the most emotionally available fellas

(“but wouldn’t this level of intra-community trust result in greater emotional availability, not less?” look I’m not saying they’re scared of it. but why would you cry out your feelings with some other guy when you could be killing animals or committing piracy about it.)

gender presentation: I said equal-opportunity in terms of sexuality. might be because it’s a little difficult to tell. the games appear to have no female hawk characters but in MY headcanons their presentation is just masc-centric across the board, and maybe they skew a little less sexually dimorphic in general, so you wouldn’t know anyway

most hawks are he/hims. that’s just a quirk. like discworld dwarves but with less to say about it. just a nation of butches, for fun

bad gender parity in the tellius games? how do you know janaff isn’t a he/him lesbian

hawk dress is largely unisex, earth-toned, and utilitarian. not necessarily fully unadorned - tibarn has an earring & a few other things, including a necklace (feathers; battle trophies?) - but he’s still pretty rugged. nobody is flashy.

nothing AGAINST conventionally feminine presentation per se. hawks would chafe against overly rigid norms. but the way medieval-fantasy femininity looks, they’d probably think it’s a little odd in a practical sense. but who knows. maybe leanne starts something with those she/her pronouns and flowy dresses yk.

(tangent on clothing: phoenicis isn’t really friendly for something like cotton crops, but they can have wool, because goats & sheep can live on mountains. I’m also happy to make up that there’s some kind of hardy tellius breed of mulberry-adjacent tree, which can grow at least somewhere in phoenicis, resulting in the availability of silk and maybe barkcloth. or something. idk I’m not that kind of historian.)

sexuality

hawks primarily value strength, physical + emotional. we knew this. again, doesn’t make for the greatest emotional intelligence. overt softness is not the thing. tibarn kind of sucks at the direct empathy that reyson claims all living beings share, for instance. 2 hawks in a fight would rather tussle it out than waste time talking.

this carries over. in a partner, again, attraction tends to disregard sexed anatomy, but the most valuable thing is being well-matched physically. being creatures of chaos, they trust their impulses, they like a challenge, they don’t mind a fight, and they probably don’t super want to be with someone they have to worry about hurting

(hence that kind of hot chemistry between tibarn & nailah. also janaff hits on lucia at first glance bc she’s a knight obviously she’s got some beef babeyy)

pursuant: by and large, hawks really don’t find herons very attractive. that delicate graceful peaceful affect is kind of a mystifying ideal to them. it’s like art - nice to look at, ig, but what would you actually do with it. people significantly weaker than you are for you to protect, not sleep with. tibarn is a notable exception because he is down bad for reyson

and reyson is like an alien, and tibarn is maybe a bit of a freak for being into someone so fragile. you are the very strongest guy, tf you want with a boy who breaks if you look at him wrong. what do you get out of that sir. he has complexes about this :) but I’m not going to elaborate on that because that’s what hell fic is for

“herons in phoenicis: conceptualizing the vulnerable body in hawk-normative society”, the title of my tellius gender studies thesis at the university of crimea or whatever

speaking of reyson. what does this mean for him. I need to talk about it because I’m obsessed with him. the commie stuff isn’t that much of a culture shock at least

but have some added fuckery: sole survivor, adapting to another culture, learning another language; lone chaos-sensitive empath in a sea of macho chaos-oriented dudes who aren’t very attuned to that kind of thing; also extremely physically distinctive in a way that is kind of weird at best

how do you even maintain a sense of personal identity when the baseline relevant factor is “you’re incomprehensibly different from everyone around you in every way possible”? I think reyson experiences some Gender about this. the most masculine heron is still a lily reed compared to even a fairly femme hawk

reyson’s gender, per the rest of the continent: male. reyson’s gender among hawks: heron

I imagine leanne is somewhat shielded from this once she comes round - she’s able to lean on reyson and naesala, and I figure she does, pretty heavily, considering she picks up maybe a few words of the modern tongue over the course of 3 years. she’s deliberately feminine, and also has already chosen her own terrible boyfriend [affectionate]. she’s not without her own traumas, but she’s more supported, and maybe is even in a place to kind of enjoy the confusion & attention she garners from being the sole girly-girl. I feel like she would.

and her terrible boyfriend [affectionate] is a raven, not a hawk. and by contrast, ravens are VERY attracted to herons. because herons are pretty. and ravens like shiny pretty things.

misc

I’m not quite committed enough to make constructed-culture art, but in my mind hawk visual & aural culture resembles late antique/early modern celtic styles in a few ways. insular culture yk. some book of kells bullshit.

(kinda weird, upon reflection, that phoenicis isn’t full of ancient tongue speakers, considering serenes was allegedly one of the few nations they were ever friendly with. and yet even tibarn understands very little ancient. at the very least, being the most isolated nation, it would make sense for the hawks to have their own modern dialect. but they don’t, that would have been hard for an FE game to pull off, and I’m not enough of a linguist to try. so it is what it is! maybe, even though they don’t fraternize with other nations, they’ve always kept pretty close tabs on them just in case, the necessity of spying facilitated the shift to modern. whereas serenes never did that. anyway sometimes the hawks sound a little irish in my head.)

they are also superstitious. all those lonely windswept coastal peaks, there’s a lot of howling winds, spooky nooks, weird environmental physics interacting with weather phenomena. you end up with stories about folk monsters. hawks know shit about ghosts, fairies, sirens, and banshees, and how to placate them if you piss them off. also the herons sometimes scare people to death because they wear nothing but white and drift around like specters.

I also have a lot of headcanons about herons. but they’re more feelingsy. so I’ll leave that go. I might add to this as I remember more stuff

[faejilly]

writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @junemermaid, no-pressure tagging anyone who would like, because I have no idea who's seen and either done or passed on this one lately. PLEASE PLEASE DO IT AND BLAME ME IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST INCLINATION, I love seeing these things, I'm just brain-dead re: tagging today. 💙

1. Vakarian makes Shepard feel old.

Chicory, Mass Effect, Weaver Shepard, not on AO3 yet because I'm trying to turn it into a series of first/early impressions of the ME1 crew from Shepard's perspective. But then I've done Kaidan's first impression of Shepard already, so I can't decide if I should do her version of that or figure out another one. But also should I add Joker? I should always add Joker. But then in what order? (You can see the overthinking process here, can't you?) SOMEDAY I WILL WRITE WEAVER & TALI AND IT WILL BE DELIGHTFUL. She adores Tali. But also wishes to keep her safely in engineering 99% of the time. BUT ALSO...

anyway. back to sentences. ->

2. Emmett had known that he would see her.

Almond Blossoms, 7kpp, Emmett/Sheltered Princess & a lot of chaperone POV's. Also I posted that in September last year so this is clearly going to be a little depressing in terms of my ongoing 'am I a writer anymore?' existential crisis

3. “Don’t move.”

Never Again, Shadowhunters, Malec, sort of omegaverse, sort of weird magic bonds, a very belated prompt fill from the @knotinmyname anti-ai-scraping event.

4. The Matchmaker may have announced them, they may consider themselves engaged, this might be exactly what they should be doing as these connections are exactly what the Summit claims to be for… but Nathalie’s a 'known’ seductress and suspected murderer, but Clarmont’s only 'allowed’ here for the Royal Family to keep an eye on him, to make sure he knows how generous they are being with their mercy.

Relief, 7kpp, Clarmont/Ambitious Widow (Revaire feels!). Yes, that is just one sentence. Yes, I did that on purpose. No, I probably shouldn't have, but idc. 😅

5. Alec hasn’t even been Marked, still technically a fledgling rather than a Shadowhunter, when he learns that most nephilim can’t hear their weapons sing.

untitled eldritch angel powers prequel, Shadowhunters, Alec Lightwood & Politics is my jam, even when he's like 10 or something. As is weird magic and angel lore that I get to make up! Not on ao3 because I think it's going to be in a bigger thing, but I haven't actually done it yet, but I also get really tired of trying to rearrange my AO3 stuff because then I lose links and comments and brain power that should have been used for maybe writing something again some day.

6. All the dealers know Magnus’ name.

Fluff for @foodsies4me! Malec Auctioneer AU on the floor because it made me smile. (I used to be an auction block clerk.)

7. A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message.

working title is 'wtf the clave is competent' and this is another playing-with-lore Shadowhunters prequel (that will eventually be Malec) started off via a Tangential Tuesdays prompt (which is a thing I would like to properly do again, but I keep not writing which makes it tricky)

8. An Omega heir to two old bloodlines in line for a Headship was something the Nephilim hadn’t seen in almost a century, and ought to have been prestigious enough for Alec to have chosen any path or mate he wanted. [x]

9. That was Magnus. [x]

These are both omegaverse prompts for the aforementioned anti-ai event and actually posted on time last June. Both Shadowhunters and Malec and just little bits and pieces of almost things. And fun on their own, imo, but. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10. Cullen thought he’d gotten used to seeing this new Hawke in Haven.

Gladiolus, Cullen/Hawke, Dragon Age: Inquisition (Hawke as Inquisitor). Another prompt fill, a ficlet for a collection I have on AO3; its continuing existence is almost entirely @jadesabre301's fault.

Well, picking chapters and scenes posted on tumblr rather than my ao3 was probably good for my sanity, since my ao3 is a bit of a mess.

I seem to start with very declarative sentences this past year or so: we are here and this is what we're dealing with. Which is not... how I have previously concluded this meme, but I'm not sure that it's really any different than usual, just more obvious. It's a habit developed, I think, in writing relatively short-fic and also playing with lore or setting, because I very much need to set up my framework if I want anyone else to follow it.

I definitely should try and play some ME and/or watch some Shadowhunters and clean up some of the bits that I would really really like to have as finished stories though. This has successfully reminded me that I do, in fact, usually like writing and still think like a writer, so that's probably good!

/thank you june 🥰

[jcmorrigan]

I saw the tag- I am gonna ask you about the crossover universe- (omg I’m literally gushing about this)

OH, IT IS TIME!

 So you can find a lot of this on the “What is the WHAM ARMY?” page on my blog – I’ll try to remember to link it; I’m drafting this in a word processor first so I don’t use it. Essentially, this is the universe I’ve created for my fanfic “Taking Back the Crown,” which is about…basically my favorite villains all moving into the same house and trying to take over the multiverse. And then it got lore. And more lore. Because I cannot write anything normal. The fic is nearing its 150th chapter and I’m nowhere NEAR exhausted of all the ideas I want to put in it – it’s just my big playground for hyperfixation fun. Anyway, here’s a rundown of the major points of it!

 THE CAST

 The main characters are the eight villains who are the founders of the WHAM ARMY. The faction name is an acronym of their first initials. They’re my ultrafaves, the villains I always get fluttery heart for, and probably the biggest collection of losers you can imagine. I’ll put them in order of the acronym and give you some background on how each entered the team.

Wuya (Xiaolin Showdown) – So the connecting factor between these people is that Mozenrath (his name is a few slots down) is their team leader and the one who decided to build a team in the first place. Wuya was recruited when Mozenrath found her puzzle box in an ancient vault. This is set post-series for XS (and Chronicles is not at all canon), so what had happened is in the big Showdown right after Raimundo was named team leader officially in the finale, the Xiaolin Monks won ALL the Shen Gong Wu to their side and stuffed Wuya in the box. So Mozenrath found her and let her out so they could be pals. A magic potion let her regain human form fairly early on, and her power isn’t even nerfed either the way Chase Young would’ve done.

Huntsman (American Dragon: Jake Long) – ADJL is also post-series in this timeline. Mozenrath has the power to resurrect people from the dead at will because he’s memorized an ancient and incredibly complex ritual that he can execute mentally (note that this means you can remove this ability from him by tampering with his memories). The Huntsman was resurrected so as to show Mozenrath around the old Huntsclan vault (which is where they found Wuya’s puzzle box). No other Huntsclan member survived the purge except Rose (and 88 and 89, but they don’t count and aren’t in this story), so the Huntsman is starting from square one.

Ayam Aghoul (Aladdin: The Animated Series): Basically just got sick of losing. He’d teamed up with a few other rando Aladdin rogues to try and pick a fight with Maleficent, and she sent him packing. So he ended up finding one of the few residents of the Seven Deserts who was powerful enough to match him AND had a similar grudge against Maleficent.

Mozenrath (Aladdin: The Animated Series): The man of the hour and the creator of the entire team. He starts the fic by crashing Maleficent’s KH Disney Villain alliance and trying to add himself to it, but…ends up being such a disrespectful nuisance that Hades just drags him straight down to the Underworld. That moment inspired him to get his OWN band of friends and start making a name for himself.

Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls): Met Mozenrath in the Underworld after his death in film canon. Annoyed Hades one too many times by claiming that he wasn’t actually supposed to die, seeing as he isn’t allergic to dairy (he is), so Hades threw him in the same cell as Mozenrath and…

Roman Torchwick (RWBY): I started writing this fic in 2016, immediately post-V3, so it’s canon-divergent after the last episode of V3 (but I got all the later-game characters to show up eventually). Which means Roman is ALSO dead at the start of this fic. He ALSO comes storming up to Hades insisting he’s not even supposed to be dead. At the same time as Snatcher is already pestering him. Which is how Mozenrath, Snatcher, and Roman end up in the same jail cell in Tartarus and get the idea that maybe they should break back into the world of the living and try to build something BETTER than what any of the three had beforehand.

Mad Madam Mim (The Sword in the Stone): Mozenrath, immediately after breaking out of the Underworld, attempted to take over Arthur’s kingdom by just walking in and throwing magic around. It backfired horribly when Merlin showed up. But then Mim showed up to counter Merlin and realized that maybe she had a potential friend here who was as blackhearted as she.

Yzma (The Emperor’s New Groove): Post-TENG, no KNG or TENS (but I reference things from TENS every now and again). Merlin turned Mozenrath into a rat, so Mim brought him to Yzma’s Secret Lab to change him back. There, they found Yzma as a cat, and she so desperately wanted out of her living situation that she added herself to the team. She was also restored to human form shortly thereafter.

 There is a potential ninth member of the core in the form of Vexen (Kingdom Hearts). KH is canon-divergent after DDD and basically ignores almost every game that comes out after Fragmentary Passage. Vexen, as Even, was trying to integrate into life as a hero in Radiant Garden, except everyone annoyed him way too much, so he decided to go be with people that would give right back any insults he dished out. And then realized he was much happier being on the evil team and doing mad science with no ethics. However, he will not be promoted to the upper ranks because 1. it would spoil the acronym and 2. he is unanimously agreed-upon to be the biggest wet blanket of the group and nobody wants him at the founder parties.

(Imagine my disbelief when the actual canon arc for Vexen was THE REVERSE ONE IN WHICH HE JUST DECIDES TO GO LIVE AT RADIANT GARDEN AND NOT BE ANNOYED BY ANYTHING and that’s why JC doesn’t like Kingdom Hearts III)

 Anyway, this crew is a bunch of silly friends who enjoy partying, singing, dancing, drag, indulging in vices, causing mayhem, taking over cities, arranging for mass murder, piecing together smear campaigns…but they’re all pretty much ride or die for each other. And that goes double for the ships of the set: Mozenrath/Huntsman, Mim/Aghoul, Wuya/Yzma, and my favorite ship to end all favorites, Roman/Snatcher (RedHatBlackHat is the ship name).

From there, you have a B-Squad of, like, seventy other people based on my faves. Nonnie, I know you saw this because of Vincent Edgeworth, Victor Blake, and Albert Krueger, and they are three of COUNTLESS examples. It’s a found crime family that keeps getting bigger as I get more fave villains and there’s hardly a rhyme or a reason. Currently, they live in a floating fortress designed when they stole Terra Cyclonia (Storm Hawks) and hefted it out into the aether between worlds with crystal technology.

 They have a rival hero faction in the form of the Cinnamons: a gathering of people who they’ve wronged who turned out to make pretty good friends themselves. While the WHAM ARMY are the villain-protag team that you feel slightly bad loving the escapades of, the Cinnamons are the rainbows, fluff, sunshine, (secret crippling depression and anxiety), and pep-talkers of the multiverse. They’re the deuteragonist team as opposed to the “villains” of the story. They also have eight “leaders,” but they were picked up a little less quickly than the WHAM ARMY founders, instead coming together over the span of a much longer quest. These people are:

Sora (Kingdom Hearts): Heart of the team and the person who pulled them all together, because Sora loves everyone. He, Riku, and Kairi witnessed the WHAM ARMY wreaking destruction on both Radiant Garden and Disney Castle, and Sora decided no one gets to treat his homes-away-from-home like that and get away with it! Between Mozenrath and the still-looming threats of Maleficent and Xehanort, he’s now collecting pals from all worlds to fight against evil and do as much good as they can do! (While having sleepovers.)

Ruby Rose (RWBY): Before she, Nora, Ren, and Jaune could get into Mistral, Sora interrupted them on their path and directed them right back around to Vale with the news that Roman Torchwick was back in action. After an incident involving the Destiny Trio and Team RNJR having to team up and actually kill the massive Grimm unleashed in the V3 endgame, they all headed out to Radiant Garden together to continue their mission.

Papyrus (Undertale): Sora found him while exploring worlds and they clicked immediately as pals. Then the WHAM ARMY, who was living in Mt. Ebott at the time, sparked an anti-monster racist sentiment through the town, and Papyrus was advised to leave the world for his own safety, so he went traveling with Sora.

Stork (Storm Hawks): Maleficent, who is also an active player in this game, made a power play by destroying the Condor with the entire Storm Hawks team onboard while they were on the Far Side of Atmos (post-series). Stork, believing himself to be the only survivor, attempted to take his own life – only for Sora to show up just in time and offer him something better: hope that his friends survived, and new friends to tag along with until they could prove either way.

Jasmine (Aladdin): The Cinnamons came looking to Agrabah for more information on Mozenrath. When Jasmine heard he was causing chaos, she decided to get personally involved.

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender): Post-ATLA, no LoK. Sora made a trip to the Fire Nation to see if he could head off the WHAM ARMY’s latest scheme, and ran into the Gaang along the way. After helping Katara, Aang, and Zuko protect the Fire Nation from a very near miss, Sora invited them to come travel with him. Only Katara accepted at first, the other two wanting to clean things up on their homeworld.

Kazuichi Soda (DanganRonpa): Post-SDR2, no DR3. Xehanort requested Izuru Kamukura be used as a vessel, and Kazuichi went in Izuru/Hajime’s place so his buddy didn’t have to. But the first chance he got, Kazuichi turned and ran from the Castle That Never Was…where Sora had just crash-landed. Kazuichi patched up Sora’s ship, and immediately became part of his crew. (Worth noting: in this AU, the Remnants of Despair were never brainwashed and were completely aware of what they were doing. Kazuichi is basically a redemption story, trying to be a better person to make up for the hell he caused. Also, while on the Despair side, he’d hacked off his leg to sew Junko’s in its place, disabling himself – that leg goes through an arc regarding what prosthesis is in its place.)

Rapunzel (Tangled): After the Vardaros arc of S2 of Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure. Rapunzel was targeted by the WHAM ARMY because she was essentially a living MacGuffin for one of their spells. Sora showed up, and Rapunzel decided to go along with him for safety AND fun, leaving Cassandra to continue the pilgrimage to the Dark Kingdom. (Wrote this before KHIII was out. And before the Evil Cass twist.)

 And just like the WHAM ARMY, these folks have a huge B-squad that lives in the Radiant Garden castle and helps them deal with the various tragedies they have to clean up after. Riku, Kairi, and Jaune Arc in particular get a decent amount of stage time.

 As you can see, Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty/Kingdom Hearts) and her forces are another big set of chess pieces on the board! After she sent Mozenrath to gay baby jail and it didn’t stick, she’s been trying to continue plans for domination as usual but ALSO wipe the WHAM ARMY off the face of the multiverse. She, Jafar (Aladdin), Ursula (The Little Mermaid), and Hades (Hercules) all came straight here from KH. But I’m working to model that team’s inner circle on the team in “Quite a Glittering Assemblage,” the sister fic by gavillain (it’s basically this premise but Maleficent gets a team to start instead, but similarities end there, his is a whole different, fresh, and fun flavor). I’ve just gotten all these characters intro’d instory, but the other biggies are Loki (Marvel – I based him in the Cinematic Universe but he’s kind of just an amalgamation of Lokis), Dr. Doom (Marvel), Captain Hook (Once Upon a Time), Russell Edgington (True Blood), and Fish Mooney (Gotham). Currently, they operate out of the Forbidden Mountain in the Enchanted Dominion.

 There’s also a very new addition as of the 140’s chapters: the Heathens. This is a squad of villains with moral lines in the sand (and some antiheroes or corrupted heroes). Basically, these aren’t your killers for fun. These are the people who steal candy from the gas station and think they’re slick, but the point is they’re enjoying themselves so just let it happen. The four founders of this one are Harley Quinn (DC – based on The Batman but an amalgamation of Harleys that leans sympathetic), Yang Xiao Long (RWBY), Giovanni Potage (Epithet Erased), and Velvet Crowe (Tales of Berseria). Currently, they operate out of the old mansion in Twilight Town.

 The Xehanorts are here, and that team is largely who you think it is – though I stripped away Vexen, Demyx, Marluxia, Larxene, and Luxord in order to replace them ALL with Xaldin. More crossover shenanigans to come on this front. This team isn’t very active – they’re waiting for the Keyblade War – but they’re operating out of the World That Never Was.

 There’s also another side villain faction: the Morbians, led by Mirage (Aladdin: The Animated Series). These are the demons of fear, the stuff that lurks in your nightmares, and…the villains I really like but who I don’t quite think fit in with the WHAM ARMY or any other more prominent group. But to give you an idea of what the flavor of this team is, she’s recruited not one but TWO Boogeymen – Pitch Black (Rise of the Guardians) and Oogie Boogie (The Nightmare Before Christmas).

 There will be more villain factions to come, and I kind of want to splinter the Cinnamons to multiple bases as well. Obviously it’s easier to split villains up because they’re fun to write at war with each other – when I have hero teams come up against each other, usually they end up becoming best buddies instead of fighting, and that’s how I like it, but that’s why there’s just ONE BIG HERO TEAM as opposed to the many villain squads rattling around.

 THE SETTING

 So as you have probably gleaned, the multiverse setup is largely based on Kingdom Hearts, which is one of my favorite things (in the KH1 through Fragmentary Passage era anyway). There are many worlds that can be visited either by Gummi Ship or Corridor of Darkness. Basically any evil-aligned sorcerer can use Corridors in this ‘verse – they’ve opened their souls to Darkness and have magic, so they can do so.

 The implication is that every world represents a separate “story” or part of one. As in if it’s a work of fiction HERE, it’s a world THERE. Some characters are actually savvy enough to know they’re fictional (e.g. Megavolt from Darkwing Duck, Xayide from The Neverending Story). Most of them aren’t built to handle the news, though, and just shrug it off if told. (No, really, the cosmic order prevents them from taking that news seriously if they’re not from something that regularly leans on the fourth wall anyway.)

 But sometimes, things get AU’d in without their full worlds. I was inspired by how Final Fantasy is treated in canon KH, and once I started bringing in more FF stuff by the same method, I felt motivated to do that with MORE fandoms if I felt the characters could be divorced from their settings and histories easily. I’ve done it for most Disney Channel non-animated properties as well as Satellite City (ain’t that the worst combo you’ve ever looked at). I’m planning to do it for Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn because I’m coming up on a location I want to delve into the civilization of but don’t have many canon characters for, so guess what, you get the FE cast now.

 Major worlds or relevant locations in play are the Cyclonian warship, Radiant Garden, Twilight Town, and occasionally the Enchanted Dominion, but we move from plotline to plotline with journeys to many, many, MANY worlds of things I want to play with the settings and casts of. Also, the Cyclonian warship is about to get replaced with another WHAM ARMY base; we’ll get there.

 THE STORY

 For the first major “book” of TBTC, the WHAM ARMY has found a spell that they think will let them conquer the entire multiverse by giving them control over Kingdom Hearts itself. All they have do to is collect a bunch of MacGuffins that correspond to twelve elements: fire, water, earth, air, light, darkness, life, death, time, space, entropy, and aether. In order to do this, they visit the worlds of KH, RWBY, Avatar, Storm Hawks, Okami, Undertale, Wakfu, The Legend of Zelda, The Neverending Story, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, and many many more. The Cinnamons catch wind of what they’re doing and start assembling. Meanwhile Maleficent is on the hunt for the Book of Prophecies and starts hiring villains on her team as well. After many madcap adventures and some devastating tragedies near endgame, the Cinnamons accidentally put the Book of Prophecies in Maleficent’s hands at the same time that Maleficent finally captures Mozenrath and gets him under heel. The WHAM ARMY and Cinnamons both launch attacks on Maleficent’s forces, and each walks away with what they came for. This is also the part where we slowburn up to the four major WHAM ARMY ships and many Cinnamon ships. In the end, the WHAM ARMY actually gets all the ingredients for their spell, but what they don’t know is it will actually cause the DESTRUCTION of the worlds. So an outside force intervenes (Discord from MLPFIM, who later joins the WHAM ARMY because he wants friends who actually appreciate him as a villain and won’t make him change) to stop them, and the next thing they know, they’re starting from square one.

 We’re now in the second “book” of this story. The Cinnamons are gathering up all lost friends – the rest of Team RWBY, the Gaang, the Storm Hawks (who did in fact survive the explosion), the lost KH characters. The WHAM ARMY, on the other hand, is gathering up more villains to bolster their forces for a new evil plan: to conquer the worlds one by one, starting with Atlantis (Disney’s Atlantis: The Lost Empire) and using portals to link to other territories of interest. While the WHAM ARMY is essentially working through a to-do list of what they need before they can launch such a massive invasion, the Cinnamons are finding strength in numbers because the writing’s on the wall that between Mozenrath, Maleficent, Mirage, and Xehanort, things are going to get worse before they get better, and as evil builds, good will need to rise to protect the innocent. As for Maleficent, she’s no longer able to chase the Book of Prophecies, and so, because she’s got Hades, Loki, and Salem (RWBY) there and they’re all like “Even though we’re pretty godlike, we are not that happy with how the gods we knew have run things,” Maleficent’s new goal is to slaughter the gods of all pantheons (minus those in her care) and replace them with her allies.

 Anyway, as I had said in the post you saw, Anon – I basically take everything fictional I love and shove it into this AU for daydreams because it lets me imagine my faves having CROSSOVER INTERACTIONS and doing cool epic stuff on a multi-world scale. (But as much as I’ve talked up the epic aspect, a lot of it is just…like…people fucking around and hosting karaoke nights.) Anyway, I hope this gave you a good sense of the madness, and I hope it serves as a reminder to everyone that they can and should just. Make a daydream and/or fanfic universe that’s indulgent as hell. Just do it.

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

Here is part 1 of the very long story of how I learned about multiple things, including games like Boyfriend to Death and Degrees of Lewdity. Tracing it back as far as I'm willing to.

Kinda like my

Current interests origin story

I'll bold main points because I like to talk. This will be long, I like to ramble and say everything I was thinking

This first part will be covering how I learned about lady-bakuhoe (now @kingkatsuki) and @kazooli. I swear they're relevant in this. I just like to trace things back to as far as possible, so here we go!

- Origin story starts -

One day, before I had a tumblr account, but knew of its existence (which I knew was good for seeing fancontent), I decided to look up Deku headcanons. So at the time, I had just started watching My Hero Academia. I was on episode 1 or 2, but I instantly LOVED Deku. And I didn't feel like reading a whole x reader fic, I looked for headcanons. And one top result was headcanons for multiple characters that Jo wrote A LONG time ago.

There were two headcanon posts she made (probably) and I decided to check out her blog since the ones she wrote were good. But I DO know that I was like "Hmm, these headcanons are the best out of the top ones, and she wrote a few." So I started looking at more of lady-bakuhoe's posts. And then I realized she liked Bakugou a lot and she wrote smut a lot.

I honestly think that it's HILARIOUS that I learned about her blog because of Deku, considering the fact she doesn't like him too much (btw, if you're reading, Jo, I hope I'm not burning your eyes by mentioning him too much). If you look at her rules and read what she doesn't write, Deku is listed right there, next to incest and pedophilia (not literally, but they are on her list). (So I never asked or expected her to write for him and instead found people who did, unfortunately none of them right as well as Jo, but whatever.)

But despite me being more into Deku, I still really enjoyed reading what she'd post and reblog. I also got to taste some high quality smut, and now my standards are forever very high when it comes to written porn.

However, I didn't (and still don't) really thirst for anyone she frequently writes for. The two character I thirsted for the most (I'm not exactly sure now, I seem to have calmed down) were Deku and Shigaraki, both of which are on Jo's "3 BNHA characters I can't thirst for" list. And in general I was just more horny for the villains than the heroes, but Jo doesn't write very much at all for the villains and says she doesn't write them very well and from I read, I agreed. (Sorry!)

What I really wanted, was a blog with good writing skills that wrote for the villains. Which was exactly what I found! So, I forget which post of theirs it was. But I think the person titled their blog "anime hawks saved me" or something like that. I clicked on the blog, scrolled a little and eventually found a Shigaraki x reader x Dabi. It was called "Just for Tonight" and from the summary (? If it had one, I can't remember) and how well written the first few paragraphs I accidentally read were, I was intrigued. It just, somehow pulled me in, in a way no other fic has.

Now that I think about it, reading that fic was like shaking the bad guy's hand from the Princess and the Frog. You know, the one leading into "Friends on the Other Side" when he says, "Would you shake a poor sinner's hand?"

But anyway, I began to read that fic. I guess I felt guilty for reading a villain smut despite what I previously said (I have conflicting emotions, constantly), maybe also some sort of purity complex or whatever, so I was actually intending on just reading a little, and then I would stop reading it. Ha. Ha. HA. I should have known at that point that when I start reading smut I won't be able to stop until it's finished. I only succeeded once, that was Coercion by lady-bakuhoe, but then I couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day and opened it again and finished it.

I finished reading "Just for Tonight" and it was REALLY good. So good that, in a few days, I went back and read it again. And that's the only time I've ever done that. Where I actually read a fic again because I had the impulse to because I loved it so much. So I read it again and thought "Man, this is good. I wanna see if the writer wrote anything else like this." And this is my plunge into the @kazooli blog.

(Also, I wanna quickly mention something off topic. Some of the things I mention may or may not be consistent with the timeline. Like, for example, I mentioned that I thirsted for Shigaraki, but Jo didn’t write for him. BUT at the time I read "Just for Tonight" I remembered I was more into Dabi (which was short lived) than Shigaraki, at first I considered Shigaraki just a bonus character in the fic and now I consider Dabi the bonus character (how turntables). Which doesn't make sense considering the previous. I'm confused too. Maybe so maybe reading that "list of three characters" was after learning about Kazooli? But anyway, I guess one could say that her blog plus others made me a Shigaraki fan, but honestly I just wasn't far in the anime at that point and even if I never found those blogs I would have ended up liking Shigaraki a whole lot. He is somehow my type in appearance, personality, and tragic backstory, it's like Horikoshi made him for me. It's strange and wonderful)

Anyway. I remember going on and scrolling through and instantly being treated to some nasty (but yummy) things. I also found that "Just for Tonight" was her first post from what I can recall. I remember specifically finding this one meme she posted with someone (her) feeding seeds (incest) to birds (followers) and I was very confused because I was still clueless dark content existed (despite the noncon and dubcon fics/thirst posts on Jo's blog).

I was like "No, incest is bad." But then that got my thinking, "Why do they like it? Is there a reason." So I actually clicked on one of her incest fics (Touya, obviously) and began reading it. I think I was either trying to figure out why they liked it, or trying to prove to myself it wasn’t that good and ppl were just being weird. Spoiler, I actually REALLY liked it. So much I quickly started to look for more.

That whole transition was 10 minutes or less. Made me think of that one Thomas Sanders vine when the girl comes in to say she can't play video games because she has a paper to do, but ends up playing the game anyway. Except for me, change the quote to "No, incest is bad and- I NEED MORE! How did I get here?" "Don't question it."

Also, Kazooli writes the BEST incest fics. I've read other people's, but they just don't live up to hers or write it in a way I like it (sorry, Mari). I mean @ tomurasprincess's (Mari) newest fic with the A/B/O + soul mate + incest + Todoroki, and Mirror Image, those were good ones that weren't made by Kazooli. But Kaz is just this master at making gross and dark things sound REALLY appealing and hot. And you know it's gross, she definitely writes it so it sounds nasty, but she somehow does it SO GOOD and I don't know how.

So that's how I discovered these two, and this lead to me learning about a bunch of different things. In a way, they and Mari are like the keystones in how I found a lot of my current interests, and the reason I even created this blog in the first place.

Next up! How I discovered Mari's blog and what I came to discover from that!

Next part (link will be posted after I write that next part)

[dadolorian]

Just like me- Part one

A/N: this is the first time i have ever shared a fic to tumblr.  Credits: Thank you @oloreaa​ for being my Beta reader/editor ! 

Title: Just Like me  Fandom: Prospect (2018) Ship: Ezra/Reader Warning: Talk of injuries/amputation. Ezra and reader get to know each other. Reader is an amputee. No use of Y/N. Word count: 3K +

MASTER LIST  Request status AO3 Link Next part. - coming soon

Prospecting was a dangerous job sometimes.

You were proof enough for that. 

Some would ask why bother with the risk, but they can not understand.

The thrill and joy of finding and securing your payload, the rush you got for a job well done, the chance to drift about to new and wondrous places, was more than worth the risk in your eyes.

And the pay, well, when you had a good job, the pay more than made up for the dangers of prospecting.

You could almost guarantee that after each run  your account would be filled up with more points than what you started with. And once you paid off the rental of your pod and supplies, more often than not you made a decent enough profit if things didn’t go tits up.

It was fair to say you were a decent enough prospector, maybe not the most experienced,but you had a decent enough excuse for that. Until a few months ago you were in recovery, having injured yourself on the last run of jobs you had been on before your current drop onto the Green.

Arguably, you could have retired after your injury. Caused a big enough fuss to get some serious compensation, but that would have meant giving up chasing the rush. 

At heart, you were a wanderer, a floater, and you couldn’t settle just yet.

Of course, after the accident you couldn’t just swing back to it. You needed to recover, and medical bills were expensive, not to mention you couldn’t let your employers get away with their gross negligence that caused the accident to begin with, so you had come to an agreement. 

It worked out for both of you, you get to keep your lifestyle and be financially secure at the same time, and they didn’t have to go through a public court battle. 

Your last, and most recent swing had been average, ending with a gig on the Green, you had just caught the ride back home.

Your routine getting back aboard was always the same, even after such a  longtime. Say goodbye to your (temporary) partner, sell your Aurelac, drop your belongings in your bunk and take a shower.

Thanks to your hush contract, you had the luxury of a second class bunk this time around, not having to rely on sleeping in your drop ship. It was bigger, private, had its own bathroom and all free of charge for you. Some perks for not choosing to sue.

A new, and rather annoying addition to your routine now would be to check into the medical bay, the only reason your doctors had allowed you back to work was that you agreed to regular check-ups when you weren’t on a gig.

So, a few days later, having waited for after the rush of people docking to catch the last swing to die down, you made your way to the medical wing for a drop in appointment.

Even though the waiting room was empty, you were forced to wait.

You sat down at an observational window, passing the time by watching the stars as the ship flew by them.

Lost in the view for an unknown amount of time, the sound of the door caught your attention, that familiar hiss of them opening and shutting.

You turned to make eye contact with the other patient… another amputee, just like yourself. You took note of his face, a small scar on the left cheek, the prominent nose, a streak of blonde in his otherwise dark and slightly scruffy hair, square jaw, and short facial hair. He was certainly handsome, even with his slightly disheveled appearance. 

His right arm was gone, you noted, just below the shoulder. His stump was well bandaged, you didn’t feel guilt about staring at his injury, you were one in the same after all, but he seemed to mind.

He tried to subtly turn himself away from your inspection so his left side was facing you more, a little self-conscious over his injury, it would seem.

You gave him a warm smile, trying to ease his embarrassment a little by pulling up your right pant leg to show him your prosthetic.

A silent way of telling him you were one in the same.

It seemed to have worked, for he visibly relaxed a little, returning your smile as he found a place to sit close by after checking in.

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to ask you something. He was lost in his thoughts for a short while before you decided to speak first.

“Recent amputation?” You asked, giving him another smile.

“Yeah, happened less than a cycle before catching the swing back,” he said

You nodded to yourself “Looks pretty fresh. You don’t look quite comfortable with it yet either”  

“No, indeed I am not.” He sighed “May i ask... if I were to inquire about your own heretofore displayed impairment, would you have any issue in disclosing what had caused your own injury to me?” He asked , eyes roaming over your face, small crooked smile tugging at his lips

Did he swallow a fucking thesaurus? You thought to yourself, leaning back in your window seat. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours first.” Tilting your head, you looked him in the eyes.

“I asked first,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, you did. Seems rude to ask my story without offering yours first,” you said, the smile  that was on your face letting him know you weren’t actually bothered.

“Very well,” he said, sitting back into his chair, getting comfortable by throwing his one arm over the back of it. “I was shot by a little bird. Scared kid who was completely justified in her actions, so I do not find myself with much blame towards her." Something like regret flitted over his face, but it was quickly gone as he launched himself into the story." I had originally been the cause of her predicament becoming much direr than it currently was, so she fired upon me in what she believed to be defense despite my lack of intentions to harm her."

He then gestured to his shoulder, and gave a half shrug as his brows drew together." Sad truth is it became inflamed , dust had entered my wound and I was not able to treat it accordingly. Before I knew it, infection set in and I eventually had to make the onerous decision to amputate it before it spread to the rest of my body.” Smile wry, he made a gesture at you like 'What can you do?', the corner of his expressive eyes crinkling slightly.

“You did it yourself?” You winced.

“Naw, Little lady who shot me became quite the welcomed, albeit reluctant, ally. Managed to do it all herself, cool as a cucumber." He huffed to himself, amused, before continuing: "Wish I could say the same for myself, I was wracked with nerves during the whole procedure.” He looked at you, a self-deprecating tone in his voice that was offset by the hawk-sharp look in his eyes.

“Ah, well at least you’re not bullshitting your bravery,” you huffed, before backtracking to what he said, eyes becoming wide as saucers. “So, you were conscious?” You asked in shock.

“Regrettably so. We did not have the luxury of professional medical facilities such as this.” He gestured around.

“I’ve heard some nasty amputation stories over my time recovering, and it’s always the ones where they are conscious that bother me the most,” you explained, feeling ever so slightly queasy at the thought.

“And…what about yourself?” He asked.

“Unfortunately for you I am not allowed to tell my whole story." You smiled at him, holding up your hands. "An unnamed private business was responsible for an accident in which I can’t disclose legally. Had to sign a lot of papers,” you sighed at that, unable to keep your annoyance out of your voice, before continuing. ”What I can tell you was I was in an accident involving machinery. I broke everything below my waist, most of it was healed, but my right leg was the worst. Completely crushed. When I was pulled out, the limb had undergone some extreme tissue damage." You paused for half a second, mind wandering. "They tried to save it, but there was nothing that could be done,” you explained with a slightly dismissive shrug. His brow was furrowed, looking at the prosthetic slightly exposed at the ankle in thought. “You seem to handle it quite well” He said eventually. You took a closer look at him. Bags under his eyes, avoiding prolonged eye contact with you, lethargic body language. It was recent for him, you concluded, he was still traumatized. Not that you blamed him. “A lot of people say that, ” you said, wanting to give him some hope and comfort, his eyes seemed so sad, you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be the support you had needed yourself when you were in his position. “It’s gotten easier, but I can’t lie and say I’m not still affected by it anymore. There are days where I continue to struggle. But each day gets easier. They will get easier for you too.” You looked him straight in the eyes, face serious. You needed him to understand that you were not simply saying things, that it was something that you had experienced yourself. He gave you a skeptical look, silently challenging that notion. “I know, I know,” you sighed, looking down to the floor before meeting his gaze again. “It’s hard to believe right now, but it’s true. You’ll struggle, but that means you’ll learn and adapt. You’ll get there.” Giving him a big smile, you hoped that some of your words will stick. .

“If I can be honest, I’ve already gotten sick of hearing those words of encouragement from my doctor. It seems so hollow and disingenuous when he says it, like a fallacy. It feels infantilizing to have him repeat his mantra over, and over again, and frankly, I struggle to believe it." He scoffed slightly, before quieting. Looking at you, head slightly tilted, he continued. "But coming from you, someone who has been in my own shoes, so to speak, I feel inclined to believe there is some truth behind those words, even if I do find myself skeptical about them,” he said, brows drawn together, eyes roaming across your face. . You shrugged lightly. “It usually helps, knowing someone who’s gone through the same thing. A friend.” “And is that what you are offering me? A friendship?” He asked, an amused smile gracing his lips and a curious look in his tired eyes. 

You shrugged again “I think that depends on you. But, at the very least, I can be an understanding ear, and I'm willing to listen. If you’re interested that is.” 

He cocked his head slightly at you, a small smile playing around his lips, “I…”  he began, choosing his words “ I appreciate the offer. It would be nice to have someone who will listen to my long-winded nammerings without judgment or pity.”

“No pity…  just…sympathy, compassion,” you offered.

“I think, then, I would like that very much. So long as you promise not to grow weary of my contemplation's” 

You gave him an amused huff. “I think with the way you talk, it would be very hard to be bored.” 

“Very well, annoyed then.” He smiled and you laughed at his small joke. 

You were content to sit there and chat to him more about anything and everything, but unfortunately for the two of you your conversation was interrupted by the receptionist calling your name. “That you?” He asked. “Yup” You sighed standing up reluctantly. ”It was nice to meet you…?” “-Ezra,” he supplied. “Ezra,” you repeated, testing it out. It suited him. “I hope I can see you around then, I mean it, having someone who understands how to help would really benefit you.” “I know, thank you. I’ll have to take you up on it soon.” He smiled, giving you a small wave as you left the waiting room for your check up. 

It surprised you to find him waiting outside the medical wing for you when you finished with your appointment. He was leaning back against the wall trying to look nonchalant.  “How the fuck did you get out before me?” You asked with a smile, pleasantly surprised. He had a small smile of relief on his face,“I only went for a bandage change,” he said, waving his stump a little to show. “I hope you are not too put off by my waiting here. I fear i may come across as overzealous.” “It’s fine, don’t worry about it” You smiled, shaking your head in indication you didn't think that way of him. “Sorry you had to wait so long. If I had known you were waiting I might have tried to hurry things along.” “It’s not a problem," Ezra insisted "I didn’t really have plans to do anything, and I was hoping for a better chance to talk to you." He gave a boyish smile, and you could not help but being charmed a bit. "Perhaps in the mess hall, if you would be so inclined to join me?” You nodded in understanding and agreement. “Fair enough, I suppose. How’s it healing then?” You asked, motioning to his stump. “As well as it can be. My doctor is worried about my exposure to further infection so it's being heavily monitored. Daily changes at the moment.” “That gets boring fast,” you said, motioning for him to follow you as you made your way to the mess hall. “I am very much in agreement with you there, I must say," He said "I have only been on board for a few days and I am already finding myself bored and frustrated with the routine,” Ezra sighed slightly, annoyance in his voice. “Just wait until you get a prosthetic. Then you’ll be in there for ages,” you snickered before you realized something. ”Are you wanting a prosthetic?” You asked. “I don’t think I would be able to even consider choosing not to invest in one." Brows furrowed, he looked at you. "I can not even fathom how i would be able to continue on in my career without the use of my arm.” “Quite the investment, if you want one good enough to act as a full replacement. I would have to imagine they would cost more than a prosthetic leg.” “That's what the doc said. I am a little overwhelmed with decisions because he keeps showing me all these different options that I cannot quite distinguish from each other." Frustration was written all across his face and in his voice. "I had not realized it would be so complicated.” He sighed, sounding a little dejected. “I’d be more than willing to offer my help in that then,” you offered, “It's best to figure out your needs and work backwards from there.” 

“You are surely a godsent from the heavens themselves,” he chuckled, you ignored the way his compliment and laugh made your stomach flip. “I am simply wise counsel,” you joked, making him chuckle more. “Either way, your offers of help in all kind of regards is much appreciated. I do not feel quite so daunted towards my own recovery now." Ezra smiled at you brightly, and you smiled back. "I thank you for your kindness, a rarity i fear in this line of work sometimes.” “Not wrong there,” you sighed knowingly as the two of you entered the mess hall. It was quiet, given the time of day, a little too early for those wanting their lunch that wasn’t from a ration or nutrient pack. You preferred it like this anyway. 

The food wasn’t amazing, neither of you were first class citizens but it was damn better than the food you were all able to store on your pods and ships. A hot meal of any kind was sought after on these kinds of trips, even if it was just hot mush.

You filled up your tray alongside Ezra, watching him curiously as he easily filled his tray as he pushed it along, the hard part would be maneuvering to a table. You weren't going to offer him any physical help, not yet at least. Giving him the space to learn and adapt would do him better than to dote on him. You remembered how frustrating it was, but you also remember how equally frustrating it was to be physically dependent on others. 

You would not offer him help with physical things unless he asked. 

Regardless, he managed it, balancing his tray on one arm as the two of you made your way over to an empty table. You pulled your chair out and he kicked his out before you both sat down. 

“I think I like coming here earlier,” he said, looking around. “Less people means less well meaning individuals offer to help me out,” he said, tucking into whatever food he had piled on his tray. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound ungrateful. I appreciate help but I do not want to be treated like someone completely invalid, the idea of not being able to take care of myself physically is a wretched notion.” “No, I get ya,” you said, understanding. “You need to do things for yourself. You value your independence, and when people dote on you like that, you feel pitied, your independence feels invalidated. You start to resent the ‘help’ because of it.” “A perfect way to describe the mix of feelings I have found myself with over these past few days,” he agreed, looking at you, chewing on his food “Just wait until you get your prosthetic” You smiled “You’ll be able to hide it well under a long sleeve and no one would be able to tell” “Well if you are any indication to go by, i am more than willing to believe that," He said "If i had not known you were missing a part of yourself beforehand, i would not have been able to tell just from watching you walk. It's impossible to notice at a glance” He complimented, smiling, eyes dropping slightly wistfully. “Thank you, I was fueled purely by spite in my recovery” You said, your smile growing. He laughed “Why, I am truly inclined to believe you." He grinned at you, smile sharp and endearing all the same time. "I shall take that to heart in my own recovery and take inspiration from you.” 

There the two of you sat in the mess hall with him what felt like hours. You found him so easy to talk to and could not help but be entertained by the way he spoke and whatever story he told you. You had found yourself hanging onto his every word, and when you spoke he made you feel like the center of the universe. Your conversations drifted between your shared physical disabilities as well as more personal topics, to get to know each other a little better. You spoke about the places you had visited, the difficult jobs, and your shared love of books. You couldn’t remember the last time you had such a pleasant conversation with another prospector. Most of your interactions were your temporary partners or hostile ‘competition’, there was never any opportunity to share in such deep conversations.

When the two of you reluctantly parted ways, you made sure to let him know where to find you in the second class quarters should he feel inclined to want to speak to you again.

He assured you very much that he was definitely interested in seeing you again. You felt like a teenage girl at that and as you said your goodbyes, hiding a bashful smile as he promised he would come find you again soon.

[vangoghmusings]

status | kiego takami x reader

a/n: hello! this is chapter two of my hawks multi part fic. i hope you guys are liking it so far! also, ruisu is an oc inspired by my lovely bb @lilacskyura

previously: chapter one

pairing: kiego (hawks) takami x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos

links: playlist | wattpad

taglist: @mixfi​ @lilacskyura​ @katsuhoee​ @star-mum​ @moonlightinsanity​ @domhoni​ 

                       ⫷ chapter two: amateur ⫸

"So, we have a special someone who is joining us for the campaign!"

Y/N sat still with her eyes closed while the makeup artist worked on her. It was Friday, the day of the Chanel cologne campaign.

"So its a collaboration?"

Ruisu asked, looking up from her phone. Her black hair was tied back, accentuating her freckled cheekbones. If Ruisu wanted to, she could probably become a model too. However, with her analysis quirk and impeccable sense or organization, she found joy being an assistant, especially to as someone as kind as Y/N.

"Yes, he should be here shortly," The campaign directed replied.

"I should've known, it is a cologne campaign after all," Y/N mumbled while the makeup artist applied the false lashes to her lids.

"He's probably super hot," Ruisu giggled, crossing her legs and turning to Y/N. She simply rolled her eyes in response, sitting up and sipping from her iced tea.

"You know I don't like mixing my love life with work."

"What love life?" Ruisu questioned with a cocked brow. Y/N scoffed and placed her hand on her chest as if she was in agony.

"Ouch Ru, sorry I haven't found anyone up to my standards."

The hairstylist came in and greeted Y/N before getting to work.

"I just think you should put your self out there."

"I'm basically on every other billboard in Japan, how much more out there can you get?"

"I don't know!" Ruisu sighed. "I guess you're just intimidating."

Y/N took a sip from her tea and smirked.

"Good."

The stylist proceeded to brush Y/N's hair and add large amounts of gel to it, in order to attempt a "slick wet" look.

The shoot was supposed to give the look of a sensual shower scene. Glass panels, mirrors, blue lighting, and a steam machine were all prepped. The only thing that was left was semi-nude Y/N and the elusive special guest.

Once the stylist finished with her hair, Y/N stood up, tightening her robe and tossed her empty teacup in the garbage.

"He's here!" The director exclaimed and called Y/N over, Ruisu following.

Walking in and standing next to the director was a tall, tan, and fit blonde. Each step he took radiated with confidence. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. She recognized him right away, and to say she was angry was an understatement.

"Y/N, this is the Winged Hero Hawks!"

Hawks stepped towards you and extended his hand.

"Please, just call me Keigo," He said, his voice like velvet.

Y/N pursed her lips and shook his hand politely.

"I don't work with amateurs so I hope you can keep up," She said tartly, turning on her heel and walking towards the set. Ruisu sighed and faced Keigo.

"Sorry about her, she's not too fond of heroes."

"I can tell," He replied with a slight chuckle.

Kiego was ushered to a change. The staff dressed him in tan boxers that matched his skin, the idea was to look as nude as possible. They began to apply makeup and the artists gushed at having the no. 2 hero in their presence.

Y/N eyed him and scoffed. Ruisu walked over and handed her a bottle of water. Y/N cracked it open and drank.

"You doing okay?"

"Not really," She mumbled while closing the bottle. It wasn't known amongst the media but anyone who was close to Y/N knew she had a deep-seated hatred for heroes.

When Y/N was 12, her little brother drowned at the beach. At the time, She had a broken ankle from soccer and was left with no option other than to call for help. She was sobbing and screaming, unable to help her brother. She was quirkless after all. No heroes came. Eventually, the police came, but it was too late, he had already passed. Y/N constantly beat herself up about the death of her brother. He was only 7 and was gone so quickly. As she got older, she placed more and more of the blame on heroes. No one saved him when she needed their help the most. She had no adults to help her either, her and her brother were adopted by a woman who was well on in her years. By the time Y/N was 18, her adoptive mother was already 74. Ruisu and her mother were the only people she had. Despite her fame, she was incredibly lonely.

Kiego eyed Y/N, who was ranting to Ruisu, while the stylist did his hair. Sure he had seen her on the television, news, practically every billboard in Japan, but he had never truly seen her. He would be lying if he said he wasn't excited when he was told he would be working with her. It appeared to be true what all sources had said about her. She was serious, intimidating, and meant business. But most of all, she was devilishly attractive. Being one of the top models across the globe would make that obvious, but to Keigo the shoots and photographs didn't capture how truly beautiful she looked. It would be safe to say that she was his celebrity crush. He watched as the makeup artist stepped towards her and touched up her skin. She spoke to the staff so kindly and thanked them for every little thing. She was known for being a delight on set but always willing to do her best. That kind of ambition was something Kiego admired. A lot.

"You're all set," the stylist told Kiego. He stood up and walked towards the set. The makeup artist walked over and began to apply oil to his body.

"Oh heh, that's kinda cold," He mumbled. He had done several photoshoots in the past, but nothing as sensual as this. He would be the face of this cologne, a lot was riding on his shoulders- er, wings.

Y/N glared at him and turned to Ruisu.

"This is exactly why I don't like amateurs."

"Oh c'mon be nice-"

"Does it look like I want to be fucking nice right now? They're making me shoot with this moron of a hero-"

Ruisu raised her brow and gestured to the water bottle in Y/N's hand. She sighed and rolled her eyes, opening the bottle back up and chugging.

"Just, be professional. You don't really want hero hater publicized around the world."

Y/N nodded and placed the cap back on.

"I know, I know."

"Okay, everyone! We start shooting in 5."

"Thank you 5!" The staff, Ruisu, and Y/N cheered. She handed Ruisu the water bottle and slipped off her robe. Underneath was a sheer tan two-piece, giving the slight illusion that she was in the nude. Keigo's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the sight. She turned to face him.

"You ready?"

Keigo nodded, his usual cocky confidence coming back.

"Of course."

The two stepped onto the set. The photographer came forwards to give his instructions.

"Okay so we want seduction, we want sex, steamy, but make it gorgeous. Yes? Yes."

Kiego nodded slowly, the photographer's French accent making it difficult to understand what he was inferring.

The photographer began to pose the two models. He had Y/N press her hands and chest against a glass panel. He then had Kiego press his chest against her back. He tried his best to hide his blush.

One of the staff members turned on a speaker, playing music to add to the atmosphere of the set. The lights were dimmed and the blue lights were amplified.

"And, ACTION!"

The photographer began shooting, Y/N adjusting her poses slightly. To say she was a professional was an understatement. Behind the camera, she was pure art.

"C'mon Hawks get in there! She won't bite!"

Kiego nodded and placed an arm above her, giving a dominating effect. Y/N posed by resting her head on his chest, her lips parting slightly.

'If this is what she looks like posing, I wonder how she looks-'

"HAWKS! FOCUS! Give me more sex, more arousal! Be the alpha!"

Returning from his daze, he nodded.

"Gladly," He growled lowly.

He lowered his head and bit down on her neck, causing Y/N to gasp from shock.

"YES YES!" The photographer cheered, snapping pictures rapidly. "You own her Hawks! Your scent drives her crazy!"

Y/N tried to stay focused and ignore the misogynistic chants from the photographer. She continued to pose while Keigo became more self-assured, running his hands along the curves of her body. He was beyond happy to be paid to lay his hands all over her.

"Y/N turn! We need a new angle."

She nodded and turned to the side, giving a profile of her curves. Kiego was mesmerized, she was glowing under the blue lighting. She made it all look so easy. Y/N raised her hand to cup his cheek, posing and pressing her lips against the side of his mouth.

"YES YES YES!" The photographer cheered.

After 30 more minutes of posing, the photographer gave them a break. Ruisu tossed Y/N her water bottle as she stepped off the set.

"Hey, do you want to grab drinks after this-"

Kiego's proposal was stopped by Y/N holding up her finger as she drank from her bottle. She let out a cool "ah" and closed the water bottle.

"No." She answered curtly.

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (3/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 2 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Denial, Drinking, Self-Blame

Word count: 3,228 (total 9,818)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get  revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

Crowley was stirred from the inky grasp of sleep by the rumble of the mattress and the sensation of shifting weight next to him. Reality slowly seeped its way back into his consciousness. Aziraphale. The angel was awake. His bed, his flat. Morning.

What happened yesterday.

Crowley grimaced as the memories resurfaced. Fuck. Images flickered unbidden in his mind, snippets and sounds of events like a highlights reel designed specifically to torment him. He rubbed his gluey eyes with the heel of his palm, and forced them open. The visions vanished.

Aziraphale was sat on the edge of the bed, still and silent. Crowley couldn’t see his face.

“Mornin’, angel,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale replied quietly, but still facing away. Crowley cocked his head, trying to guess at what was going through the angel’s mind. After a long pause, Aziraphale turned to him.

“So-,” he began, with what Crowley could tell instantly was painfully-forced cheerfulness. He patted his thighs and gave a half-hearted wiggle.

“Breakfast at the Ritz?”

His voice was thin and brittle-sounding, higher than normal. The smile on his face didn’t reach to his eyes. The sight rekindled the ache deep in Crowley’s chest.

Crowley sighed. “Angel, it’s- …You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied quickly. Then he exhaled shakily and his eyes scrunched closed.

Crowley sat up next to him and encircled his arms gently around the angel’s waist, hugging his belly and resting his cheek against his shoulder. When Aziraphale’s eyes opened again, they were filled with the same despair and devastation from the night before. His chin started to pucker and he blinked rapidly. He wouldn’t look at Crowley as he spoke, instead staring down at his hands rested loosely in his lap.  “I… I don’t want to think about it, Crowley. Please, just for today, can we please just pretend…” His voice wobbled and he trailed off with a gulp, turning away.

Crowley sighed unhappily and rubbed his hands over the angel’s stomach. Pretend what? Pretend like it had never happened? Like yesterday afternoon had just been a bad dream. Like they were still happy. Like he hadn’t been raped. Oh God, thought Crowley, as the weight of the word hit him fully. He’d been raped. They’d raped him.

He looked again at Aziraphale’s face. No matter how valiantly the angel was trying to bury it, he couldn’t just suppress all that hurt, all that trauma. He was visibly this close to breaking, barely holding himself together. Crowley was pretty sure one tiny thing would be enough to throw him over the edge. And stoically, stupidly trotting out that stiff upper lip and hiding behind denial would only make things worse, Crowley knew. Why did he do that to himself? He supposed Heaven had taught him to be that way. Some kind of self-defence mechanism against all their cruelty and control.

But he couldn’t ask Crowley to be party to it. Crowley couldn’t do that, it just hurt too much. Even if Aziraphale needed him to… ah, shit. He looked down, and ran his tongue despondently over the back of his teeth. Yeah. Aziraphale needed him. And wasn’t he always there when Aziraphale needed him. He knew this was never going to be sustainable in the long term. But, especially with how fragile Aziraphale seemed right now… maybe just for one day…

“Alright,” Crowley eventually conceded. He nuzzled sadly into the angel’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

“So-,” Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried again, the artificial mask of cheerfulness returning. “The Ritz, for breakfast? We haven’t been there for a while. And their smoked salmon is simply delectable, and they do that fancy juice that you like, or at least you said that you did last time. Or-or we could do the Wolseley, if you prefer?” He was rambling, still smiling too wide and too emptily.

“Whatever you want, angel,” Crowley replied quietly. Just because he’d agreed, didn’t mean he had to encourage him. He was already hating every second of this.

Aziraphale flashed the fake smile again, and swallowed. “The Ritz it is.”

◥|⧗|◤

They took the Bentley. Crowley drove with less reckless abandon than usual, not wanting to rattle his angel in his current state. Aziraphale spent most of the drive looking vacantly out of the window as the busy London streets zipped by. Crowley shot him furtive glances, wanting to keep watch over him but hoping to avoid the usual chiding “eyes on the road, please dear”. Aziraphale either didn’t see or was choosing to ignore him. His hands in his lap were clasped tight, Crowley noticed. The little signs were still there, betraying what the angel must really be feeling inside.

A table for two for the breakfast sitting was miraculously available, and they were seated immediately. Crowley dismissed the waiter with a flick of his hand when he tried to pull out the chair for him, whereas Aziraphale smiled graciously at the man and accepted his help. He couldn’t hide the wince as he sat though, and even as he tried to smother it, Crowley could see the despair flicker again, ever so briefly, behind his eyes. Then it was gone, and the smile was back, though even less convincing than before. Aziraphale sat up ramrod straight and busied himself with his napkin. Crowley smirked vaguely back at him, heart heavy. He’d put on a new pair of sunglasses, and was very thankful for the camouflage they provided. He didn’t want Aziraphale (or any of the humans, for that matter) reading his expression at the moment.

They ordered quickly, and ate quietly. Aziraphale maintained the frozen smile throughout the meal, and tried a number of times to engage Crowley in pleasant small talk, but Crowley didn’t feel any more like talking than he did like eating, and the resulting silence hung dead and flat in the air around them. Aziraphale, likewise, wasn’t eating with his usual relish, instead picking at his food and batting it around the plate with a far-away look in his eyes. Nonetheless, the angel forced down every morsel and afterwards made a great show of wiping his lips with the napkin and complimenting the waitstaff. Crowley watched him carefully all the while, ready for the moment when the mask would finally crack, already preparing himself to pick up shattered pieces of angel in the aftermath.

But it didn’t come, and once they’d paid for the meal*, they headed to St. James’ Park at Aziraphale’s suggestion. The ducks were rowdy as usual, tearing the pieces of bread they threw to shreds, like vultures at a carcass. Crowley begrudgingly left the angel alone at the pond-side while he fetched them ice-creams from the kiosk, as had become their habit. Aziraphale accepted his with another flash of that god-awful broken smile, and linked his soft hand with Crowley’s purposefully. Crowley gave it a squeeze.

*Crowley, by force of habit, left a handful of pennies on the table for the waiter, but discreetly doubled the service charge on the bill. 

They strolled around the edge of the water as they ate. Occasionally, Crowley felt a subtle tremor run through Aziraphale’s hand in his, but when he turned to check on him, the angel always looked away, suddenly remarking on the activity of the waterfowl or pointing out a worthy target for one of Crowley’s demonic wiles.

The deflection continued as they finished the ice-creams and headed back towards the bookshop, stopping at Piccadilly Market on the way. It was busy with people today, milling around between the red-and-white striped awnings, underneath which proprietors were hawking old books, antiques, and other sorts of tat that the angel loved. Aziraphale dragged Crowley from stall to stall, cheerily inspecting their wares. He seemed unable (or, Crowley guessed, unwilling) to pause for even a moment, presumably lest the façade he’d built up crumble without a constant distraction. But Crowley caught the mask slipping in a few moments when the angel thought his face was hidden. A shimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, a tiredness in the way he held himself. As the afternoon wore on, Crowley could swear Aziraphale began to limp when he walked, just imperceptibly.

Crowley was worried about him. It had been gnawing away at his stomach all day. But he couldn’t help but feel annoyed too. Aziraphale must realise how much it hurt whenever he turned that bloody fake cheerfulness act of his on him. Sure, hiding his feelings from Heaven or even from the humans was understandable, but they were supposed to be on the same side now. They were supposed to share these things. Did he think Crowley would judge him? That he wouldn’t see through it in an instant? They’d known each other too long for the latter, and Crowley prayed that Aziraphale didn’t believe the former. It just hurt, the way Aziraphale was shutting him out.

The sky was turning peach-coloured with the first omens of sunset when they eventually got back to the bookshop. Crowley held his breath as he opened the door. Aziraphale hung back behind him. Inside, everything was still, the air heavy with dust, and the books, papers and furniture exactly as where they’d left them the last time they’d been home. Before. Crowley sighed deeply. Nothing had changed. Even though it seemed everything else in their world had. A weight that he hadn’t realised was pressing down on him seemed to lift slightly from his shoulders.

He turned and motioned Aziraphale inside. The angel looked briefly hesitant, but then he swallowed, raised his chin, and entered. Crowley’s hand went automatically to brush his back as he passed. Finally, they were back where they belonged. He shut the door on the world behind them with a sense of conclusiveness. The hum of the streets melted away, and then it was just them, left in silence.

◥|⧗|◤

They were six bottles of wine down, and Aziraphale was clumsily opening a seventh, when the elephant in the room finally trumpeted its unwelcome presence. Crowley had only drunk one, maybe one-and-a-half, of the bottles. The edges of the room were just beginning to spin a little at the corner of his vision. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was so far beyond plastered that he was heading towards a decorative stucco with crown moulding.

“An-angel, I think you’vhad enough,” drawled Crowley, and then frowned at himself, surprised at how drunk he already sounded.

Aziraphale made a face like a petulant toddler. “Jus’ one more,” he muttered. He finished wrestling with the cork and tipped the bottle unsteadily, managing to get at least half of the liquid into the glass instead of onto the carpet. “Can’t… can’t do any harm.”

Crowley’s face creased in disagreement, but he said nothing.

Aziraphale grasped the glass and then necked the contents back in one gulp like a parched man in the desert. Crowley watched, slightly dumbfounded. Under the veil of inebriation, the worry bit again at his stomach.

“Hey, you r’member that thing at that wedding in Cana?” he asked abruptly. “Wine into water - no, wait-” He made a spinning motion with his hand. “-other way ‘round. You know what I mean.”

Aziraphale looked morosely up at him, cradling the glass close. “Bloody awful evening.”

“You’re just sssaying that ‘cos you weren’t allowed any,” said Crowley. The angel pouted.

“Anyway…” continued Crowley, feeling increasingly talkative as the alcohol permeated its way into his system. “Point is, you’re not s’pposed to drink it like it’s still water.” He jutted out his chin. “So s-stop drinking like a… a…” What was the phrase? Some kind of animal. Something aquatic?

“…a dolphin,” he finished, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Aziraphale spluttered with laughter, making Crowley blink in surprise. “ ‘s fish, dear,” the angel slurred, and then collapsed into another giggle. “You and your dolphins!” He suddenly fell about laughing, bending double on the sofa, and inadvertently sloshing wine everywhere.

Crowley smirked uneasily. His unease built as the angel’s laughter grew gradually louder and louder, until it was almost hysterical. It hadn’t been that funny, he thought to himself. The noise sounded wrong to his ears, discordant and unsettling, as though the bottom had fallen out of reality. It actually made him feel a bit sick.

Aziraphale raised his glass-free hand to cover his face. Beneath it, Crowley heard the hysterical laughter slowly transmute into hysterical sobbing.

Aaand there it is, thought Crowley with pained resignation. The angel had finally reached his breaking point. Immediately, he miracled the alcohol out of his body and back into one of the bottles. “Angel?” He stepped closer and knelt down in front of Aziraphale, trying to peer up through the angel’s fingers at his face. Aziraphale’s hunched shoulders jerked fitfully up and down, muffled sobs and hiccups escaping from underneath his hand. Crowley gently removed the wine glass from his other hand, and then took hold of his wrist and rubbed soothingly at his pulse-point.

“Talk to me, angel,” Crowley said softly. “Please.”

He waited while Aziraphale continued to gasp for breath, eventually managed to stop sobbing, and swallowed heavily. Slowly, the angel peeped out at Crowley like a frightened child from underneath the hood of his hand. Half of his face remained hidden, but what Crowley could make out was contorted with anguish.

“How do you make it stop, Crowley?” he asked wretchedly, sniffling. “It just-… I just want it to stop hurting. I don’t know what to do.” He stared into Crowley’s eyes, looking desperately lost.

“Help me,” he pleaded.

And there was that terrible, stabbing ache in Crowley’s chest again. “Oh…c’mere,” Crowley replied with a sympathetic sigh. He clambered onto the sofa beside Aziraphale and drew him close. Aziraphale lent into his touch, burying his face into Crowley’s shoulder as another distressed whine escaped him.

“I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out,” Crowley explained gently, rocking him from side to side. Aziraphale nodded mutely against him. “C’mon,” he rubbed the angel’s back. “Sober up and let’s talk. It’ll help. I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded again and, gradually, he pulled away from Crowley and straightened up. A quick squint of exertion crossed his face, and the empty bottles on the table were suddenly filled again (well, all but one, Crowley noted, but that was forgivable given the circumstances). The angel wiped messily at his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath, and then turned to look uncertainly at Crowley.

“Just tell me what you’re feeling,” Crowley whispered. “Don’t keep bottling it all up.”

Resignation settled on Aziraphale’s tear-stained face and he sighed. He looked away at the floor, hugging at his own arms.

“I feel...” he began, his voice strained like it was a struggle to get the words out. “…humiliated.” He rocked back and forth on the sofa, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his upper arms. “…violated.” He shuddered. “A-And I know I shouldn’t but…” He glanced sideways at Crowley and then back down at the floor, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “…ashamed,” he finished, voice almost a whisper. He covered his face again as another pained whimper slipped from his throat.

Crowley rubbed at Aziraphale’s knee. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” he said. “What they did to you, it was barbaric, a-and senseless, and cruel” - the litany of bastards bastards bastards returned to his head, but he tried not to let the rage carry him away - “and it was not your fault.” He punctuated each word with a gentle pat of the angel’s leg. “Not one bit of it.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I know, I know. It’s not that.” He sniffled again.

Then what? Crowley raised an expectant eyebrow, and waited as Aziraphale gathered himself together again and shuffled on the sofa until he was facing towards him.

“You know, I really thought-” the angel began, and actually chuckled bitterly through the tears. “I really thought that we were the good guys.” He shook his head. “How naïve of me. All those years of loyalty to Heaven, and this is what I get for it. It seems I’ve been well and truly ‘played for a sucker’.”

He looked up at Crowley. “You could always see it, of course.” He sighed ruefully. “I just can’t believe I was ever so foolish as to have-…to have trusted them. I’m just a soft old idiot.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed with a hint of exasperation, squeezing the angel’s hand. “That’s not your fault either. You’re a good person.” He cracked a slight smile. “You are soft, and I love that about you. You see the best in people” - he lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into the tops of his knuckles - “like you did in me. Shame on them for taking advantage of your trust.”

Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

“Can you say it with me? ‘None of this was my fault’?” Crowley pressed.

The angel gulped and stared into Crowley’s eyes, a look on his face like he truly wanted to believe him. “…None of this was my fault,” he repeated quietly.

“And you believe that, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded silently.

“Then…the shame will go away,” Crowley said. “You just gotta give it time.” It would always hurt, of course, but Crowley knew from his own experience that the pain did fade, eventually. He wasn’t about to remind Aziraphale right now that some of this would doubtlessly stay with him forever.

Aziraphale sighed again, deeply and wearily. He glanced over at the once-again-full bottles of wine on the table, but a hint of a frown from Crowley and he stopped reaching for one. “I just want to move on. Forget this ever happened,” he mumbled, waving a hand dismissively.

“…you can’t do that, angel,” Crowley responded, as patiently as he could manage. “It won’t work. We’ll just keep going round the same miserable circle.”

He shuffled closer to the angel again and pulled him into a hug. Aziraphale let him, and curled up close with his head resting heavily against Crowley’s chest. Crowley stroked a hand through his soft curls as he spoke.

“Look, I understand,” said Crowley. “You turn the pain inwards on yourself, because you don’t know how else to survive it. Trust me, I get it.” Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “But you have to stop trying to escape all this by suppressing it, angel,” Crowley continued. “If you don’t let yourself feel it, you’ll never be able to move past it.”

The angel looked down and sighed once more. “You’re quite right, of course,” he said quietly. Then his face twisted and another half-sniffle, half-sob left him.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, “for hurting you too. For shutting you out.” He pressed closer into Crowley’s embrace. “I’m a mess.”

“For Satan’s sake, angel, don’t worry about me,” Crowley scoffed softly. A pang of love and fondness joined the ache in his heart as he looked down at the angel. “In fact, don’t you worry about anything right now. I’m here, I’ll look after you.”

He brushed Aziraphale’s hair gently aside, and planted a tender kiss on his temple.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and he smiled - weakly, but, this time, genuinely.

[aire101]

Ferrum Chapter 5

LINK TO FIC MASTER POST

A/N:  Well, I'm definitely not winning Nanowrimo again this year, but I did get a chapter out earlier than previously, and hopefully I'll be updating again soon. Also, this chapter I attempted to briefly show different perspectives on the game being cleared, and both were based on what my own feelings would have been at two different points in my life, so don't come at me about it please. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

---

The Town of Beginnings had changed remarkably from three weeks ago.  Sure, the buildings and streets were all the same, but the mood and tension in the air hung like a thick blanket over nearly every person within the walls.  In sharp contrast, the NPC’s on the street continued to merrily hawk their wares and interact with those in the street, most of whom seemed to be ‘out of towners’ like themselves.  From windows above, you could occasionally see a face peering down before a drape would be pulled closed again.

All in all, it was distinctly unsettling, but exactly what Tony had expected.

“I knew some would hole up in the starter town, but this is a bit more intense than I imagined,” said Peter, as they made their way towards an inn.

“Kid, almost two thousands people have died since this game began—two out of every ten people who started.  In all honestly, I’m surprised how many of us have hit the ground running,” said Tony.

“I know, but turning into a complete shut-in seems a bit extreme.  Its not like anything is going to attack you within the city’s Safe Zone…”

“You say that, but that assumption is born from an inherent trust of the system.  A system that has already been previously hijacked and altered to trap us all here on the whim of a asshole with a god complex.  Considering that, who do you really think is crazy?  The ones who can’t bring themselves to trust the system to protect them, or the ones who do?” asked Tony.

“I guess when you put it that way, I see your point.  But still, we’re probably going to be here for a while.  Are they just planning on staying in one room for the next however many years?”

“I imagine some of them will eventually venture out and find their own niche in the world, even if it isn’t battling the local mobs.  Some will start fishing, or hunting, mining, cooking… the skill list for the game is extensive.  Some entrepreneurs will probably start opening player run businesses and establishments.  But I doubt we’ll see much of that until the Level One Floor Boss is found and cleared.  These people are stuck in the dark without a light, believing the system is rigged against them.  They need to see proof of what’s possible, a light to guide them forward, before we’ll see any real progress here.  And even then, there will still be some who never go further than the walls of this city,” said Tony.  “The amount of specialized therapy everyone in this game will need afterward is going to make some psychologists rich.”

Ahead of them, Tony saw a sign for an inn and turned to Peter.

“You can go ahead and get us set up for the night.  I’m going to go and find a tool shop and a smithy, see if I can add a durability upgrade.  Do you need anything while I’m out?” asked Tony.

“Um… Maybe some more potions.  I used the last one back in the West forest.  Though god those things taste like dirty socks,” said Peter, checking his inventory.

“You know, if you stopped doing dumb crap like jumping between me and attacks you wouldn’t have this problem,” said Tony, with a dry tone and a distinctly unsympathetic expression.

“What’s the point of having each other’s back if I don’t guard it?” said Peter, completely unrepentant.

Tony threw up his hands as he turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Potions it is!”

He didn’t have to look back, he could feel the boy’s eyes roll into his head.

As Tony worked his way towards the central market, he took in the graystone streets and buildings with ornate windows and battlements.  Every so often he would come across small barren plazas with lovely fountains and flora, nearly empty cafes and brightly colored vendor stalls. Even an occasional vista located just perfectly to allow someone a majestic view of the city and the surrounding area. Tony sighed, thinking of what could have been for this city that many had spent years of their lives developing.

The Town of Beginnings would have been a beautiful city without the miasma of despair that clung to its inhabitants.

It got him to wondering exactly what had come of his AIs, the ones Argus had requested.  He had almost had one completely coded at the time of their last meeting.  She had been a sweet one.  But since he had woken in the game, he had seen no sign of her.  Did they end up including her in the Cardinal System at all?

Maybe he should start poking around the GM user panel in earnest, see what he could find out.  So far, he had mostly kept away from delving into it, afraid of catching Kayaba’s attention.  But if there was something he could do to help, he would damn well try.  

Up ahead he saw a sign advertising a blacksmith and item vendor.  Eventually he wanted to try and open a smithy himself.  Peter seemed set on throwing himself into harms way (per usual), and if he was going to do that, Tony wanted to make sure he had the best equipment available to do so.  So Tony started learning how to do what he did best— make weapons and armor.

But to do that required a blacksmith’s forge and anvil.  And to get that required a hefty amount of Cor.  So for now, he rented an NPC blacksmith’s resources every now and then in order to improve and repair their equipment.

A bell jingled as he opened the door, undoubtedly triggering the customary NPC interaction.

“Welcome to Varden’s Smith and Sundry!  How may I help you today?” called the man behind the counter.

“I would like to buy potions,” said Tony.

“What quantities would you like?”

“Ten.”

“That will be 1,500 Cor.”

“Ugh…” Tony broke the script to groan.  He didn’t begrudge the purchase, far from it.  But seriously, the kid needed to stop getting hit in the first place.  His heart really couldn’t take this, and neither could their pocket book.

Who would have guessed he’d finally learn the concept of budgeting in his fifties?  And boy did it suck.

Tony opened up his inventory, removing the required amount to place on the counter.  As soon as it hit the counter, the bag of Cor flashed and disappeared.

“Thank you for your purchase!  Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes, I’d like to rent your forge,” said Tony.

“Ah, yes!  Come!  Follow me this way…”

—

As Peter entered the inn, he glanced around the first floor tavern where various parties sat around rough hewn tables over pub fare and pints.  At the bar, several others sat, conversing casually, though a little less intimately than those at the lower tables.  Making a decision, he approached the bar.

“What can I getcha?” asked the barman as Peter sat.

“Whatever today’s special is and a pint,” said Peter, setting the typical meal cost in Cor down on the counter.

The barman nodded, accepting the payment and placing a full pint down in front of Peter before turning to finish the task.

As he waited, Peter took sips of his drink and listened in on the conversations around him.

“Word is they’ve finally found the entrance to the dungeon, as well as a new town relatively close to it called Tolbana.  Hopefully within the next week or two they’ll find the boss and the first floor will be cleared,” said a woman to his left.

The girl sitting on the other side of her shook her head.  “But how many more will die clearing it out?  There’s already almost 2,000 names crossed out in the Monument of Life in the Black Palace.”

“What else are we supposed to do?  We either die trying to get out or die of old age stuck in a virtual world.”

“Would that really be the worst thing, though?  In the real world I’m in constant pain from my condition, some days I can’t even make it out of bed for more than the absolute necessities.  Here I can live without that.”

The woman next to him sighed, “I’m sorry for that, and I understand why you would consider the option of living within the system.  But some of us can’t.  When I dove, I told my husband it would only be for a couple of hours, then we could take our five year old son to the park.  They’re waiting on me to return.  I want to be able to see my child grow up.  So its a risk I have to take.”

The other girl nodded, “I get it.”

It was at that point the barman set a plate of what looked and smelled like chicken and roasted squash in front of him.  Peter thanked the man and began to eat.

“God that looks good…” said the girl a couple seats down.  “I haven’t eaten a proper meal in a couple days.  The black bread is cheaper, though its dry and doesn’t last very long.”

“You really should try and go hunting.  You’ll never make enough Cor or skill points to survive comfortably unless you do.  Even if its just around this area,” said the other woman.  “Going hungry for the next few years would be pretty miserable.”

“Sorry if I’m intruding,” said Peter, “but I’ve been curious about something— how often and how quickly do you get hungry in here?”

“Well, I haven’t really left the city, so I don’t make much Cor to buy food with,” said the girl.  “So I kind of just stay hungry throughout most of the day.”

“When I’m leveling I tend to press through instead of stopping to eat,” said the woman, “But when I am eating regularly, I’d say I start feeling hunger similar to how I would in the real world, about every four to six hours.  But I’m not sure if its tied to our real world feelings of hunger or a virtual schedule.”

“Might be a little of both… I tend to get hungry a lot in RL, but in here its spaced out a bit more,” said Peter, taking a bite of chicken.  

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the girl still looking wistfully at his food.  

“Sir, I’d like to order a second plate, but give it to her,” said Peter, nodding in her direction.

As the barman nodded and walked off, the girl started waving her hands.

“No, you shouldn’t do that.  Save your Cor—”

“It’s alright, I promise.  I’m in here with—”

Shit.  What should he call Tony?

“…Imagine being stuck in here with your dad.”

“Er— my sort of Dad, and we’ve been doing pretty good with the mobs.  So I can afford it.”

She looked for a moment like she was thinking of arguing still, until the plate was set in front of her.  She eyed the food before her eyes teared up a bit, and she nodded.

“Thank you.  I really appreciate your kindness.”

“It’s not a problem.  I’d do the same in the real world.  And what I would do there is what I should do in here,” said Peter.

“Those are wise words,” said the woman.  “And you are uncommonly kind.  I hope you are able to keep that, but don’t expect everyone in here to share your mindset.”

“I won’t, but just because others choose to not do the right thing doesn’t mean I have to.  We all have the power and responsibility to choose to do good,” said Peter, and he felt the intangible feeling within him that he had been wrestling with since the beginning calm.

It wasn’t that the responsibility was no longer his without his powers, it was that the power and responsibility was everyone’s.  

Perhaps it always had been.

And just like in the real world, there were those who used their power for good, those who used power for evil, and those that never used their power at all.  Most thinking they had none, just like the girl a couple seats down.

But if they worked together…

Peter felt his resolve form.

He was going to the front line.

—

As Tony stepped back out onto the street, he considered his options.

Obviously he needed to head back to the inn.  Afterward they could probably head out and take a look around town, seeing as they hadn’t really done so on day one.

But the memory of a café he had passed was singing its song…

He really missed coffee.

Surely they had some digital variation in this game.  If not he was lodging a complaint.

The café was just as vacant as when he passed earlier.  There were a couple people sitting at a table outside, but was otherwise empty of players.

The customary tinkle of the door as he entered prompted the NPC barista to smile and wave.  On the wall behind the counter was a blackboard with various items written— sandwiches and what Tony suspected were types of teas, and in a bottom corner there was a selection of drinks called ‘Kaf.’

“Bingo!  I’ll have a black kaf,” Tony looked at the pastries on display off to the side, spying a familiar donut shape with pink frosting, “And one of whatever you call this.”

A minute later he was sitting at a table out front, facing away from the two other patrons with his visor moved, taking a drink of the weirdest tasting ‘coffee’ he had ever tasted.  If he had to describe it he would say it was more like a tea, with floral and berry notes and a touch of honey, but with a darker color and consistency of a french press coffee.  It wasn’t bad, it just was not what he had been expecting.

Oh well, the donut was a perfect reproduction of a strawberry frosted Dunkin Donut.

“Man, if I make it out of this alive my wife is going to kill me.  She’s been super anxious since the Blip— not that I blame her, you know— and this whole thing was definitely not something she was very confident in to begin with,” said one of the men sitting at the nearby table.

“Damn… you were one of the ones caught up in that?  I lucked out I guess… I’m not really close to anyone and the ones I am were spared,” replied the other.

“Yeah, I know the Avengers ended up saving everyone in the end and I’m thankful for that obviously, but everything is still such a damn dumpster fire.”

That caught Tony’s attention.

The Blip?  Bit of an odd name for an Avenger’s battle.  How were the Avengers even a thing?  Last time he checked Rogers and his merry men and women were still considered war criminals at large.  The ‘Avengers’ consisted of himself, Vision and Rhodey.

“No joke.  Almost every economy is still tanked at the moment.  And I’m pretty sure half of upper New York State is a crater.  Glad that fight was over there and not in my part of the world.”

The bottom of Tony’s stomach dropped out at those words.  

“There was a battle… you won, but you took a lot of damage.  You’ve been in a coma ever since.”

Peter had never said anything else about the battle, and Tony hadn’t pressed.  But if a giant chunk of the state had been completely destroyed because of the battle surely he would have mentioned that?

Wouldn’t he?

Obviously a lot more happened in that battle than Peter had led him to believe.  Tony eventually being taken out of commission in a fight was one thing, but from the sound of things this was on par with the Battle of Sokovia.

So why hadn’t Peter mentioned it?

“It was good to catch up, we’ll have to do this again when I’m back this direction.  Or maybe on another floor if the rumors of the first floor dungeon door being found are true,” said the first man, standing up.

“Sounds good to me, though I’ll probably be pretty busy soon.  Some of us around here have started organizing to try and provide resources for the people here in town.  Some of them are players who don’t want to chance dying in the game, but there’s also some kids who are way younger than what the minimum play age was supposed to be.  A few volunteers have taken up residence with them in a church in town and we’ve been supplying them with food…” said the other man, as they both walked away.

Damn… that wasn’t something he had thought about, but of course there would be kids who either snuck in on a parent’s account or who were allowed to lie about their age to play the game.  Jokes about eight year olds talking crap on Call of Duty were a dime a dozen and everyone laughed about it, but here…

Maybe he should look into that, see what help he could offer.  Though unlike in the real world, simply throwing his money at the problem couldn’t fix it.  Mostly because he didn’t have any money.  Ugh…

Speaking of kids though, he’d need to decide what to say once he got back to his kid at the inn.  

Tony took a few deep breaths, trying to loosen up the hold his anxiety had started to take.  

Obviously whatever had happened had been huge— Avengers assembled (with or without Rogers and co?), massive property damage, Iron Man out of commission, every country feeling the economic backlash.  But unlike what had happened with Sokovia, despite the damages it seemed like the general public opinion after the fact was positive…?  

That was unusual.

Most importantly at this point, whatever had happened had affected people across the globe, but especially one young man from Queens.

Had he been at the battle?  Tony had initially offered the kid a spot after the whole vulture debacle, but after he had actually slept on it a few hours (the first time he’d slept properly in a few days) he had come to the realization that Peter turning the position down had saved them from what had been an awful idea in the first place.  And that was BEFORE May Parker had shown up at the complex in an unholy righteous fury.

So Tony could not imagine having called Peter into a fight, and if it had taken place at the compound like he suspected, Peter shouldn’t have been anywhere near there.

He wanted to go back to the inn and wrangle the details out of Peter.  Who was the fight against?  What was it about?  Was Rogers there?  If so, how was Rogers involved?  Why was public opinion seemingly in their favor for once?  Had anyone other than him been hurt?

Oh god… What if something had happened to Pepper…

No.  Peter would have told him that.  He wouldn’t lie to him about Pepper, and he had told him weeks ago that she was fine.  She was safe.

Tony dropped his head into his hand.

He wanted to ask all those questions, needed those answers…

But even if he got his answers, what could he do about any of it?

And was it worth potentially driving Peter away from him?  His kid.  The only person he knew and could dare to trust with the truth of his identity in this world?

No.  No it wasn’t.

He would just have to see what he could find out from others.  And hopefully Peter would eventually come around and open up about what had happened.  He trusted the kid with his life, he would trust him in this, too.

The walk back to the inn seemed much quicker than the one to smithy due to Tony’s preoccupied mind and nerves.  He was still unsure what to say when he got to the room.  He needn’t have worried though, because Peter fixed that problem.

“I want to start fighting on the front line.  I’m heading to the dungeon tomorrow.”

“Wait— excuse me, what?”

[patsdrabbles]

Not Leaving Till You Smile

Title: Not Leaving Till You Smile Fandom: M*A*S*H Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce/BJ Hunnicutt Rating: Gen Word Count: 600 Summary: “I’m not leaving you till you smile, y’know?” There’s a gentle squeeze of his hand and BJ looks up at Hawk through heavy eyelids, his eyes red. (hurt/comfort; tw for animal death.) A/N: Part 4 of my Daily Fanfic Chocolates calendar :D Another fic that I wrote for a prompt writing challenge I did with my friend @onekisstotakewithme a couple of months ago. ^^ Please enjoy ❤

(links to AO3 and the DFC masterpost are in the reblogs!)

“I’m not leaving you till you smile, y’know?”

There’s a gentle squeeze of his hand and BJ looks up at Hawk through heavy eyelids, his eyes red. Hawkeye crouches down and pulls him into a hug before the movement even registers to BJ. It’s a soft, warm hug and BJ wants to bury himself in the steadiness that is Hawk’s body against his.

He almost starts crying again, but he feely silly about it – and the next second, silly about holding back the tears.

***

Yesterday evening, a little kid had stood at the entrance of the Swamp, one hand in Radar’s, one hand deeply buried in a brown dog’s fur. The dog hadn’t been alright; they had been able to tell so at a glance. Hawkeye had gone and asked Potter if anyone would be able to help the animal, but upon taking a look at the dog, Potter had only shaken his head sadly. “Nah, son. I may know little of animals that aren’t horses, but this one, we can’t help anymore except by giving him a nice last couple of hours.”

BJ had been devastated to hear that the colonel’s assessment was the same as their own assumption. He offered to run a few blood tests, mostly for the kid’s sake, but with none of them a veterinarian and no clues regarding what was wrong with the animals but its heavy, rattling breath they were at a loss of what to do.

They did run the blood tests (as painlessly and quickly as they could) but it was hard to give the young kid any real hope regarding the animal’s chance of survival. Radar stayed by the boy’s side the entire time, trying to calm him down. BJ felt like Radar was the only one accomplishing anything, whereas he and Hawk were grasping at straws.

It was a mere hour or two later that the dog – named Bomi as they had learned from Radar – passed away.

Hawkeye ushered BJ outside, when he saw that Radar was doing a good job at comforting the kid and Colonel Potter was coming to help him.

“You’ve been shaking for the past hour, Beej,” he stated matter-of-factly. It didn’t have the sound of a question but BJ knew that it was one.

“He.. The dog reminded me a lot of my own dog, from back when I was a kid,” BJ eventually replied. Then, suddenly unable to hold back tears: “He got hit by the neighbor’s car when I was nine.”

Hawkeye led him toward the Officer’s Club and ordered him a drink.

***

“Tell you what, you’ll crawl into my cot with me and I’ll read you some of that novel my dad sent to me last month.”

“You’ve already lent me that one twice.” BJ’s defeated voice makes Hawkeye pull him even closer to himself.

“Yes, but Charles is in post-OP all night and you need some snuggling and a terribly bad crime novel to keep your mind off things for a while.” He pushes himself up from where he is crouching, pulling BJ up with him.

“Alright?”

There’s a tear running down BJ’s cheek and Hawkeye carefully swipes it away before giving him a peck on his cheek.

“Come ‘ere,” he asks him as he gently pulls BJ toward his cot and down.

BJ snuggles up closer when Hawk places a hand on top of his head, fingers running calmingly through his hair as he begins reading the story, and the smallest of smiles finally starts forming on BJ’s lips as he allows his eyes to fall shut.

[vangoghpoets]

status | kiego takami x reader

a/n: hello! this is chapter two of my hawks multi part fic. i hope you guys are liking it so far! also, ruisu is an oc inspired by my lovely bb @lilacskyura

previously: chapter one 

pairing: kiego (hawks) takami x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k 

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos

links: playlist | wattpad

taglist: @mixfi​ @lilacskyura​ @katsuhoee​ @star-mum​ @moonlightinsanity​ @domhoni

                                   ⫷ chapter two: amateur ⫸

"So, we have a special someone who is joining us for the campaign!"

Y/N sat still with her eyes closed while the makeup artist worked on her. It was Friday, the day of the Chanel cologne campaign.

"So its a collaboration?"

Ruisu asked, looking up from her phone. Her black hair was tied back, accentuating her freckled cheekbones. If Ruisu wanted to, she could probably become a model too. However, with her analysis quirk and impeccable sense or organization, she found joy being an assistant, especially to as someone as kind as Y/N.

"Yes, he should be here shortly," The campaign directed replied.

"I should've known, it is a cologne campaign after all," Y/N mumbled while the makeup artist applied the false lashes to her lids.

"He's probably super hot," Ruisu giggled, crossing her legs and turning to Y/N. She simply rolled her eyes in response, sitting up and sipping from her iced tea.

"You know I don't like mixing my love life with work."

"What love life?" Ruisu questioned with a cocked brow. Y/N scoffed and placed her hand on her chest as if she was in agony.

"Ouch Ru, sorry I haven't found anyone up to my standards."

The hairstylist came in and greeted Y/N before getting to work.

"I just think you should put your self out there."

"I'm basically on every other billboard in Japan, how much more out there can you get?"

"I don't know!" Ruisu sighed. "I guess you're just intimidating."

Y/N took a sip from her tea and smirked.

"Good."

The stylist proceeded to brush Y/N's hair and add large amounts of gel to it, in order to attempt a "slick wet" look.

The shoot was supposed to give the look of a sensual shower scene. Glass panels, mirrors, blue lighting, and a steam machine were all prepped. The only thing that was left was semi-nude Y/N and the elusive special guest.

Once the stylist finished with her hair, Y/N stood up, tightening her robe and tossed her empty teacup in the garbage.

"He's here!" The director exclaimed and called Y/N over, Ruisu following.

Walking in and standing next to the director was a tall, tan, and fit blonde. Each step he took radiated with confidence. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. She recognized him right away, and to say she was angry was an understatement.

"Y/N, this is the Winged Hero Hawks!"

Hawks stepped towards you and extended his hand.

"Please, just call me Keigo," He said, his voice like velvet.

Y/N pursed her lips and shook his hand politely.

"I don't work with amateurs so I hope you can keep up," She said tartly, turning on her heel and walking towards the set. Ruisu sighed and faced Keigo.

"Sorry about her, she's not too fond of heroes."

"I can tell," He replied with a slight chuckle.

Kiego was ushered to a change. The staff dressed him in tan boxers that matched his skin, the idea was to look as nude as possible. They began to apply makeup and the artists gushed at having the no. 2 hero in their presence.

Y/N eyed him and scoffed. Ruisu walked over and handed her a bottle of water. Y/N cracked it open and drank.

"You doing okay?"

"Not really," She mumbled while closing the bottle. It wasn't known amongst the media but anyone who was close to Y/N knew she had a deep-seated hatred for heroes.

When Y/N was 12, her little brother drowned at the beach. At the time, She had a broken ankle from soccer and was left with no option other than to call for help. She was sobbing and screaming, unable to help her brother. She was quirkless after all. No heroes came. Eventually, the police came, but it was too late, he had already passed. Y/N constantly beat herself up about the death of her brother. He was only 7 and was gone so quickly. As she got older, she placed more and more of the blame on heroes. No one saved him when she needed their help the most. She had no adults to help her either, her and her brother were adopted by a woman who was well on in her years. By the time Y/N was 18, her adoptive mother was already 74. Ruisu and her mother were the only people she had. Despite her fame, she was incredibly lonely.

Kiego eyed Y/N, who was ranting to Ruisu, while the stylist did his hair. Sure he had seen her on the television, news, practically every billboard in Japan, but he had never truly seen her. He would be lying if he said he wasn't excited when he was told he would be working with her. It appeared to be true what all sources had said about her. She was serious, intimidating, and meant business. But most of all, she was devilishly attractive. Being one of the top models across the globe would make that obvious, but to Keigo the shoots and photographs didn't capture how truly beautiful she looked. It would be safe to say that she was his celebrity crush. He watched as the makeup artist stepped towards her and touched up her skin. She spoke to the staff so kindly and thanked them for every little thing. She was known for being a delight on set but always willing to do her best. That kind of ambition was something Kiego admired. A lot.

"You're all set," the stylist told Kiego. He stood up and walked towards the set. The makeup artist walked over and began to apply oil to his body.

"Oh heh, that's kinda cold," He mumbled. He had done several photoshoots in the past, but nothing as sensual as this. He would be the face of this cologne, a lot was riding on his shoulders- er, wings.

Y/N glared at him and turned to Ruisu.

"This is exactly why I don't like amateurs."

"Oh c'mon be nice-"

"Does it look like I want to be fucking nice right now? They're making me shoot with this moron of a hero-"

Ruisu raised her brow and gestured to the water bottle in Y/N's hand. She sighed and rolled her eyes, opening the bottle back up and chugging.

"Just, be professional. You don't really want hero hater publicized around the world."

Y/N nodded and placed the cap back on.

"I know, I know."

"Okay, everyone! We start shooting in 5."

"Thank you 5!" The staff, Ruisu, and Y/N cheered. She handed Ruisu the water bottle and slipped off her robe. Underneath was a sheer tan two-piece, giving the slight illusion that she was in the nude. Keigo's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the sight. She turned to face him.

"You ready?"

Keigo nodded, his usual cocky confidence coming back.

"Of course."

The two stepped onto the set. The photographer came forwards to give his instructions.

"Okay so we want seduction, we want sex, steamy, but make it gorgeous. Yes? Yes."

Kiego nodded slowly, the photographer's French accent making it difficult to understand what he was inferring.

The photographer began to pose the two models. He had Y/N press her hands and chest against a glass panel. He then had Kiego press his chest against her back. He tried his best to hide his blush.

One of the staff members turned on a speaker, playing music to add to the atmosphere of the set. The lights were dimmed and the blue lights were amplified.

"And, ACTION!"

The photographer began shooting, Y/N adjusting her poses slightly. To say she was a professional was an understatement. Behind the camera, she was pure art.

"C'mon Hawks get in there! She won't bite!"

Kiego nodded and placed an arm above her, giving a dominating effect. Y/N posed by resting her head on his chest, her lips parting slightly.

'If this is what she looks like posing, I wonder how she looks-'

"HAWKS! FOCUS! Give me more sex, more arousal! Be the alpha!"

Returning from his daze, he nodded.

"Gladly," He growled lowly.

He lowered his head and bit down on her neck, causing Y/N to gasp from shock.

"YES YES!" The photographer cheered, snapping pictures rapidly. "You own her Hawks! Your scent drives her crazy!"

Y/N tried to stay focused and ignore the misogynistic chants from the photographer. She continued to pose while Keigo became more self-assured, running his hands along the curves of her body. He was beyond happy to be paid to lay his hands all over her.

"Y/N turn! We need a new angle."

She nodded and turned to the side, giving a profile of her curves. Kiego was mesmerized, she was glowing under the blue lighting. She made it all look so easy. Y/N raised her hand to cup his cheek, posing and pressing her lips against the side of his mouth.

"YES YES YES!" The photographer cheered.

After 30 more minutes of posing, the photographer gave them a break. Ruisu tossed Y/N her water bottle as she stepped off the set.

"Hey, do you want to grab drinks after this-"

Kiego's proposal was stopped by Y/N holding up her finger as she drank from her bottle. She let out a cool "ah" and closed the water bottle.

"No." She answered curtly.

[talpup]

Chaos

Trying something new. Though I prefer reading off AO3, I’m gonna try posting the full chapter here too since it might be easier for some.  Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/51285613

***Reminder that dream sequences are designated ~like so~

31.1

~ “I want you.”  Shouta mumbled against Reyanna’s lips.

Reyanna pulled back, her fingers carding through his hair as she lowered to nip at the bites and bruises already littering Shouta's neck.

“Again?”

The Daimon hummed.

“Then let’s take this to bed, Shadow.”

Shouta grinned, reveling in his Lover’s touch despite it not being near enough.  He liked how Reyanna was fully aware they were dreaming, and consciously interacting with him in the dreamscape.  But the diminished sensations that came with being in a dreamworld made it all so maddening.  Even so he didn’t wake up and act out the scene in the real world.  They had only slept for a couple hours, and Reyanna required more sleep if she was to fully recover.

Hands on her hips, Shouta turned her around and pulled her back against him, pressing his straining cock against her ass.

Reyanna’s hands moved behind her, fondling his tented boxer briefs, as she allowed Shouta to walk her to the bed.

They could do away with their clothes and find themselves in bed with a thought, but this was so much more fun.  So much more real.

She sighed, head rolling to the side, giving his mouth full access to her neck.

“This is so much better.”  Shouta murmured, nuzzling into the curve of her neck.  “Fuck.  I missed this.  I missed you, Kitten.”

She had missed her chance to scold him for having his way with her in her dreams when she had been unaware.  But at the time she had wanted, needed, him too much to care.

“And what are you going to do now that you have me?  Willing and wanting.” She pressed her ass back against his erection.  “Hum, Shadow?  Are you going to fuck me into the mattress or let me take a ride?”

“What do you think?”

Her hand reached back to grip his hair.  “I’d complain, but I don’t rightly care.  So long as I have you, and have you now.”

Shouta's fingers dug into her hips.  Damn.  If that didn’t get him.

“Just don’t tease me.”

Shouta smirked smugly at that.

“And if I do?”  He asked, nipping at her ear.

Reyanna spun around, her arms wrapping and locking around his neck.  She pulled herself up, legs wrapping around his waist.

Shouta’s left hand moved to hold her up and steady, the right gripping the back of her neck and pulling her into a heated kiss.

“Tease me all you want later, Shou.”  She breathed, rutting against him. Suddenly her tank top and shorts were gone.  “I need you now.”

All expression of smug, wickedness vanished from Shouta’s face as suddenly as Reyanna’s clothes had.  He disappeared his own and threw her on the bed, pouncing on top of her.

He stared down at her with a hungry intensity that made Reyanna’s body tremble and roll with wanting.

“And if I give in to your request?”  Shouta asked, black hair curtaining them off from the rest of the dreamscape as he lowered his head down to hers.  “What will you allow me in return?  Will you let me tie you down and use you however I see fit?  Feast on your pretty little pussy for weeks on end.  Or--”  He rocked his hips, cock sliding against her and coating in her juices.  “Or may be I’ll cycle through using you and staying in place, having you warm my cock, for so long that your tight little cunt will forget what it feels like not to have me sheathed in place.”

Reyanna shivered at the delectable thoughts, her legs trying to close and squeeze against her need.

Shouta's eyes panned over her, taking in her squirming body and wiggling hips.

“What will it be, Kitten?  Do we have a deal?” ~

31.2

Todoroki entered the kitchen and stopped, eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you doing?”  The Llaes asked.

Hitoshi’s answered sounded directly in Todoroki head.  “Getting a drink.”

Todoroki stood and stared at the human-sized lavender cat laying on the counter, its tongue lapping at the dribbling faucet.  “Wouldn’t that be easier to do in human form?”

“Suppose.” Hitoshi’s voiced buzzed in Todoroki’s head.

Todoroki watched the big cat a moment longer supposing that having the Were torn out and shoved back in might have effected Hitoshi more than any of them had thought.  He wanted to help, but didn’t have a clue how to assist his friend with whatever he was going through.  And while Hitoshi was closer to Aizawa, this seemed more like a thing Reyanna or Hizashi would be better at dealing with.  He would find a way to let one of them know about it.

“Need something?”  Hitoshi’s asked, paw batting at the faucets handle, shutting it off.

Todoroki shook off the itchy feeling his brain had when Hitoshi spoke directly into his mind.  “Just some bottle’s of water.  Dabi and the other Demon are thirsty.”

“Hizashi and Hawks still questioning the new guy?”

“Hizashi is, but it’s mostly basic stuff now.”

“So just keeping watch and filling the silence till Aizawa comes out and decides what to do with him.”  Hitoshi’s ears twitched at the sound of a nearby bird.

Such instinctual reactions would have bothered him before.  But after having the Were taken out of him and taking a trip to hell as nothing but a human Witch, he would gladly take those minor idiocentricities that came with being a Were.

Todoroki grabbed three bottle’s of water in case Hizashi was thirsty too. With all the talking the Angel was doing, even with Hizashi’s lesser sustenance needs, he was bound to drive himself thirsty eventually.

“Hey.” Hitoshi’s mental call made the Llaes pause.  “If Dabi ends up sticking around, are you gonna call him uncle or something?”

Todoroki turned, casting a glance at the big cat before going on his way.  He knocked on the sealed room door, entering when Hizashi opened it.

“I don’t get why I’m locked in here.”  Dabi complained, again. “You all know me.”

“Which is exactly why you’re locked up.”  Hizashi stated, closing the door behind Todoroki.

Shigaraki chuckled at that.

Dabi’s gaze panned over to the other Demon.  “What’s your deal, Creeper?”

“No one likes you.”  Shigaraki answered with a grin.  “Something else I was right about when it came to you.”

Dabi glared.  “Done a bunch of thinking about me, have you?  Stop it. I’m not interested, even if you bottomed and paid.”  He looked away mumbling insults.

Todoroki set a bottle in front of Shigaraki and handed one to Dabi.

“Thanks.” Dabi snapped, grabbing the bottle and twisting it open.

“You’re welcome...Uncle.”

Dabi spit, choking on the swig of water he had just took.

Shigaraki cackled.

Even Hizashi’s cheeks were puffed out, face red from struggling to suppress his laughter.

Todoroki blinked at his ancestor.  The title hadn’t felt wrong, but it hadn’t felt right either.  May be after they got to know each other better…

“I think I’ll stick with calling you Dabi.”  Todoroki decided, aloud.

“Do!” Dabi expressed, voice loud and menacing.

“Come on kid.”  Hizashi said, after he had collected himself.  “I’m gonna check if Shouta's awake yet, and we can’t trust them alone with you yet.”

31.3

Shouta's eyes opened, a soft smile creeping onto his lips at the sight of his still sleeping Love.  Reyanna looked so peaceful.  Innocent. Beautiful.  Well, his Love was always beautiful he thought drowsily.

He cuddled closer taking in Reyanna warmth.  Though he didn’t require any more sleep, grogginess made him blink slow and heavy.  He sighed, basking in his Love’s nearness.  Reveling in the closeness that had returned between them.  He was content just to lay there, breathing the same air, wrapped in each others arms.  But then the events of hell came unbidden to mind.

He pressed a kiss to Reyanna’s forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the thought of what Nemuri had made him do.  The shame he felt triggered his guilt over what he had done to Reyanna.  Forget the last Llaes and Tamaki.  He had betrayed his Love.  Lucifer's words rang in his head.  ‘You were the one who betrayed her… You were the one who came to me.  You proposed a bargain.  Accepted the price I demanded...carried it out..  What you did…  It was a thing of cruel beauty.’

I didn’t have a choice, Shouta thought, pressing his face into Reyanna’s.  ‘Yes you did.’  The memory of Lucifer’s response echoed in his head.  No I didn’t, Shouta thought back.  You don’t know.  Don’t love her.  You were making her sick!  You had her… I didn’t have a choice!

“Shouta?”

Shouta tensed at the sound of Reyanna’s quite voice.

Reyanna noted his tightly closed eyes and trembling muscles.  “You left our dream saying you had to check in with Hizashi, but...”

Her hand lifted to smooth his hair.  Shouta had much more control over sleep and dreams than she did.  Being an archangel, fallen or not, afforded him the ability to enter another's dreams so long as he was in contact with them.

She bumped her forehead against his, finding it odd that some nightmare had tangled him up on his way to waking.  But after their visit to hell.  Getting left behind till the Janus finally pulled him out…

She wished she could enter his nightmare and help him slay whatever was tormenting him.  But since she couldn’t, she did the next best thing.

“Shouta.” Her hand moved down to his shoulder, nudging him lightly.  “Shouta. Wake-up, Love.”

Shouta’s eyes snapped open.

Reyanna took in his wild, wide eyes and gave a reassuring smile.  The sight of him distressed tugged at her heart, making her want to hurt something.

Shouta blinked in confusion.  He had been in hell, Lucifer tormenting him with his words.  No, he… He had…  He pulled Reyanna into his arms, holding her tight.  It didn’t matter.  Reyanna was here beside him.  Smiling tenderly at him, instead of crying and pleading.

“I love you.”  He rasped, the scent of her soothing him.

“I love you too, Shou.”

He pulled his head back and stared into her eyes.  “No matter what happens.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a curse.  There was so much she had yet to remember.  Why couldn’t she just stay like this?  Whatever was left missing, along with his betrayal, could just be left forgotten. They could stay like this.  Happy.

“No matter what happens.”  He started again, opening his eyes and looking into hers.   “I need you to know.  Everything I do and did was for you.  Because I love you.”

“Shouta.” Reyanna breathed, cupping his cheek.  “What I do is for you too, Love.  I love you, Shouta.”

If that were true, then why focus so much on helping the Llaes close the gates, Shouta wondered.  Why... No.  None of that mattered right now. What mattered was that she understood.

“Is this because we were left in hell?”  Reyanna asked, stroking his stubbled cheek.  “Cause that wasn’t your fault.  If anything…”

‘Shouta.’ Hizashi's voice beckoned in Shouta's head.

“Anna, don’t.”  Shouta pressed a silencing finger to her lips.  “That wasn’t your...”

‘Shouta.’ Hizashi beckoned again.

“...fault.” Shouta went on.  “That was because Lucifer entered your dreams and...”

‘Shooouuutaaaa.’ Hizashi’s voice drew out in Shouta's head.

“Shut up.”  Shouta growled out, though the Angel couldn’t hear him. “Not you.”  He told tell Reyanna.

“Hizashi being insistent?”  She asked, with an amused smile.

“Being annoying and asking to die.”  Shouta grumbled.

‘Shouta.’ This time the beckon was staccato.

‘Yamada.’ Shouta beckoned back in a loud, demonic voice that had Hizashi stopping the nuisance.

Shouta sighed in relief at the ensuing silence.  He pressed his forehead to Reyanna’s, closing his eyes.

Reyanna basked in the warm, loving touch of her beloved.  “I love you, Shadow.”

Shouta hummed in response, then pressed his lips to hers.

“My Kitten.”  He murmured, against her lips.

The kiss stayed nothing more than a light pressing of lips, before Reyanna minutely increased the pressure.  Shouta's lips began to move in slow, almost lazy motions.

Damn. This was so much better than the timidity they had both displayed when they had first come to bed.  And, as much as he had loved the needful, hot passion of their shared dream, it had had the maddeningly distant sensation that came with it being a dream.  This… Shouta loved this.  The slow, simmering build.  Like a smoldering fire that was slowly fed new kindling to make it roar.

His lips parted, tongue slowly slipping out to…

‘Shouta.’

Shouta’s eyes snapped open.  He sprung up and out of bed, cursing the beckoning Angel.

Reyanna giggled at her Lover’s temper.  “Go.  See what he wants.  I need to check up on Todoroki anyway.”

Shouta's expression darkened further at that.  The possessive wave of jealously making him growl, as he moved back to the bed.

Reyanna pressed a hand to his bare chest, sitting up, and leaning to him.

“We can return and finish what we started later.”  She murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Shouta returned the affection, though the slow, laziness was nowhere to be found this time.

“How’s Reyanna?”  Hizashi asked, as soon as Shouta had exited the bedroom.

“Physically recovered.”

Hizashi winced in sympathy.  “What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”  Shouta gruffed.

Hizashi followed the Daimon down the hall.  “The kids told use everything that went down before snapping the hair of Clotho.  Dabi and Shigaraki told their part.”

“What did Dabi say about Anna?”

“That she was bound and in a cell and Kai was using his affinity on her when he and Shigaraki stormed in.  Dabi burned Kai’s chronicle, which seemed to be rather painful and incapacitated him.”

Shouta paused at that.  “Burned his chronicle?”

Hizashi nodded.

The Daimon grunted, he had never heard, or thought of such a thing.  He wouldn’t imagine Sakamata would be pleased.  Sakamata…  Kai had said--

“Shou. There’s something else...”

Shouta didn’t like the sorry tone in Hizashi voice.

31.4

Toshinori paced behind his desk, occasionally glancing at the sealed letter written to who could effectively be called his Uncle.  He had been so certain when he had first taken quill to parchment, but now…  Time was running out to put the note to the dying candle on his desk, and send it.

Did he really want to call him here?  Most people didn’t seek him out. It felt odd, wrong calling upon someone so feared and avoided. Still, Toshinori needed answers; and with God gone, presumably still battling Chaos, there was no one else to call.  No one else who could answer who and what Reyanna was.

Toshinori looked at the sputtering candle, the wick and wax almost spent.  His hand darted to the written letter, picking it up.  He almost backed out and put the missive back down; but instead moved and held the note over the dying flame.

He watched the paper ignite, a cold sweat braking out over his brow. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck, where his hair stood on end.

It wasn’t too late.  He could douse the flames.  Stop the letter from being sent.  But he held his course and sent Death a request to meet.

31.5

“He has a hand.”  Dabi said.

Dabi didn’t know what bothered him more.  That Aizawa had listened to him tell how he had saved Reyanna and still hadn’t thanked him, or that the Daimon seemed alright with letting Shigaraki stay.

“Two of them.”  Shouta remarked, as if Dabi was an idiot.

“I mean a severed hand.”  Dabi retorted, snidely.

Shouta’s eyebrows lifted at that.  He glanced at Hizashi.  The Angel looked just as surprised by this as he felt.

“You didn’t check them?”  Shouta questioned.

“I--” Hizashi blinked.

He remembered Sakamata missing a hand.

Clearing his throat, Hizashi asked Shigaraki.  “Is—is it--  Who’s hand is it?”

“My Master's.”  Shigaraki answered.

“Sakamata.” Shouta stared at the red-eyed Demon.  “You have Sakamata’s hand?”

“It--” Hizashi swallowed.  “Sakamata had said Kai severed--”

Hearing enough, Shouta saved Hizashi from having to go on.  “Why do you have it?”

“Sakamata was my Master.”  Shigaraki answered, as if that were explanation enough.

“Told you he was a creep.”  Dabi said, crossing his arms.

“Hush.” Shouta commanded.

He had woken up not more than an hour ago and already felt exhausted, mentally at least.  A hand…  Shouta ran a hand through his hair. These demons were either insane or trying to drive him insane.

Not even bothering to try and understand Shigaraki’s reasoning, Shouta said.  “Keep it locked away or otherwise out of sight.  If it starts to stink you and it will be tossed out.”

“It won’t decay.”  Shigaraki told.  “I--”

“Don’t wanna know.”  Shouta shook his head.

“Really!” Dabi uncrossed his arms and sat forward.  “You’re really okay with him carrying around your dead friend’s hand?”

“Sakamata and I weren’t overly close.  We never told each other how we wanted our remains treated.”  Shouta shrugged.  “Shigaraki, being closer to Sakamata, would know more about his wishes than I.”

“Right. Cause it’s so believable that the Daimon of Death would want his lackey carrying around his severed hand.”  Dabi snarked.

“Wouldn’t know.”  Shouta replied.  “Like I said, we never talked about it.”

“You really are a sick fuck if you’re okay with this.”  Dabi declared.

“I’m a daimon.”  Shouta said, eyes flashing red as he glanced at Dabi. “We’re okay with great many sick, unsavory things.”  He turned back to Shigaraki.  “Give me any reason to boot you out, no matter how small, and I will without hesitance or question.”

“Well! Considering you’re not kicking him out for carrying around a severed hand...”  Dabi exclaimed.

“Stay away from the Llaes, and don’t even think of going near Reyanna.” Shouta directed.

“Yeah. Cause he might get handsy with her.”  Dabi said, rolling his eyes.

Shouta’s gaze snapped over to Dabi, lip curling in a snarl.

“Bad joke!”  Hizashi said loudly, patting Shouta on the shoulder in effort to distract him.

It would be a shame for Shouta to kill Dabi when the Demon just got his soul back.  Especially when the reasoning for it being the first task hadn’t been made clear.

“If he is the type to get handsy, you’ll be the first to know since he’ll be staying in your room.”  Shouta told Dabi.

“What!” Dabi demanded.

“The house only has six bedrooms.”  Shouta said.

“So make Todoroki and the pet Third bunk up.”  Dabi said.

“Disgusting abomination.”  Shigaraki muttered at the mention of Hitoshi.

Shouta eyed Shigaraki icily but said nothing.

“No.” The Daimon told Dabi.

“Then give the Creep Hizashi's room.  It’s not like Halo will be using it.”

Though Dabi was right in that, Shouta wasn’t about to give another person Hizashi's room.  “No.”

“Why?” Dabi pressed.

“Cause I said so.”  Shouta stated.

“Why not ask Halo?”  Dabi suggested.

“No.” Shouta said.

“You’re not the boss here.”  Dabi challenged.

Shouta stared.

Hizashi forced a cheery smiled.  “It’s really not that big a deal, Shou. I won’t be here all that much.  And when I am…  Well, you know me, I don’t require sleep but may be once a week.  Sometimes even less.”

“Shigaraki stays in Dabi’s room.”  Shouta said, dark eyes still locked on Dabi.  “Don’t like it, don’t stay.”

“And where am I suppose to go?”  Dabi questioned.

“Don��t care.”  Shouta got to his feet and left the room.

“Much as I appreciate it, you could have let Shigaraki have my room.” Hizashi said, following him out.

“No, I couldn’t.”  Shouta said.

“Why?” Hizashi asked.

“It’s too close to mine and Anna’s.”

Ah, Hizashi thought.  He should have know that it wasn’t just for him.

“I need you to watch Anna for me.”  Shouta went on.

Hizashi arched an eyebrow.  Must be important if Shouta wasn’t asking him if he could stay and watch Reyanna.

“Sure thing.  What’s up?”

“I’ll be back by sundown.  Eight at the latest.”  Shouta told.

Hizashi looked out the window at the barely rising sun.  “All day?  What’s going on, Shou?  You need some help with something?”

“If you or Anna need me before then, beckon.  But I’d rather be left alone.”

“Shouta. What’s going on?  Is this about what happened down there?  You never told me what happened after the kids returned.”

“Nothing happened.”

Hizashi stared.  He knew that wasn’t true.  The wounds and bindings alone told that things, bad things, had indeed happened.  Then there was what Dabi said he and Shigaraki had walked in on with Reyanna.  From what could be gathered it appeared that the demons, thankfully, got there before Kai could do anything truly terrible, but… What about Shouta?

“You should talk to someone about it Shou.”  Hizashi pressed when the Daimon remained silent.  “If not me, than Anna.”

“I’m not talking to Anna about this.”

“Than me.”

“Nothing happened.”  Shouta said again, the muscles in his neck tensing so much it made his jaw tick.

“Shouta.” Hizashi started mournfully at his friend.  He wanted to help, but without knowing what happened couldn’t effectively do so.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.  Any of it.  Getting stuck down there.  Whatever happened. None of it is your fault.”

Shouta looked away.  Hizashi didn’t know what he was talking about.  He should have known the Janus would do something like that.  That after so many years of constant pain from being stuck in a coin, that he would be able to deal with the pain of resisting and leave them down there for a sizable amount of time.  He should have known that Lucifer was powerful enough to leave an implant in Reyanna’s mind, even after only a couple of shared dreams.  He should have known that, no matter how carefully planned things were, things always went wrong.

His knuckles turned white, fisted hands trembling.  If Dabi hadn’t burst into Reyanna’s cell when he had… He had promised to protect her.  Seeing Reyanna safe and well was the greatest driving force of Shouta's existence.  Her safety and well-being mattered more to him than her happiness or his life.  It was why he had betrayed her.  And yet what had he done?  Taken her to the worst, most dangerous place imaginable.  All but delivered her to Lucifer and Kai.  And then there was what he had done, what he had let Nemuri do, talk him into doing.

He had broken two of his three vows to his Love down there.  To protect her, and to be with no other but her alone.

“Shouta. No one blames you.  Reyanna doesn’t blame you.  None of this was your fault.”

Shouta sniffed.  He had no interest in Hizashi's platitudes.  Not when the Angel didn’t have a clue, and Shouta knew how wrong Hizashi was.

“You want help me feel better, Zashi?  Watch Anna for me, while I find the Janus.”

“The Janus?”  Hizashi blinked.  “Shou--”  But Shouta was already gone, flinted away.

31.6

“Where’s the other Demon?”  Reyanna asked.

“In my room.”  Dabi said, sourly.

“Is he shy?”  Hitoshi questioned.

He was sitting in the living room with Todoroki, Reyanna, and Dabi, grateful that training and lessons had been foregone for the day. Honestly, he had been somewhat surprised for the full days reprieve, thinking that Aizawa would have at least assigned some sort of reading that they would be quizzed on later.  Cause, while his mentor understood and respected the body’s need to rest and recoup, Aizawa also didn’t like wasted time.  A full day of chilling with nothing accomplished...that had never been allowed in all his time of knowing the Daimon.  Then again he had never taken a trip to hell.

Hitoshi looked over at Reyanna wondering what had happened after he and Todoroki had returned to their bodies and left them behind.  Despite how senseless and silly it was, he felt guilty for having left them.

Dabi shrugged, thinking it possible that Shigaraki was shy, not that it mattered.

“Aizawa told him to stay away from those two.”  Dabi said, gesturing to Reyanna and Todoroki.

“Why?” Todoroki questioned.

Hitoshi wondered the same.  He understood Reyanna.  Aizawa was protective as hell when it came to her.  His mentor would probably be happy if everybody stayed away from her.  But Todoroki?

“Zawa’s probably worried Shigaraki will show you his hand.”  Dabi said in a way that sounded both lewd and disgusted.

The three looked at the Demon, various expressions of confusion on their faces.

Finally Hitoshi shook his head.  “I don’t wanna know.”

Dabi looked to Reyanna.  “Why do you wanna know where Shigaraki is? Doubt Aizawa would like you asking about him, considering all that Shigaraki’s seen.”  His eyes pulled over her body.

Hitoshi might not have known what had happened down there, but Todoroki had told him everything from when the Llaes had hitched a ride with Aizawa; including Reyanna wearing nothing but Dabi’s coat.

“You’re disgusting.”  The Were sneered.

“I’m a Demon.  And no one’s uncle.”  Dabi said, looking pointedly at Todoroki.

A sudden laugh burst from Hitoshi.  He turned to the Llaes.  “Dude! You didn’t.”

Todoroki’s gaze fixed on Hitoshi.  “You...”  He blinked.  “You were the one that brought it up.”

“As a joke!”  Hitoshi expelled, smiling so big his cheeks hurt.

“You didn’t say it was a joke.”  Todoroki mumbled, eyes lowering.

“Didn’t think I had to.”  Hitoshi chuckled.

“Things like tone and subtle expressions are hard, and you were in cat form.” Todoroki told.

“The suggestion itself should--”  Hitoshi stopped, seeing Todoroki’s sullen discomfort.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to laugh.”  He ran a hand through his hair cursing his mistake.  He should have known better than to say such a thing and think Todoroki would understand it as a joke.  “I didn’t mean to set you up like that.  I wasn’t thinking.”

Todoroki’s eyes lifted.  “Are you feeling better?”

“Feeling better?”  Hitoshi echoed.

“From dealing with the Were,” Todoroki refused to call it a curse, “being taken and put back?”

Hitoshi’s posture visibly stiffened. his voice tightening.  “The only painful part was when it was ripped out, and that lasted only a few seconds.”

“I meant emotionally.”  Todoroki said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Hitoshi said, though it was clear that he did.  “I’m not dealing with any emotional stuff from all that.”  He pushed to his feet and walked off.  “I’m gonna see about supper.”

Dabi scoffed at the badly told lie, not that he cared.  In fact he’d rather the Third bottle up whatever he was going through.  It was far better than him having to hear about it.

It was obvious to Reyanna that Hitoshi was telling the truth; that he wasn’t dealing with the emotional stuff that everything had brought on.  It was also obvious the he wasn’t ready to talk about it.  Not knowing him well enough, she didn’t know how the kid coped, and made a mental note to talk to Shouta about it.  After yesterday’s events, they were all suffering varying degrees of emotional distress and it would be foolish to not to do what they could to help the teens through it.

Todoroki watched Hitoshi walk away.  He had planned on telling everyone what the second task was during dinner this evening, but now reevaluated that plan.

The second task was something he had know before Reyanna and Aizawa had even found him, Hitoshi, and Hawks at the barn.  He had never said anything; because before now it hadn’t mattered.  He didn’t understand why or how, but knew that without the first task being complete the second would truly be an impossibility.

He looked at Reyanna and then Dabi, taking in the distant look in both of their eyes, clearly lost in their own thoughts.  May be it would be best to wait one more day before telling everyone that the next task would have them entering heaven.

A huge and heartfelt thank you to everyone who commented, left hearts, or re-blogged the last two updates.  I was in a bit of a writing rut and you all helped pull me out.  Extra special thanks to @inorganicone2230 for sparking my creativity by making the last updates request, loved working on it; and look forward to our next brainstorming session.

Comments, questions, or asks are always appreciated.  Folks tell me I’m really nice, and I don’t bite so feel free to comment or ask me something.

[bigskydreaming]

Linking to an old one-shot AU headcanon-thingie that morphed into actual fic like...five paragraphs in. Its basic premise is the Zataras and Graysons knew each other from various Zatara magicians of generations past all working the stage magic circuit. So (pre-Flashpoint, of Bruce’s actual age and generation, not like, YJ version obvsly, fhalksfklsa) Zatanna ends up adopting Dick instead, and then Things Happen that result in a Jason and a Tim Zatara as well, and all three still become vigilantes, but like, ones that combine different specialties of magics with their other individual canon characteristics, like Dick’s acrobatics and Jason’s fondness of a good brawl.

(Don’t worry, Meanwhile, back in Gotham, there’s still a Bruce and as we all know, where there’s a Bruce, that Bruce is gonna Bruce. Cass and Steph and Damian all end up Waynes and Duke would be an inevitability eventually as well.)

Anyway, self-indulgently bringing this back cuz I have an unnatural fondness for Magic Batbrothers: The Musical! type AUs, and also the dynamics in this quite amused me to write. Plus, I actually have Batfamily-focused followers now, lol. 

I played Dick off as more skewed towards the ‘goofy, perpetual sunshine machine’ fandom take than I usually do, because I mean, this was mostly just crack and I do admit he is fun to write that way when its Honestly Not That Deep, and also in a universe where he is actually loved and appreciated by his little brothers, and they all get along but also occasionally hate each other lots but not really just like the real family they are AND DESERVE TO BE WRITTEN AS, AHEM!

Anyway, an excerpt to go with the link above:

When last we left our intrepid heroes, rich entitled bastards with a pervy penchant for nursery rhymes and child assassins had set their sights on claiming Dick and turning him into their mindless zombie bird-themed killing machine. 

In all fairness, they did lead with the extremely persuasive argument of 'look we totally called dibs before he was even born, so.....step off??' 

Then they kidnapped him and attempted to turn him into their mindless zombie bird-themed killing machine.

Compelling argument though that may be, Dick's brothers are not impressed. They are, however, magical, hyper-competent and extremely petty slash vindictive.

All of which is to say, Tim turns the Court into a bunch of actual owls. And then Jason summons a giant murderous hawk-demon from another dimension that eats all the owls.

And then they wait for Dick to wake up from all the drugs the Court pumped him full of in preparation for The Ritual of Zombie Assassin Making. And Tim just has to ruin it, that asshole.

"You know, hawks aren't naturally the enemies of owls," Tim says out of nowhere. Well. Not out of nowhere so much as out of concern, because Tim's natural physiological response to being worried is to get pedantic.

"What," says Jason flatly. Which is his natural physiological response to Tim being. Y'know. Tim.

Tim shrugs, his eyes intent on their older brother, who is still making like Sleeping Beauty and sooooo gonna get razzed by them for that later, once the Worries and Anxieties have all exited stage right. "It just felt like you were going for a theme. Which is fine, I'm just saying, owls don't actually have natural predators. One might occasionally get killed by a hawk, but usually that's more of a territorial dispute and still pretty much an outlier in terms of statistics."

"Why would you even say that to me right now," says Jason flatly. Not asking, because its a rhetorical question and he's currently glaring the answer to it straight at Tim's back, and that answer is ugh you are such an annoying little shit sometimes.

Which is why when Dick groggily starts to come to, he's greeted by a soundtrack of:

"God, I'm so sorry, I'm just the worst for giving you information that you didn't have before, since clearly if you had you wouldn't have gone with a hawk!"

"Well what the fuck should I gone with, a demonic taxidermist? Like excuse me for being in such a rush to heap vengeance on the pretentious shits who kidnapped our brother, I didn't have time to go to wikipedia and figure out the most appropriate dramatic irony!"

"First off, why would you ever go to wikipedia as a source, we have literally had this exact argument several dozen times - "

"First off, are you seriously giving me bullet points right now. Seriously. Bullet points. Right now. That's a thing that's happening."

"You are such an infant. How are you five years older than me? I make one little critique and you bite my freaking head off - "

"What's happening?" Dick croaks out into one of the few synchronized pauses for breath. "Where are we?"

"The secret underground lair of an evil society of ornithologists who kidnapped you because your milkshake brings all the weirdos to the yard," Jason says crankily, still glaring at Tim.

Not that fuzzy, barely conscious but always guilt-prone Dick could possibly know that its not actually him Jason's ticked at. Tim face palms at his middle brother because what are bedside manners, clearly.

"A bird-themed cult calling themselves the Court of Owls pre-selected you to be turned into the general of their elite zombie assassin army," Tim recites quickly, predicting Dick's likely request for further information.

"Well that's rude," Dick frowns. He cracks open one eye experimentally, winces when even the dim lighting is enough to give his pounding headache a booster shot. Tries the other eye. Nope. Both eyes are in agreement. Light is the enemy of all that is good right now. Ugh. Definitely rude. He likes light. How dare someone incite this unforgivable betrayal from his BFF, light? "I don't think I care for their recruitment strategy. Although at least they wanted me to be the Boss Zombie Assassin I guess."

"Yes," Tim replies dolefully. "That does appear to be the silver lining here."

Despite their antagonism of thirty seconds ago, Jason snickers. They're nuanced like that.

"Well his usual priorities seem to be in place, so I think its safe to say we got to him before they could do any actual brainwashing," Jason says. "All in favor of blowing this popsicle stand?"

"Wait, there are popsicles?"

"No, there aren't popsicles in the evil cult's secret underground murder lair. Its a figure of speech, dumbass."

"Hey," Dick pouts. He coughs once, weakly, but Jason's eyes narrow in sudden suspicion of Milking It Syndrome. "Be nice to me. I was just kidnapped and almost made an Elite Zombie Assassin Boss and my head hurts and is all fuzzy and you know how I feel about popsicles. You shouldn't joke about them if you don't have any, that's just mean. But uh, should we be rushing? If the bad guys are coming back soon I do vote for the not being here option, like, just in case turning me into the Zombie Apocalypse is still on the evil cult agenda."

He would manage to latch onto the Elite and Boss part of that info dump, wouldn't he, Jason muses. What's the timeline for how long you have to express sympathy for your almost-brainwashed brother before you can yell at him for being insufferable about it? Is half an hour long enough?

"No, its fine," Tim assures their brother. "We uh....were slightly miffed about the whole kidnapping you thing, and so we were.....efficient? I guess you could say? About making sure they wouldn't do it again. I turned them all into owls."

"And then I summoned a hawk demon that ate them. You're welcome," Jason adds, not about to be left out. Even if he's going to have words later about being characterized as 'miffed.' The walking almanac knows more words in more languages than anyone in human history, pretty much, and he goes with miffed. The fuck, Timmy. The actual fuck.

"Aww, you guys, that's so sweet." Dick beams at them. Albeit at somewhat lower than his usual wattage. Then his forehead wrinkles slightly in confusion. "Why a hawk demon? Do owls not like hawks or something?"

Tim smirks at Jason viciously.

"I hate you with the searing intensity of a thousand suns," Jason tells his brat of a younger brother. "Also, gonorrhea."

[gosecretscribbles]

Forduary 2019 Week 3 - Forgiveness

Summary:

Stan and Ford get framed for a crime using Ford's invention, they get thrown in jail, and Filbrick decides to make Ford stop inventing...

This year's Forduary fics are linked like the chapters in a book! It'll definitely help if you read the first two works first, but here's a quick recap: Ford was bullied by Crampelter, Stan rescued him, but both brothers got hurt. The next day was Saturday, and they went to go work on the Stan O' War, where Ford ends up inventing an aerial bucket lift so they could help a decapitated ghost. This story picks up on the same day, right where the previous story left off.

Trigger warning: Threatening situation in a jail cell, parent bullying, some dissociation at the end.

HERE COMES THE AAAAANGST!

First fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Second fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000998

This fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001061

The rest of the day should've gone perfectly.

They'd recovered the coin from the seagull, which Stan was sure laughed maniacally at them the whole they'd chased it. Stan wanted to hawk it immediately and do some major impulse buying, but Ford pointed out that it would price higher if it looked clean, and anyway he still wanted to test it for ectoplasmic residue.

They stopped by the drugstore, the hardware store, and then the Juke Joint, so Stan could feast on hamburgers while Ford put together the equipment he'd need to run the tests. By then the electromagnetic sensor he'd put together didn't pick up anything from the coin, but Stan just shrugged and suggested they head back to the ship.

“You can just attach your gizmo-thing to the top of your crane, right?” Stan had asked. “I mean the guy's head sat on top of the mast for like an hour, that's bound to have left some juices in the wood.”

“Of course, that's perfect!”

“Yeah! I get half-credit if you discover anything though, right?”

They paid quickly and Ford all but dragged Stan out of the diner and down the street, talking a hundred miles an hour about potential discoveries and walking so quickly Stan winced at his bruised ribs as he tried to keep up. Ford could feel it in his ankle, too, but he was so excited he found it almost impossible to slow down.

So he was first to round the corner on Ashwood Boulevard – and immediately stopped short.

There was a Thrift Store across the street, and the side of it had been covered in bright blue graffiti. The words “STAN PINES AND THE FREAK” were written over the blue in bright yellow paint, complete with caricatures of their faces. Ford's crane was sitting to one side, spray cans littered around it, a red can still pinched in its grip. The store owner and several tourists had stopped by to stare at it.

Stan came up behind him. “What're you – oh, come on! Seriously? Are you frigging kidding me?!”

“But we left the crane at the beach!” Ford protested. “It was inside the Stan O' War! How did – who was watching –”

“GOTCHA!”

Something hard slammed into Ford's back and he hit the ground, hard, a knee pressed sharply into his spine. He heard shouting and a scuffle; he craned his neck to see Crampelter's thugs pinning Stan against the nearest wall.

“HEY OFFICER!” Crampelter's voice shouted gleefully. “WE GOT 'EM, THEY'RE OVER HERE!”

A police car pulled up to the curb and two solid-looking men stepped out, their badges glinting.

“Oh this jokester,” one of them grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Stan.

“Hey, I didn't do anything!”

“Said that last time, too, and this time the writing is literally on the wall. Alright kids, step aside.”

The first officer went over to Stan, pulling out his handcuffs. The second offer did the same, approaching Ford and grabbing his arm. Crampelter rolled off him, grinning as Ford was pulled to his feet.

“Wait, wait a second!” Ford gasped, his lungs still struggling to inflate. The cop's vicelike grip was making him sweat. “We've been at the Juke Joint for the last hour, you can ask the waitress, she'll remember my hands!”

“Your – geez!” The cop caught sight of his fingers and reflexively shoved him away. The sensor fell out of Ford's vest. Before he could grab it, the officer scooped it up. “The heck is this thing, some kinda nuclear weapon? You a mad scientist, kid?”

“No, just a scientist! I build equipment to test hypotheses, not to deface buildings!”

“So you didn't build that?” He pointed to Ford's crane, which had a visual design very similar to the sensor.

“I – well I did, but –”

“Turn around, kid.”

“Wait, they stole it from the beach, I built it because our ship –”

“Turn around.”

The cop spun him around and grabbed Ford's wrists. Ford heard him suck in his breath at the sight of both six-fingered hands. Crampelter snickered and his face burned. He glanced over and saw the other cop already dragging a handcuffed Stan back to the car. The struggle must have aggravated his ribs, because Stan was hardly fighting back at all. Nausea rose in Ford's gut. He looked down and saw –

“Wait, officer, wait! His shoes, look at Crampelter's shoes! There's blue spray paint!”

“'Scuze me?”

“It's not spray paint!” Crampelter said quickly. “It's – uh – dye! From clothing! I was dying towels for orphans!”

Stan snarled at him. “You think anybody'd fall for –”

“That's enough out of you,” snapped the cop holding Stan, and he shoved him into the backseat. “You know how long I've been waiting to catch you in the act? Now shut up. I don't want to hear another word out of either of you or I'll let you keep those shiny new bracelets when I put you in your cell.”

The second cop shoved Ford in next to Stan and slammed the door.

  Ford knew Stan had gotten himself thrown in jail cells a couple of times before. Once for putting poorly-made cardboard parking meters along the sidewalk on Main Street, and once for impersonating a dentist. It hadn't gone on his record, since Stan had been so young, but each time he'd come home bragging about how he was the toughest guy in the whole place, how he'd spent his time carving cigarettes out of the soap just so he could see the look on an officer's face when Stan pretended to smoke it. It made jail sound rather dull, a bit like the adult version of high school detention.

It wasn't.

The jail cell was well-lit and cold, with cement walls and floors, a stretched steel toilet with mysterious stains in one corner, metal bunks drilled into the wall opposite the door. There was a man in the cell, a hulk of a man in a bloody jacket sitting on the bottom bunk. His nails were thick and dirty and jagged.

The cop shoved Stan and Ford inside. The door clanged shut. Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

“D-don't we get a phone call?”

“Yeah you do. I'm gonna call your parents right now. Got your number memorized, thanks to him.” The cop nodded at Stan. “So sit tight and don't bother your babysitter.”

Ford swallowed hard. Ma was on the phone all the time. Which meant the police wouldn't get through for hours.

Thick Nails glanced up at them with eyes as ruthless as a cobra's. Ford shoved his hands behind his back.

Too late.

“'Srong with you, toothpick? You a freak?”

Ford pressed back against the wall and tried very hard to turn invisible. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back casually, like he was just waiting at the bus stop to pick up a hot girl. His arm pressed against Ford's.

Thick Nails narrowed his eyes and glanced at Stan. “What, he don't talk?”

“Sometimes. But I'm the one with the sultry voice.”

The man's lip curled. “You act cute with me again, you little punk, I'll beat the living daylights outta you.” He reached for his back pocket, took out a piece of a broken plastic knife, and began slowly cleaning his nails with it. Occasionally the broken edge of the plastic drew a thin line of blood.

“Stan,” Ford whispered. His brother's arm pressed slightly harder against his, just for a moment. Ford didn't say anything else.

  They waited for hours. There was a window at the top of the cell, and Ford marked time, watching the small bars of light inch across the scratched-up floor. Eventually twilight fell, then utter darkness. Extra lights turned on in the hallway. No one came to bring them any dinner, not that Ford was hungry. Eight, nine, ten o' clock – and still their parents hadn't come. Ford tried to work on Fermat's Last Theorem, but the broken knife kept flashing in his eyes like a sliver of death.

It was four in the morning when an officer finally came to the door and opened it. Stan had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep, head tilted back; the clang of the door startled him awake.

“Whazzat?”

The officer jerked his head at them. “Moved it, Pines. Your ride's here.”

Ford glanced at Thick Nails on the way out. The broken knife had disappeared. He waved almost cheerfully as they left, but the look in Ford's eyes turned his stomach to ice. He was glad when the door locked tight behind them.

The officer led them back to the lobby. Filbrick was sitting in one of the chairs, his arms crossed.

“Took you long enough,” Stan grumbled.

“Told you to shut up,” the officer said, without heat. “Mr. Pines, your two boys here –”

“We didn't do anything!” Ford burst out. “Pops, listen, I invented a crane for the Stan O' War and Crampelter stole it there was evidence on his shoes when they arrested us Stan and I weren't anywhere near the wall when it was –”

“I know that.” Filbrick grunted.

“You – what?”

“We knew you didn't graffiti the wall,” the officer clarified. “Meathead here mostly commits crimes for profit or petty vengeance, not to improve the local aesthetics. Plus we checked Crampelter's story. There were holes in it the size of Texas. We told all this to your father over the phone.”

“When?”

“Oh...” He glanced at the clock. “'Round 5 PM?”

“Around what?!” Stan shouted, just as Ford demanded, “Why didn't you let us out of jail?!”

The officer shrugged. “We were going to. Mr. Pines asked that we hold you a little longer to teach you boys a lesson, and frankly, with Mr. Pyramid Scheme pulling pranks left and right, I thought it was a good idea. 'Sides, it wasn't a real arrest.”

“We. Were. In. Handcuffs!”

“We took 'em off.”

“Let's go,” Filbrick said, and before they could say another word he'd grabbed an arm on each of them and was dragging them out the door.

  They drove home in silence. Ma was standing on the front porch, waiting for them, holding a mug of coffee in her hands.

“You boys alright?” she asked, as they walked up.

“Fine,” Stan snapped.

Ford didn't bother answering. He just stalked right past her and into the house. He heard her whispering furiously at Filbrick behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They'd still been left in that cell for hours. For no reason!

Whatever. It didn't matter. He'd read some of Sagan's early works, or maybe Tesla's published papers, that always helped him calm down.

He reached his room, stepped inside – and stopped short.

The bookshelf, the one that held all his research, the science journals, everything, was completely and totally empty.

The world turned white. His ears roared. Then suddenly he was standing in the kitchen yelling at his father.

“Give me my books back! Where did you put them?! I'm asking you where you put them!”

Filbrick's dark glasses flashed. “Watch your tone, boy.”

“I paid for every single one of those books with my own pocket money! You don't have any right to take them! Do you have any idea what those books mean to me? What it's like to be stuck in a place where people devalue and humiliate me at the slightest whim and the only shred of proof that I'm worth something is taken away while you left us to rot in jail!?”

Filbrick grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him. Ford didn't even realize Stan was in the room until he caught him, kept him from falling. Filbrick's bulk loomed in front of them like wall.

“Your stupid brain is what got you into this mess in the first place. I told you to get your head outta those books and man up. It's past time you started acting like a real Pines man. If you can't do that, then I'll do it for you.”

Ford wasn't sure what happened immediately after that. Only that his skin was cold and clammy, and there was something hard and metallic digging into his fingers. At some point he realized he'd left the house and was outside, checking through trash cans, his own, his neighbors', anything, working his way down the street. He must've been running at some point because his ankle was throbbing again.

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, dropping the metal lid he was holding. It hit the ground with a clang.

“Easy,” Stan said.

Ford looked around. Nothing felt real. He wasn't even sure what street they were on. At least dropping the lid hadn't disturbed anyone; all the houses remained dark. He heard waves and turned. The beach – this was Main Street, close to the Boardwalk, still along the beach. Of course he'd stay along the beach.

Stan was calling him. Ford looked without seeing at his brother's face.

“C'mon, Sixer talk to me.”

“What is there to say.” Ford's voice sounded funny, sort of rubbery. “He destroyed my books, didn't he? He wouldn't just throw them away. They're gone.”

“We can get more, alright? Grab a winter jacket, hit the bookstore, bet I could fit ten books under each arm. Alright?”

Ford didn't bother explaining that some of those texts had taken years to find, that some of the journals he'd collected were out of print. That in a town where he was devalued, ridiculed, humiliated for the very things that made him himself, those texts had been the one shred of hope he'd had that there was a community where he would one day be acknowledged. That there was a future he could envision, where likeminded people would not only recognize him, but accept him. In one night, his trust in his father and, symbolically, his own future had been ruthlessly destroyed.

“...scaring me. Say something, please.”

“I can't forgive him for this.”

Ford didn't feel like he was talking. He couldn't really feel his mouth moving. Stanley's face came in and out of focus. He couldn't feel his hands.

Stan squeezed his shoulders, looking worried. “Listen, Sixer –”

“I mean it, Stanley. I will never, ever forgive him.”

A/N: I was in a dark place when I wrote this, bet ya can’t tell ahahahaaaaaaa *dies*

[forduary]

Forduary 2019 Week 3 - Forgiveness

Summary:

Stan and Ford get framed for a crime using Ford’s invention, they get thrown in jail, and Filbrick decides to make Ford stop inventing…

This year’s Forduary fics are linked like the chapters in a book! It’ll definitely help if you read the first two works first, but here’s a quick recap: Ford was bullied by Crampelter, Stan rescued him, but both brothers got hurt. The next day was Saturday, and they went to go work on the Stan O’ War, where Ford ends up inventing an aerial bucket lift so they could help a decapitated ghost. This story picks up on the same day, right where the previous story left off.

Trigger warning: Threatening situation in a jail cell, parent bullying, some dissociation at the end.

HERE COMES THE AAAAANGST!

First fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Second fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000998

This fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001061

The rest of the day should’ve gone perfectly.

They’d recovered the coin from the seagull, which Stan was sure laughed maniacally at them the whole they’d chased it. Stan wanted to hawk it immediately and do some major impulse buying, but Ford pointed out that it would price higher if it looked clean, and anyway he still wanted to test it for ectoplasmic residue.

They stopped by the drugstore, the hardware store, and then the Juke Joint, so Stan could feast on hamburgers while Ford put together the equipment he’d need to run the tests. By then the electromagnetic sensor he’d put together didn’t pick up anything from the coin, but Stan just shrugged and suggested they head back to the ship.

“You can just attach your gizmo-thing to the top of your crane, right?” Stan had asked. “I mean the guy’s head sat on top of the mast for like an hour, that’s bound to have left some juices in the wood.”

“Of course, that’s perfect!”

“Yeah! I get half-credit if you discover anything though, right?”

They paid quickly and Ford all but dragged Stan out of the diner and down the street, talking a hundred miles an hour about potential discoveries and walking so quickly Stan winced at his bruised ribs as he tried to keep up. Ford could feel it in his ankle, too, but he was so excited he found it almost impossible to slow down.

So he was first to round the corner on Ashwood Boulevard – and immediately stopped short.

There was a Thrift Store across the street, and the side of it had been covered in bright blue graffiti. The words “STAN PINES AND THE FREAK” were written over the blue in bright yellow paint, complete with caricatures of their faces. Ford’s crane was sitting to one side, spray cans littered around it, a red can still pinched in its grip. The store owner and several tourists had stopped by to stare at it.

Stan came up behind him. “What’re you – oh, come on! Seriously? Are you frigging kidding me?!”

“But we left the crane at the beach!” Ford protested. “It was inside the Stan O’ War! How did – who was watching –”

“GOTCHA!”

Something hard slammed into Ford’s back and he hit the ground, hard, a knee pressed sharply into his spine. He heard shouting and a scuffle; he craned his neck to see Crampelter’s thugs pinning Stan against the nearest wall.

“HEY OFFICER!” Crampelter’s voice shouted gleefully. “WE GOT ‘EM, THEY’RE OVER HERE!”

A police car pulled up to the curb and two solid-looking men stepped out, their badges glinting.

“Oh this jokester,” one of them grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Stan.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”

“Said that last time, too, and this time the writing is literally on the wall. Alright kids, step aside.”

The first officer went over to Stan, pulling out his handcuffs. The second offer did the same, approaching Ford and grabbing his arm. Crampelter rolled off him, grinning as Ford was pulled to his feet.

“Wait, wait a second!” Ford gasped, his lungs still struggling to inflate. The cop’s vicelike grip was making him sweat. “We’ve been at the Juke Joint for the last hour, you can ask the waitress, she’ll remember my hands!”

“Your – geez!” The cop caught sight of his fingers and reflexively shoved him away. The sensor fell out of Ford’s vest. Before he could grab it, the officer scooped it up. “The heck is this thing, some kinda nuclear weapon? You a mad scientist, kid?”

“No, just a scientist! I build equipment to test hypotheses, not to deface buildings!”

“So you didn’t build that?” He pointed to Ford’s crane, which had a visual design very similar to the sensor.

“I – well I did, but –”

“Turn around, kid.”

“Wait, they stole it from the beach, I built it because our ship –”

“Turn around.”

The cop spun him around and grabbed Ford’s wrists. Ford heard him suck in his breath at the sight of both six-fingered hands. Crampelter snickered and his face burned. He glanced over and saw the other cop already dragging a handcuffed Stan back to the car. The struggle must have aggravated his ribs, because Stan was hardly fighting back at all. Nausea rose in Ford’s gut. He looked down and saw –

“Wait, officer, wait! His shoes, look at Crampelter’s shoes! There’s blue spray paint!”

“'Scuze me?”

“It’s not spray paint!” Crampelter said quickly. “It’s – uh – dye! From clothing! I was dying towels for orphans!”

Stan snarled at him. “You think anybody’d fall for –”

“That’s enough out of you,” snapped the cop holding Stan, and he shoved him into the backseat. “You know how long I’ve been waiting to catch you in the act? Now shut up. I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you or I’ll let you keep those shiny new bracelets when I put you in your cell.”

The second cop shoved Ford in next to Stan and slammed the door.

Ford knew Stan had gotten himself thrown in jail cells a couple of times before. Once for putting poorly-made cardboard parking meters along the sidewalk on Main Street, and once for impersonating a dentist. It hadn’t gone on his record, since Stan had been so young, but each time he’d come home bragging about how he was the toughest guy in the whole place, how he’d spent his time carving cigarettes out of the soap just so he could see the look on an officer’s face when Stan pretended to smoke it. It made jail sound rather dull, a bit like the adult version of high school detention.

It wasn’t.

The jail cell was well-lit and cold, with cement walls and floors, a stretched steel toilet with mysterious stains in one corner, metal bunks drilled into the wall opposite the door. There was a man in the cell, a hulk of a man in a bloody jacket sitting on the bottom bunk. His nails were thick and dirty and jagged.

The cop shoved Stan and Ford inside. The door clanged shut. Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

“D-don’t we get a phone call?”

“Yeah you do. I’m gonna call your parents right now. Got your number memorized, thanks to him.” The cop nodded at Stan. “So sit tight and don’t bother your babysitter.”

Ford swallowed hard. Ma was on the phone all the time. Which meant the police wouldn’t get through for hours.

Thick Nails glanced up at them with eyes as ruthless as a cobra’s. Ford shoved his hands behind his back.

Too late.

“'Srong with you, toothpick? You a freak?”

Ford pressed back against the wall and tried very hard to turn invisible. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back casually, like he was just waiting at the bus stop to pick up a hot girl. His arm pressed against Ford’s.

Thick Nails narrowed his eyes and glanced at Stan. “What, he don’t talk?”

“Sometimes. But I’m the one with the sultry voice.”

The man’s lip curled. “You act cute with me again, you little punk, I’ll beat the living daylights outta you.” He reached for his back pocket, took out a piece of a broken plastic knife, and began slowly cleaning his nails with it. Occasionally the broken edge of the plastic drew a thin line of blood.

“Stan,” Ford whispered. His brother’s arm pressed slightly harder against his, just for a moment. Ford didn’t say anything else.

They waited for hours. There was a window at the top of the cell, and Ford marked time, watching the small bars of light inch across the scratched-up floor. Eventually twilight fell, then utter darkness. Extra lights turned on in the hallway. No one came to bring them any dinner, not that Ford was hungry. Eight, nine, ten o’ clock – and still their parents hadn’t come. Ford tried to work on Fermat’s Last Theorem, but the broken knife kept flashing in his eyes like a sliver of death.

It was four in the morning when an officer finally came to the door and opened it. Stan had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep, head tilted back; the clang of the door startled him awake.

“Whazzat?”

The officer jerked his head at them. “Moved it, Pines. Your ride’s here.”

Ford glanced at Thick Nails on the way out. The broken knife had disappeared. He waved almost cheerfully as they left, but the look in Ford’s eyes turned his stomach to ice. He was glad when the door locked tight behind them.

The officer led them back to the lobby. Filbrick was sitting in one of the chairs, his arms crossed.

“Took you long enough,” Stan grumbled.

“Told you to shut up,” the officer said, without heat. “Mr. Pines, your two boys here –”

“We didn’t do anything!” Ford burst out. “Pops, listen, I invented a crane for the Stan O’ War and Crampelter stole it there was evidence on his shoes when they arrested us Stan and I weren’t anywhere near the wall when it was –”

“I know that.” Filbrick grunted.

“You – what?”

“We knew you didn’t graffiti the wall,” the officer clarified. “Meathead here mostly commits crimes for profit or petty vengeance, not to improve the local aesthetics. Plus we checked Crampelter’s story. There were holes in it the size of Texas. We told all this to your father over the phone.”

“When?”

“Oh…” He glanced at the clock. “'Round 5 PM?”

“Around what?!” Stan shouted, just as Ford demanded, “Why didn’t you let us out of jail?!”

The officer shrugged. “We were going to. Mr. Pines asked that we hold you a little longer to teach you boys a lesson, and frankly, with Mr. Pyramid Scheme pulling pranks left and right, I thought it was a good idea. ‘Sides, it wasn’t a real arrest.”

“We. Were. In. Handcuffs!”

“We took 'em off.”

“Let’s go,” Filbrick said, and before they could say another word he’d grabbed an arm on each of them and was dragging them out the door.

They drove home in silence. Ma was standing on the front porch, waiting for them, holding a mug of coffee in her hands.

“You boys alright?” she asked, as they walked up.

“Fine,” Stan snapped.

Ford didn’t bother answering. He just stalked right past her and into the house. He heard her whispering furiously at Filbrick behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d still been left in that cell for hours. For no reason!

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He’d read some of Sagan’s early works, or maybe Tesla’s published papers, that always helped him calm down.

He reached his room, stepped inside – and stopped short.

The bookshelf, the one that held all his research, the science journals, everything, was completely and totally empty.

The world turned white. His ears roared. Then suddenly he was standing in the kitchen yelling at his father.

“Give me my books back! Where did you put them?! I’m asking you where you put them!”

Filbrick’s dark glasses flashed. “Watch your tone, boy.”

“I paid for every single one of those books with my own pocket money! You don’t have any right to take them! Do you have any idea what those books mean to me? What it’s like to be stuck in a place where people devalue and humiliate me at the slightest whim and the only shred of proof that I’m worth something is taken away while you left us to rot in jail!?”

Filbrick grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him. Ford didn’t even realize Stan was in the room until he caught him, kept him from falling. Filbrick’s bulk loomed in front of them like wall.

“Your stupid brain is what got you into this mess in the first place. I told you to get your head outta those books and man up. It’s past time you started acting like a real Pines man. If you can’t do that, then I’ll do it for you.”

Ford wasn’t sure what happened immediately after that. Only that his skin was cold and clammy, and there was something hard and metallic digging into his fingers. At some point he realized he’d left the house and was outside, checking through trash cans, his own, his neighbors’, anything, working his way down the street. He must’ve been running at some point because his ankle was throbbing again.

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, dropping the metal lid he was holding. It hit the ground with a clang.

“Easy,” Stan said.

Ford looked around. Nothing felt real. He wasn’t even sure what street they were on. At least dropping the lid hadn’t disturbed anyone; all the houses remained dark. He heard waves and turned. The beach – this was Main Street, close to the Boardwalk, still along the beach. Of course he’d stay along the beach.

Stan was calling him. Ford looked without seeing at his brother’s face.

“C'mon, Sixer talk to me.”

“What is there to say.” Ford’s voice sounded funny, sort of rubbery. “He destroyed my books, didn’t he? He wouldn’t just throw them away. They’re gone.”

“We can get more, alright? Grab a winter jacket, hit the bookstore, bet I could fit ten books under each arm. Alright?”

Ford didn’t bother explaining that some of those texts had taken years to find, that some of the journals he’d collected were out of print. That in a town where he was devalued, ridiculed, humiliated for the very things that made him himself, those texts had been the one shred of hope he’d had that there was a community where he would one day be acknowledged. That there was a future he could envision, where likeminded people would not only recognize him, but accept him. In one night, his trust in his father and, symbolically, his own future had been ruthlessly destroyed.

“…scaring me. Say something, please.”

“I can’t forgive him for this.”

Ford didn’t feel like he was talking. He couldn’t really feel his mouth moving. Stanley’s face came in and out of focus. He couldn’t feel his hands.

Stan squeezed his shoulders, looking worried. “Listen, Sixer –”

“I mean it, Stanley. I will never, ever forgive him.”

A/N: I was in a dark place when I wrote this, bet ya can’t tell ahahahaaaaaaa *dies*

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: The Beginning of Wisdom - Chapter 3 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Leonard Snart (Len) & Leonard Snart (Leo), Len Snart/Mick Rory, Leo Snart/Mick Rory, Len Snart/Mick Rory/Leo Snart, Leo Snart/Ray Terrill, Len Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: In which Leonard Snart is twins.

(the life and times and loves of Len and Leo Snart)

—————————————————————————————————–

Life went on.

Even if Marie was gone, she had left them Lisa, and for Lisa they would give up anything. Any comfort, any safety, anything.

Giving up school was certainly easy enough.

Len proposed that they swap out days of attendance, so that CPS didn't look too closely at them, and Leo agreed. It did not seem like a great sacrifice, especially since it would only be a short while: they could care for Lisa, yes, but only long enough to ensure that she was taken care of elsewhere.

Their father knew very well what drew the attention of the police; he would never let them stay home to guard her.

A friendly neighbor agreed to take her into the little daycare she ran from her home; the Leonards watched her like a hawk for weeks before conceding that the neighbor's friendliness was just that, and concealed no darkness.

(They still came for random inspections at least once a week. The babies and children there all loved them dearly, a reaction neither of them could explain, but which they repaid with kindness and laughter whenever they could.)

Their grades suffered that year, marked down for poor attendance, but their test results easily overcame that deficiency and they advanced to the next grade without any serious difficulty.

As always, they presented the best overall set of grades (Leo's, usually, but only by a little) to their father, and as far as Leo was concerned, that was all.

Len did not think the same.

A thought had come to him, an idea stealing in through the dark one night as he lay awake, comforting himself by watching his brother's chest rise and fall, and he could not rid himself of it.

He could not, because he could not share it with his brother.

"What do you want to do when you're older?" he asked one day after school, as they played with the babies at the daycare.

"Are you asking the babies?" Leo laughed, even as the older children all shouted out their answers, throwing out suggestions like "fireman" or "spaceman" or "dinosaur researcher".

"No," Len said, after they had finished praising each child's choice as excellent and brilliant and innovative and certainly within their capacity to achieve. "I meant you."

Leo blinked. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Neither have I," Len said, his voice grim as he thought of all the reasons they had not given the future any mind: too tired, too scared, too concerned with surviving today to think about tomorrow. "You should."

Leo hummed noncommittally, but Len persisted.

After months of nagging, and trips to the library to research careers, and visits to career fairs at the high school where Leo complained that they were the only under-ten-years-olds present, Len finally got his answer.

"I don't know, okay?" Leo exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "I might be interested in psychology, or maybe fashion design, but I won't know for sure until I go to college and figure out what I'm good at. Isn't that what everyone else does?"

"Yes," Len said. "That's fine."

"You're being stranger than usual," Leo told him. "Won't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"I had an idea," Len said. "I'll tell you about it, but not now."

It was the first secret he ever kept from Leo.

After that, their divergence began to accelerate. Leo began to focus on his artistic skills, which Len did not care about, and on the higher world of literature, which Len was bored by, and the intricacies of biology, which Len understood but did not love. Len, instead, focused on math and the science of angles, physics, where the answers at the lower levels were simple and the questions at the higher levels were fascinating, but which Leo thought were a gigantic boring waste of time given the presence of calculators.

They both spent hours playing with Lisa, but Leo taught her shapes and the alphabet, while Len taught her sleight of hand and how to measure time.

Leo became more confident in himself.

Len, who had always been confident, became even more protective.

Their father called on them more and more for jobs, but now, instead of splitting them equally, Len took the lion's share.

"Are you sure?" Leo asked, frowning at his brother. He found that he valued his father's esteem less now that he was assured the affection of both his brother and little Lisa, and even a friend or two outside that circle: he was sociable and well-liked but not reliant on others, by his own preference, and having a support team was invaluable to him in staying that way.

"If you don't mind," Len said. He valued his father's praise as much as ever – even more so, now that he had more people to protect, as his father's goodwill was a necessity in protecting them. He did not tell Leo about the extra bruises he obtained when he took responsibility for Lisa's childish mistakes: he had learned by now what it was to be a burden on others, and also that once you keep one secret, it was easier to keep the next. "Your literature essays are a lot more tricky than my math proofs, after all."

"I suppose," Leo said, screwing up his nose. "But are you –"

"I'm sure," Len said firmly.

And so Len went on the jobs, and Leo stayed behind.

Len even liked some parts of the work he did with his father: he was deemed old enough to listen in on the planning, although his suggestions were appropriate only when phrased as innocent questions, and he was extremely proud of his skills, his light fingers and his quick mind, all aspects that helped him be a successful thief.

Those parts, he liked.

Other parts, he hated.

Other parts –

He came home to Leo one day, shaking, for once seeking comfort instead of offering protection.

"What happened?" Leo demanded.

Len shook his head. He had no words: no words that could convey the depth of hurt in his heart, the violation of his soul, that had come when his father had forced him to pull the trigger of a gun when it was pointed at another man – to deliberately end another life before its time.

Another life that lived and breathed and loved; a life that might have had brothers and sisters, too, a Leo and Lisa of their own now left bereft; a human life.

Leo could not understand, and Len never wanted him to.

He had never felt so alone.

Leo got the story out of Len eventually, despite Len's best efforts to repel him. Just as Len had gloomily foreseen, the knowledge caused Leo great pain, for he could do nothing to help assuage the agony in Len's mind. He could do nothing but offer his presence, alive and breathing, Lisa at their side doing the same.

That was still some comfort. Len took that comfort to heart, and it broke through the icy barriers he had erected to hide himself from what he had done.

And so Len wept: an act their father had forbidden as weak.

When their father called for his Leonard, hours later, drunk and laughing and joyous at a job successfully accomplished, Leo went to him in Len's place so that he would not see the tear tracks on Len's face.

And in Len's place, Leo was given a beer and a slap on the back in congratulation for 'becoming a man', which was all the recognition that their father saw fit to bestow upon the incident.

Leo drank the beer, and thought to himself for the first time that perhaps he hated his father.

After that, Leo insisted upon going on the jobs more often again, especially once they became more and more frequent, taking days out of school instead of merely nights and weekends.

Len agreed to relinquish some of the jobs to Leo, secretly relieved to have some time to rest from the thankless never-ending task of pleasing his father, but he insisted that Leo only take the ones where no firearm was involved.

They fought over that, a real fight like they hadn't had in years, but Len held his ground and stood firm. His hands were already bloody; Leo's were not, and he intended for it to stay that way.

Eventually Leo conceded, though he never stopped worrying over it.

Years passed.

Lisa grew up, and grew talented, and there was nothing her brothers would not give her: Leo his presence at her ice skating practices, cheering her on, and Len his growing skills at picking pockets and cracking ATMs in order to pay for the increasingly expensive lessons.

Years passed, and there were more men who needed shooting.

Len's hands stopped shaking after each kill. Instead, they started twitching – not just after a death, but all the time: a nervous tic, a compulsion, a need to move, to act, to steal.

Leo read books from the library about it, books about anxiety and trauma and negative reinforcement and feedback loops, and came up with the word kleptomania, but for all the knowledge he gained on the subject, he could not stop it from being true.

Len was sick, now, in a way Leo wasn't, and that was something they had to deal with.

Leo thought that at least they would deal with it together.

Len did not agree, but it would be some time before Leo found that out, for Len had grown very good at keeping secrets where he thought he needed to.

But all secrets come out in the end.

After one year that had been particularly bad – job after job, night after sleepless night, their father intent on winning a promotion within the foul ranks of the Family to which he had sold himself and using his child (his children) ruthlessly to get there – Leo finally discovered the oldest of Len's secrets.

Of course he did.

It was inevitable: the truth of it was in their final report cards for the year, of which they only ever presented their father with one.

"You're failing out," Leo said numbly, staring at the numbers that marked his brother's test scores.

"My test grades are fine," Len said, not disagreeing. "But not enough to overcome the issues with my attendance."

Leo nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the rows of zeros and no-shows, looking desperately for some sign of unreachable hope, some signal that this wasn't happening.

He saw one zero that makes his eyes go wide, and he jabbed at one of them with a frown. "That was my day," he said, the slightest shade of triumph in his voice: for if they had made one mistake, then surely they might have made others – perhaps even enough others enough to save Len even from such a miserable performance. "I went on that job that day – remember? I remember, because you had to borrow my textbook."

"Yeah," Len said. "I remember."

"But you're still listed as a no-show that day!"

"Yeah," Len said again. "Because I told them I was you."

Leo stared at his brother.

"Yeah," Len said a third time. "I lied and I said I was Leo on the days I went in and you didn't. I did your tests, I did your homework, I did your class participation –"

"But why?!" Leo demanded. "You – you're Leonard –"

"So are you," Len said firmly, his eyes glinting angrily. "Maybe I got that name first, being the oldest, or maybe I didn't; who even knows at this point? It doesn't matter. It's both our names now. But more than that, you're not just Leonard. You're the Leonard that's going to do good."

"What?"

"You're going to college," Len said, that long-ago decision spilling forth at last. "Just like you said you would: go to college and see what you're good at. You're gonna be good at so many things, and you're gonna pick one, and then you're gonna have a real job. A real life. Dad only wants one of us for his jobs, after all, and that's going to be me."

"But –!"

"I'm the one who's a kleptomaniac," Len said, his voice bitter – not at Leo, who he looked at only with love in his eyes, but at the necessity of this whole pretense. Bitter, not at his father whom he never blamed as much as he ought, but at the life he saw as inescapable. "I'm the one who's a murderer. You're going to make it straight, Leo, with no crime at all. You're going to be good."

"I don't want to make it straight!" Leo cried out. "Not without you!"

"I'll always be there," Len said, "when I can."

"That's not good enough! Why can't I be like you, huh? Why can't I –"

"I don't want you to be like me," Len said. "I want you to be better."

"You haven't given me a good reason to stick to the straight and narrow," Leo said, crossing his arms as he glared.

"You'd be able to adopt Lisa when you turn eighteen," Len said promptly. He'd had longer to prepare for this conversation than Leo. "But only if you have no record."

Leo faltered.

He’d always said and thought that there was nothing they would not do for Lisa.

But –

This?

"You don't have a record either," Leo said, but it's weak and he knew it. "Not yet, anyway."

"The police have always let me go when they catch me because I've been small and had good grades," Len said. "I'm still small, but with my grades like that? They'll ship me off to juvie next time they nab me."

Neither of them pretended that he wouldn't get nabbed. It was practically a feature of some of their father's plans, to leave Leonard behind to take the fall.

It might not happen on the first job Len ran, nor even the tenth, but it would happen eventually. And then Len would be taken away, painted with the brush of the bad kid.

The bad twin.

And once one was marked as good and the other as bad, they would be separated with all the force that society could bring to bear upon them.

"Why didn't you just split the days with me?" Leo whispered.

"Because we were out of school enough days to fail us both," Len told him, his voice gentle but sure and certain. He had not made the decision lightly, but make it he had, and he would defend his decision with all the force of his mind brought to bear upon it. "I did the math."

Math was always Len's talent, but Leo could do it, too. He couldn't dispute Len's conclusion.

"I don't want you to," Leo said.

"I don't want to, either," Len said, and that plaintive plea reached him where nothing else would have: his cold mask of calmness broke into tears that beaded up in his eyes, tears that he would never let anyone but Leo see. "I don't want to be like Dad, Leo. But it seems like one of us has got to be, and I'd rather it be me."

"Not like Dad," Leo, who hated their father now more than ever before, a searing hatred that burned at his heart until it was as cold as stone, said. "A thief, yes. Maybe even a murderer. But you will never be like Dad."

Len pulled Leo into his arms the way he always had, and Leo clung back to him like he always had, and they curled up in their single bed the way they always had.

Neither wanted to think of the day when those easy expressions of affection might not be so easy to come by.

There was no more switching, after that.

Len stayed home, caring for Lisa and catching up on his sleep, brushing up on his skills – his light fingers to take things, his quick eyes to spot traps, his ready mind to plan escapes. He ran small, simple jobs of his own. The jobs were intended to be practice runs, preparation and learning to develop his skills for the real events, but they also usually produced enough money to buy Leo and Lisa some small treats.

He did not get caught on these jobs of his own.

Leo, in turn, threw himself into his studies, forcing himself to become better at math rather than relying exclusively on his brother's talents, pushing himself to excel more and more in what he was already good at, and devoting himself to extracurriculars he had previously ignored: extracurriculars he might need to cite on an application to college. Len had sacrificed so much so that Leo could make it, and, to honor that sacrifice, make it Leo would. And he would make it no matter what obstacles, whether poverty or his birth in the slums, stood in his way.

And though they knew the day would soon come to divide them, they tried their best to stay together.

They were careful, risking more of their father's anger than usual to ensure that his plans worked well, that he would not be caught, that Len would not be caught, but in time the day came that all of their caution was for nothing.

And, as Len had predicted, this time the grim machinery of justice did not have mercy: the child with the good grades and the ex-police father could be pitied and forgiven, but the child who was rapidly growing into a delinquent, whose grades were bad, whose father had been kicked off the force?

He got none of that mercy.

Len was taken, first into police custody where he was too terrified to speak, and then, when they tired of that, before the juvenile court. There, the judge sentenced him to a stint in the local juvenile hall.

Local, here, meant all way over in Keystone, since the actual local one had been shut down as a result of some sort of allegations of misconduct and abuse.

Len thinks that he would have preferred the abuse, if it meant that he could stay closer to home.

After all, he was used to abuse, wasn’t he?

He wasn’t used to distance.

"It's only a few hours away, taking the buses," Leo said that night, watching as Len packed away what little clothing he could spare. His knees were pulled up to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them, and he felt far colder than the room actually was. “We could visit, me and Lisa.”

“If you leave for that long, Dad will notice,” Len said. He’d already done the math, his faithful companion which never lied to him, and had already started to armor his heart against the loss of his other half for months on end.

If Leo wasn’t there to protect his heart, he’d have to do it himself.

He hopes he can.

"Dad won't notice that I'm still there at all," Leo said. He’d done some thinking of his own on the subject. "I'm planning on staying with a friend from school instead. You know how he thinks there’s just one of us, mostly; I'm hoping he thinks you're just gone, and doesn’t call for me."

"Lisa –"

"I'll still take care of her. Not like Dad will bother to, or notice that she’s still getting fed on time. I’ll make it a big secret and tell her she can’t tell Dad I’m around. She’s a good kid; it’ll be fine."

"Okay."

“We’ll call you,” Leo said. “And we could come to visit you – maybe on a long weekend – if Dad’s away –”

“If that happens, then okay,” Len said, and smiled. He did not believe they would be able to come, but he appreciated the promise.

Leo did not smile. He knew how hard it would be for them to make it. "There will be phone calls."

"Every day," Len promised.

“You protect that stupid heart of yours.”

“I will.”

“No new friends.”

“Leo…”

"And you have to promise not to die in there."

"I promise. It's only three months, Leonard."

"A lot can happen in three months, Leonard."

"Take care of Lisa," Len said, because he could not deny that truth. "And yourself."

He left the next day.

Leo stayed at home, curled up with Lisa with him instead of Len so that he could sleep, and wondered how Len would survive.

He wondered, too, if being away so long would teach Len how to live without them.

He wondered what Len would do with that knowledge.

As Leo thought this, Len arrived at juvie.