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in-tua-deep · 5 years ago

Note

Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion.

But Five doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane!

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory.

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist.

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong.

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing.

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks.

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is.

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major.

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood.

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned.

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails.

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being.

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and -

“Five?”

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and -

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for -

(Five didn��t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever.

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut.

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long.

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and -

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up.

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble.

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments.

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin -

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona.

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake.

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

#unviable au #tua au #Anonymous #far tua long #the umbrella academy #long post #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus ben five and vanya are going to make up team apocalypse #five might be a ghost #but he's also a poltergeist #and also thirteen #ben says 'i am your mother now' to five #to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with #five CANNOT interact with people only objects #he isn't sure why #living people i mean #ben is a cuddler and five is touch starved and that's that #klaus thinks it's very very cute #but also tragic #also he keeps getting dragged into saving the world shenanigans #when he could be doing LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #klaus might be a bit grumpy #ben is unsympathetic #five can and will throw things at klaus #vanya is just. very confused #but also happy because five is?? back?#the family bugged klaus about five's ghost for years

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years ago

Text

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 6

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 1,988

Trigger Warnings: None really, homelessness?

A/N: Shit! This chapters later than I wanted it to be! Since I've been back to work my schedule has been all fucky. Usually I try to post every friday but...lol. Anyways, If you like my work, don't be afraid to interact! I love hearing from you guys! Also check out my Wattpad for my original works, and my Patreon if you wanna support me further!

Enjoy!

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Toshinori watched from the doorway of what he once called home. He watched men in police uniforms, suits and ties, and underground heroes, rush through the apartment. Now living exclusively on campus, the apartment felt like a grim reminder of your absence. Your mother and Xavier poured over pages upon pages of eyewitnesses and anything else that could give them a clue.

Unlike the last time the heroes found and raided The League, there were no signs of known members. Meaning they were either being more careful, or they were no longer in Musutafu. He shuffled into the room, sitting down on the couch and looking outside to large windows onto the city below. Suddenly, the phone rang.

Everyone froze. Heads swiftly turned. Was this news of your disappearance? Had you been found? Detective Tsukauchi was the first to move. Slowly picking the receiver, and placing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, yes, who is this?" A scratchy voice asked.

"I am Detective Tsukauchi. Who am I speaking with?" His voice was firm and demanding. A dark chuckle came from the other end, sending a chill down the poor mansion spine.

"I think you know who I am, detective." Another laugh rattled from Shigaraki's chest. You watched him from the other line. Everyone sitting patiently around him as they watched him on the phone. You sat beside him, hands placed on either side of you on the couch. Anxiously waiting for your turn.

"Can I-"

"Shh." He hushed you gently, putting a finger to his lips before they broke into a wide smile.

"You see I just called because someone here has a little message for you. It's family business you see, would All Might be available to talk?" He pulled the phone away before letting loose another laugh. The room jumped and coiled in uncontrollable laughter. Like a group of kids making a prank phone call.

"Shigaraki...I swear if you lay a finger on her I'll-"

"Hold on one sec, she's right here. Y/N?" He pulled his attention away from the phone and smiled at you as he handed it over. You took it and gently pressed it to your ear.

"....Dad?"

"Y/N! Are you alright? Have they hurt you?"

"No...No I'm fine actually." Shigaraki watched you with a clever smile stretched across his face. He leaned back against the couch, resting his head in his hand. Clearly very proud of himself and the torment he caused.

"Where are you?"

"I don't know actually. It's like a repurposed office building I think. I don't know where it is, all the windows are boarded up. They brought me by car."

"By car?”

"Yeah, I don't really know what they're up to. I mean, I do, I just... I don't know they do things weird." Shigaraki's smile slowly started to fade as you critiqued. When you looked up and saw his expression, you felt compelled to respond. "What? You do." You told him. He shrugged you off.

"You sound...alright." Your father said, confused and concerned.

"I guess I am relatively okay. They feed me and clothe me and no ones been really that bad to me yet so...I'm okay I guess."

"She's lying!" You heard a voice chirp from the other line. Your stomach turned. Xavier was there?

"Y/N! Y/N tell us where you are!" Your mother demanded as she wrenched the phone away from your father. Her voice was jarring and rough. You tensed up.

"I...I don't know where I am. I told him it’s like an old office building I-"

"Can you tell us anything else? What do you remember from the car ride?" She was frantic now.

"Nothing. I had a bag over my head the whole time. This place has some electricity and some running water but it’s not to the whole building? It's old... it's been years since anyone has been here-"

"Anything else!?" She cried. You paused.

"No...I...I'm fine otherwise." Shigaraki made a 'speed it up' motion with his hand. "I...I have a message for Detective Tsukauchi, could you put him back on?"

"Let me talk to her!" Xavier begged.

"I don't have much time, please, Detective-"

"Y/N! Baby!" You cringed at the sound of your boyfriend’s panicked voice.

"Hey, babe. I'm fine." You tried to brush him off.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I'm alright, I guess. A little tired. Scared." You had to remember the last part.

"I can't imagine what you're going through without your meds."

"Oh. Yeah. My meds. I'm losing my mind." You said in a flat, sarcastic tone. It made the others snicker.

"Just remember your breathing exercises we did, okay? Do them with me now, okay? You ready?"

"Yeah-uh-"

"One, two, three, in.........out. Okay? One, two, three IN! . . . . . . . . OUT! One, two, three, in . . . . . . OUT! Okay? Do them with me. Remember to align your chakras!" He went on like this for a solid minute. Unable to contain yourself, you covered your mouth with your hand and held the speaker out so the whole room could laugh at him. Even Shigaraki, who turned away to laugh joined in on the fun. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You smiled through.

"We're coming to get you, alright? Just hang tight a little longer."

"Uhuh."

"Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, sugar muffin."

"Right. So Detective Tsukauchi."

"Okay, yes, here he is...I love you!"

"Love you too." You chuckled, your hand playing with the flesh between your brow as you laughed at him.

"Y/N." Finally.

"I just, have a message from the villains." You told him with an awkward smile.

"Go ahead." You looked up at your captor.

"They say if All Might doesn't come forward soon, they won't be giving me back." You watched his smile widen. "They want the world to know the Heroes' failures. It's either me or the truth. Your choice." And with that, you hung up the phone. The room fell into a satisfied and relaxed state. A sense of victory went around the room as smiles and giggles greeted you.

"Who the hell was that last guy!?" Toga shouted as she laughed.

"Oh, that was Xavier, my boyfriend."

"Ooh! Boyfriend! How Sweet!-Gross!" Twice added.

"You've never mentioned a partner before, Y/N." Mr. Compresss added. You shrugged.

"I guess I forgot. Being kidnapped and all."

"You've been pretty forgetful latley haven't you? First your meds, now this. Anything else you care to share with us?" Dabi questioned.

"Not that I can think of. I guess sometimes I forget I should be scared nowadays." You paused before turning to look back at Shigaraki who wore a satisfied grin as his eyes wandered around the floor. Clearly dissociating. “Shigaraki?”

"Hm?"

"...what happens to me, if they don't comply?"

"They will."

"Are you going to kill me?" He rolled his eyes.

"No. I'm not going to kill you. Especially now with that quirk of yours."

"But-"

"Are you really questioning why I'm not going to kill you?" He took the phone in his hand and dusted the object. He stood and started walking out to another room.

"I just...aren’t I a pain in the ass to keep around?" You asked the room. A few answered with a nod, others stayed silent.

"Come on. I wanna show you something." You stood and followed him down the hallway. You followed him through the building, through the parts that were inhabitable and rotting. He took you up a few flights, up to the very top just before the roof. There was a large room filled with old desks, chairs, computers, etc. He stopped in front of a large window that overlooked the city. "Come here." You stood beside him and looked out the window at the people walking around. You saw an old alleyway that housed a few homeless people as they went about their day. A few passers-by ignoring them and rushing past. "What do you see?"

"A group of homeless people. Why?"

"And what about him?" You watched as a man, well dressed and well-kept walked down the street. He starred at a man who begged him for money, then laughed in his face before walking away.

"Some asshole." You noted. He smiled.

"The world is littered with them. And it’s the heroes that encourage it, they demand it. They created a world where we steal and rob and ignore each other assuming someone else will take care of it. Heroes created a society that requires you to assimilate, to obey. If not, you're thrown away like trash." He grumbled as he watched the homeless man.

"Is that...what happened to you?" You asked. He didn't answer. "What about her?" You watched as a woman passing through stopped to give the homeless man some change.

"What? You think she deserves a pat on the back for the bare minimum?" He snarled.

"Huh?"

"What good does that one act do, huh!? He'll have a meal and live to see another miserable day. She solved a minor problem, she's not doing any real good. And she doesn't deserve anything for it."

"But-"

"It doesn't matter unless you do something to change the bigger picture. She can give all the change she wants, take him in for all I care. But she only helps one person! She won't do any real good unless she demands change for them! Unless she actively works to make sure people like him don't end up like that!" You took a few steps back as he yelled.

"Alright! You don't have to yell at me!" You barked, the tension in the room coming to a climax when your quirk pulled a few chairs and tables closer to you. Making a horrible screeching sound as it did. "I understand." You finally spoke when the two of you had calmed down.

"If All Might doesn't come forward and tell the truth, you'll be working with us."

"What? Why? My quirk is dangerous and volatile. I have no control, I'd be practically useless."

"That's why your training starts today."

"Training?"

"What? You wanna be a slave to your quirk forever? Because if you wanna go back on your meds, you can. But I doubt you want to keep living in fear of yourself." You thought for a second before answering.

"I...I don't know..." He slowly started to approach you.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore. I can help you."

"How? You hardly have control of your own emotions as it is. You think you could help teach me to control mine?" You chuckled.

"If my research is right, this isn't about control, it’s about distribution."

"Distribution..."

"If you could learn to express your emotions properly. Let yourself be free from the fear of your own quirk, you could learn to repurpose that energy, and gain anatomy."

"Those disgusting bastards!" Xavier growled under his breath as his nails dug into the sleeve of his button-up. He rattled with rage in the corner as others worked. Your mother paced back and forth, spewing theory after theory.

"She sounded...fine..." Toshinori said in disbelief.

"Clearly she's traumatized beyond repair!" Your mother declared.

"Everyone." Another detective called. The room fell silent. "I think you should hear this." Pressing play, the sound of your recorded voice played out.

"In......OUT! One, two, three, IN.........out." From the other line, the sound of soft snickering and laughter could be heard. Your laughs being the loudest.

"Is she, laughing?" Your father asked.

"She's laughing...with them," Xavier observed.

"What!? Laughing? A reflex! She's disturbed! She's hysterical!" Your mother shouted.

"They're turning her," Xavier said softly. "They're corrupting her...without her meds she's left defenseless and scared. They're taking advantage of her good nature!"

"We got it." Detective Tsukauchi declared.

"Got what?"

"Well, it was difficult considering it was a prepaid wireless phone but...We've got her location."

Taglist:

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

@kamenoyaki @hentaiqween101 @skzero-99

#mha fanfiction #mha x reader #lov #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki smut #Tomura Shigaraki x All Might!Daughter!Reader

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alwaysmychoices · 4 years ago

Text

Contamination

Here is my Chapter 10 rewrite. I hope I did it justice.

Synopsis: When Charlie makes a chilling discovery about Senator Farrugia’s illness, lives are put at risk...

Chapter 16 of the “With and Without” series

Previous Series: “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 4.7k

Rating: T (language)

That morning, the sun was bright. The world was good, and Charlie was happy.

Ethan woke her with a kiss and an offer of coffee, but she refused and bought a steaming cup from the coffee shop a block from the hospital. Before her shift began, she cozied up in Kyra’s hospital room, and together, they laughed like they didn’t fear it would be the last time.

“So, what did you get up to last night?” Kyra asked, eyeing Charlie’s latte with envy, “And if you tell me you watched Netflix from your bed, you need a better life.”

“I actually didn’t go home last night,” Charlie admitted cheekily, and to her delight, Kyra reacted with scandalized enthusiasm.

“You’re kidding?” Kyra leaned closer, eager for every little detail, “You have to tell me everything.”

Charlie would have – even who it was with – but she didn’t get the opportunity. Her gossip stood no chance against Bryce’s authority.

“It’s time,” he announced, knocking on the door belatedly with a solemn stare. He was smiling, but it was more resolved than happy. He was ready for surgery, not goodbye.

Charlie promised herself not to cry, so she hid her flash of concern in the act of straightening her white coat. Her eyes were sad as she took Kyra in, but she refused to say a word. Kyra was ready, and Charlie didn’t feel right adding any crack in her armor. She loved her friend enough to take a deep breath, smile, and hug her good luck.

“Give me all the sordid details tonight,” Kyra demanded.

“Every single one,” Charlie affirmed, “Even the parts you don’t want to know.”

This made Kyra laugh, and that was enough for Charlie to feel compelled to keep her promise.

As Charlie walked out of the hospital room, she came to Bryce’s side, and in all seriousness, she said, “Take care of her, Lahela.”

“If I mess up, the only person that will hate me more than you would be me,” Bryce gave a single, concerned glance in Kyra’s direction. It was the only one he allowed himself for the day, and once it was over, he assumed his bravado by adding, “Besides, look at me. I don’t even know how to make a mistake.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, but she felt safer with Kyra in his care. She wished them both a bit of final good luck and a goodbye, and then she walked out.

And as she walked away, despite everything, she felt light – like everything would be okay, like this story had a happy ending.

It was the last time she would feel that way for a long time.

Charlie started her shift with rounds and scheduled her patients so that she could squeeze in time to check on Kyra’s surgery from the observation room. She wasn’t even thinking of Senator Farrugia when Danny approached her.

There wasn’t much to think about. After Charlie discovered his lead poisoning, her most difficult patient was finally off the agenda. Instead of bothering the diagnostics team with questions or observations, he stayed in his hospital room, making calls, taking interviews, and answering emails. He was so busy trying to monopolize the publicity that his difficulty manifested in his refusal to follow his treatment plan if it didn’t suit his schedule for the day. Listening to him work made Charlie’s stomach churn. Every day he stayed in Edenbrook was another day that he exposed a new, corrupt facet to his personality. More than once, Charlie and Ethan stood outside his door, wondering if stealing him from Mass Kenmore was worth it.

“Charlie?” Danny approached her, a test result in his hand, “I have the results from Senator Farrugia’s paint samples. You marked them as urgent.”

Charlie briefly abandoned her charts to accept the results, but when she read them, her face twisted with confusion.

“Are you sure these are the right results?” Charlie asked distractedly, reading the paper over and over again as if it would change the contents.

“I double-checked,” Danny affirmed, wearing a matching look of bewilderment, “They’re right… I don’t know how, but those paint samples tested negative.”

That wasn’t the answer Charlie wanted, but she trusted Danny too much to doubt him.

If it wasn’t the paint, what could be poisoning Senator Farrugia?

Charlie thanked Danny. With a heavy sigh, she collected her charts and walked to the diagnostic’s office for further research.

So much for her break…

Charlie didn’t know where to start, so when she logged on to the computer, she ran a general search for the senator. She flagged anything about trips or notable habits, looking for any clue of contamination. Most of this information had already been studied during their preliminary search, but at that time, they weren’t looking for lead. Even under the new lens, she was able to throw out most of the news stories.

The further she went, the less clear it became.

Senator Farrugia lived in a new, high-end condo in D.C. The area had no reported lead problem, and the building was too new for lead paint or lead pipes. She had already called up all of his regular haunts in the capital, and none had any helpful information. His life in Massachusetts was limited to his office, his home, and the farmer’s market he frequented for publicity. None were insightful.

She searched the internet until Farrugia’s name had the title Mayor preceding it.

Charlie stumbled on a story from a decade earlier, when 3 died from lead pipes poisoning the water supply. She made a note to test his pipes in his home, and she clicked on the article for more information.

That was when she saw the photo of 13-year-old Jonathan Perry. The young boy was smiling for his school picture, all braces and excitement. He was the youngest victim of the lead poisoning, and there was something eerily similar about his pale skin and thin features. And the name…

Perry.

Like Travis.

On a hunch, Charlie googled Jonathan Perry. There wasn’t much to find – his old social media page, which was full of messages of condolences after his death, a news story about his middle school soccer team’s victory at state, and an obituary. She clicked on the sparse obituary. In lieu of flowers, the family requested donations for the local children’s hospital. They also used the same school photo as the newspaper article used.

Charlie skimmed the article, making an effort to remain doubtful.

But she knew.

She knew before she even read the last sentence.

“Jonathan Perry is survived by his parents – Deborah and Samuel Perry – and an older brother, Travis.”

Charlie’s blood ran cold, and she read the sentence again.

The second the thought – the horrible, terrible suspicion – crept in, Charlie jumped up and rushed to the senator’s room.

Charlie spent years reliving these moments. All in all, it was ten minutes at most, but they were replayed so many times that each second was accounted for. Charlie found every “what if” until they each tortured her.

What if she hadn’t rushed in? What if she had waited? What if she called Ethan and asked him what to do?

What if she just let Senator Farrugia die?

Would her friends still be alive?

Would she still be haunted?

But on that day, at that moment, she had none of those thoughts.

She just needed to get to Travis before something terrible happened.

Outside of Senator Farrugia’s hospital room, she found Bobby Gunderson, the security guard, talking with Raf about his upcoming move to Brazil. They were happy. They wouldn’t be once she spoke to them.

“Have you seen the senator’s assistant? Travis?” Charlie interrupted their conversation frantically. She looked between them both for a reply, though Bobby was really the only one who knew Travis. He had been assigned to Senator Farrugia off and on for the last week, and his dislike for the senator was matched by his disinterest in Travis. He never laughed at Bobby’s jokes, and Bobby took that as a sign of flawed character.

Bobby, understandably, was the one to answer Charlie. He looked startled by her, and she began to wonder if her anxiety was visible.

How could it not be?

She was on her way to confront an attempted murderer. She wasn’t prepared for this. She was terrified of being too late but also facing him at all.

“He’s inside with the senator,” Bobby replied, hoping that he would get an explanation in return. She didn’t immediately offer one.

“The weasel-looking guy? He was acting weird,” Raf chimed in, equally concerned by Charlie’s strange demeanor. He knew her well enough to know that he had never seen her like this.

He’s inside.

Charlie’s heart rate accelerated. The blissful morning turned sour, and every passing second felt more serious, the consequences direr. The stakes were higher now. Charlie felt young and inexperienced as she tried to do all the right things.

Nothing prepared her for this. She suspected a man of poisoning her patient. This was a man she had known for weeks, one that she had commiserated with over long nights working on Farrugia’s case. He seemed friendly and helpful. Now, he was dangerous. And he was on the other side of the door, potentially close to another murder attempt.

The moment she heard that Travis was inside, she started walking to the door. Panic clouded her vision until all she saw was Travis and the senator and that door. Turning to Bobby, she said, “Bobby, we need to call the police for a suspected poisoning and attempted murder of a public official.”

Bobby’s face dropped, and wordlessly, he joined her as they barreled for Senator Farrugia’s door. He radioed the call in immediately.

As Charlie twisted the handle, she didn’t notice Raf walk in with them. For a long time, she wondered if she would have stopped him if she would have noticed, but she likely wouldn’t have. And even if she had told him to stay away, he wouldn’t have listened.

The hospital room was calm and quiet, save for Ed Farrugia’s typing on his keyboard. Danny was at the end of the bed, perusing Ed’s chart and making notes in the top corner. Travis was closer to the senator, standing right next to Ed’s bed as he fished through a backpack Charlie had never seen before.

Once the door opened, Charlie’s anxious energy flooded the room, and all three looked to the group in surprise. Everyone was looking at them, but Travis’s eyes stayed on Charlie.

“Dr. Greene?” Danny asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“What’s going on?” Farrugia echoed, pausing his typing.

Charlie didn’t look to either of them because she never dropped Travis’s stare. She watched realization dawn on him, and his brown eyes filled with understanding. He almost seemed to revel in it, like he wanted to stop hiding. Like a curtain falling to reveal the light, cruelty was exposed, and it made Charlie shiver.

At that moment, she had no doubts about Travis.

She knew he was guilty, and she knew he was dangerous.

“Mr. Perry, we would like to speak to you. If you come with us, we can resolve this quickly,” Bobby’s voice was authoritative now. It was a little intimidating, even. Travis didn’t flinch.

“Dr. Greene, are you sure?” he was still looking at Charlie.

She felt disgusted by his attention. He made the question seem intimate, like they were in on some big secret. Never had her name sounded so vile.

“Officer Gunderson asked you to step away from the senator, Travis,” Charlie was firm and her gaze resolved. Travis’s face hardened.

“Why?” Ed asked incredulously. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, and he certainly didn’t like the tension in the room. He had a virtual interview in fifteen minutes, and he didn’t need the distraction.

Travis knew that he had been discovered, so with unreserved harshness, he turned to his long-time boss and answered, “Probably because I’ve been poisoning you.”

As angry as he looked, Travis seemed relieved with his admission. Ed gasped and instinctively jolted away from his aide as he mumbled a weak, “W… what?”

Bobby moved towards Travis just as Ed decided to get away from him. While the senator scrambled out of his bed and hurried towards the door, Bobby held out his hand, expecting to apprehend the young man as he said, “Alright, come with me…”

Travis didn’t even look at Bobby. All he saw was Farrugia running for the door.

In a wild panic, Travis reached inside of his bag to retrieve a black canister, and he brandished it as a weapon, pointing it to each and every person in the room as he demanded, “STOP!”

Everyone obeyed.

They had never seen a canister like that, but the way Travis held it commanded fear and trepidation. It appeared sinister, even from across the room.

Travis looked at them all but mainly Ed as he screamed, “Stand back! I mean it!”

Farrugia, who had almost escaped before Travis’s threat, took one cautious step in the direction of his aide. He didn’t come too close because he wanted the option to run. With his hands up in a pleading gesture, Farrugia urged Travis, “Travis… think about what you’re doing. Please…”

“Think about what I’m doing?” Travis repeated with disbelief, “What do you think I’ve been doing for all these years? From the moment we met, I’ve only been thinking of this.”

Travis waved the canister in Ed’s direction, eyes growing hard as his finger curled around the trigger.

“Travis!” Charlie interrupted, startling him just enough that his grip on the trigger lessened.

She couldn’t hear her thoughts for her heartbeat. She hardly remembered how to speak, let alone what to say. Her eyes kept drifting back to the canister, which was still dangerously aimed in her direction. She felt it watch her, like it was preparing for something horrid.

She felt everyone watch her.

And as Travis granted her his attention, the pressure prickled at her skin.

“This won’t bring your brother back,” Charlie said gently.

“You think I don’t know that?” Travis scoffed, “I will never get my brother back. I’ve lived with that since I was fifteen, and that knowledge destroyed my family. It destroyed my parents, and it destroyed me.”

His finger was back on the trigger, his hand shaking with the concentration needed to keep from pulling it. One slip and they would all find out what made Travis so confident in his weapon.

“Travis, let’s talk about this,” Charlie begged, refusing to look at the canister and instead looking for some sliver of humanity left in her opponent. If she could just find the right words, she could end this.

She could save everyone in this room.

She truly believed she could. Charlie believed in the world. She believed that tragedy and pain had an end. She believed that happy endings could be found if you worked hard enough.

She believed she would walk out of that room traumatized but otherwise unscathed.

She was wrong.

“No,” Travis refused, almost laughing at her, “There’s nothing to talk about. If I leave this room, I’m going to jail, which will be the end of it. And Dr. Greene, you don’t know the details of this story, but I’ll tell you how it ends. Ed Farrugia doesn’t survive.”

Travis surveyed the hospital room. He eyed Farrugia, who was just waiting to be out of his line of sight so he could run. Then, he looked to the four bystanders who had wandered into his plan.

“It’s unfortunate that four others will have to die as well,” Travis mused.

“It doesn’t have to end this way,” Charlie was shaking. Something was breaking inside of her. Maybe it was hope that they could leave this room, or perhaps it was faith in all that was good in the world. She begged for his humanity, but it felt too distant. “Please, you don’t want to hurt us. You don’t even know us. Travis, we have nothing to do with this. And you know you’ll regret it. Please.”

Travis offered a sympathetic shake of the head, “Charlie, you didn’t have to do this. You could have let him die. You know who he is. You know what he does. You know that his policies kill people. Don’t you see that you’re complicit? Not just in what I’m doing but in what he does!” Travis frowned in disgust, “You could have stayed quiet!”

“I couldn’t do that,” Charlie managed, fear gripping her so tight that even small words were shaky and uncontrolled.

She had lost control of herself. She had lost him, too.

Travis shrugged, “I hope your conscience is enough for you, then.”

Everyone knew they were in a final hour, that whatever was coming was so close that it breathed down their neck.

That was why Bobby stepped forward.

“Dr. Greene is right,” Bobby asserted, “Come with me before anyone gets hurt.”

And this was what Charlie lived a thousand times over – until she recounted the sound of Bobby’s step on the linoleum towards Travis and the inhale of Rafael to her side as he held his breath. It was never any less painful to experience the moment before it all unraveled. At best, it was numb. Today though, it was blisteringly agonizing.

Bobby reached for Travis, but his grip wasn’t strong enough. Travis pulled free, and without a thought or a word, he pulled the trigger on the canister. An aerosol gas released in a puff in Bobby’s face. There was a horrible, aching strangling sound as Bobby fell to his knees. He coughed violently, choking on the gas and his own breath. He gargled and thrashed in pain until he was on his back.

Charlie moved towards Bobby, but Danny made it there first. Instinctively, he pressed his fingers to Danny’s artery in his neck. An oily sheen covered Bobby and spread to Danny’s hands.

“Charlie, he’s going into cardiac arrest!” Danny yelled, already beginning the chest compressions.

They didn’t have time, and they didn’t have the equipment. Charlie belatedly realized that she was screaming into the hall for equipment, but she never finished the sentence. She was running to Bobby when she came face to face with Travis, who wielded the canister in her direction. She froze, the words dying on her lips.

“At least I’m not the only one with blood on my hands,” Travis sneered, and he began to pull the trigger.

In the split second before the gas was released, Charlie couldn’t move. There wasn’t time to run, not that she really thought to. Her vision was clouded with tears, but she could see the barrel pointed at her. And for it was worth, she accepted her fate.

She didn’t want to die, but she knew she would.

And for her last thought, she wished she had told Ethan that she loved him.

It wasn’t her last thought, though.

“Ahh!” Charlie cried as she was shoved to the side. She fell to the floor in an uncoordinated heap, and she looked up just in time to see Raf tackle Travis to the ground. They landed with a heavy thud, and Raf scrambled for the canister.

What followed was blind panic.

Gas filled the room as they fought for the canister. It spilled out of their grasp, and spinning in the middle of the room, it coated everyone but Charlie with a layer of oil. Charlie coughed as it infiltrated her lungs, burning and stabbing as it went.

Danny frantically tried to resuscitate Bobby as Raf fought to subdue Travis. Charlie, coughing through the mist, caught Farrugia sprint out of the room and heard Travis scream in response. The scream was guttural and garbled, and it was the worst noise she had ever heard.

Clambering to sit up, Charlie looked around the chaos and tried to find the place to help, but she couldn’t. She was startled still, watching as everything fell apart.

“What was that?” Raf demanded, slamming Travis against the wall.

“I don’t know!” Travis pulled free, only to vomit into the trashcan. Raf raged until he was consumed with a cough.

Danny’s efforts to save Bobby grew weak as both Bobby’s situation grew worse and Danny’s strength gave out. Danny pulled his hands away, examining them, and he breathlessly expressed his horror, “My… my hands are covered… I’m-I’m covered.”

Charlie shielded her eyes from the sight, tears streaming down her face as she hid from the terror and distress of her dear friend.

Her gaze landed on the door, and she knew what she had to do. Crawling on the linoleum, Charlie’s back was to the plight, but she felt it every second. It consumed her. It cemented her and demanded everything until she could give nothing. She couldn’t feel it now. She engrossed herself with her mission and shoved her trauma and her pain and her fear and her guilt out of her mind.

Charlie reached the door just as Ethan could be seen in the window. He walked towards the room with the innocence of a man who didn’t yet know that the world was ending.

Charlie wanted to run to him. She wanted him to save her.

But instead, she slammed the door closed.

Ethan’s confusion settled into surprise and concern, and with each step, he felt it mount. By the time he reached the door, he was terrified. He watched Charlie’s face – stained red from tears and eyes bloodshot. She shook, and he saw her ragged breath as she struggled against a burning cough.

And he pulled on the door handle, but she was holding it shut.

His Charlie.

His Charlie is not okay.

He pulled on the door harder, demanding to be let inside. He had no reasonable thought, only a visceral instinct to protect her and save her from whatever horrors were inside.

“What is going on?” Ethan pulled even harder, but she focused all of her strength in holding that damn door shut, “Let me in, Charlie!”

“Shut down the wing,” Charlie ignored the pain in his eyes. She ignored the way he stared. She ignored that he loved her, and she pretended she didn’t love him to spare herself.

If she opened the gates now, she didn’t know what would come out, and she didn’t know if she could do what needed to be done.

“Charlotte!” he jiggled the handle desperately, banging his hand on the wooden door like it might give way if he tried hard enough.

“Travis has tried to kill the senator with an unknown gas. We have no idea what it is, but Farrugia escaped,” Charlie felt empty as she tried to stay calm. Calm meant ignoring everything, yet she cried. She hesitated, and she almost cracked. She almost fell into the pit and lost herself in the sorrow as she said, “Bobby went into cardiac arrest after getting a blast of it to his face. Danny and Raf have been sprayed with it, and I breathed it in.”

Ethan stopped jiggling the handle, his hand slack.

He didn’t want to understand.

He wanted to break the fucking door down.

“We can’t risk it getting out of this room,” Charlie hadn’t lessened her grip on the door handle. She wasn’t sure if she could. She was bonded to her station. It was all she could do to maintain control.

It was all she could do to try and save someone.

Because the someone didn’t get to be her, or Bobby, or Danny, or Raf.

But it could be Ethan. It could be anyone on this hall.

She had blood on her hands, but it stained less if she could help someone else.

Ethan’s world slipped through his fingers, but he watched her instead. Everything – nor rather nothing… it was gone.

And he ached. He burned. He suffered.

He couldn’t remember kissing her in bed this morning and slipping her out of his apartment before his dad woke. He couldn’t remember making dinner with her or wandering Boston with Charlie on his arm and Jenner on a leash.

He only saw her now. Crying. Sick. And pushing him away.

“You’re right,” Ethan whispered breathlessly and helplessly.

He was broken, and she couldn’t look.

A sob was building in her chest – a body-wracking, heartbreaking, life-changing sob. She swallowed it and fought the air to keep breathing.

In the room, Danny and Travis were vomiting. Raf comforted Danny and glared at Travis. Bobby, perfectly still, was alone now.

Charlie found an air vent, and in it, she found her next distraction. With her back still turned to Ethan, she pointed to the vent and said, “Raf, I need your help to seal that!”

She opened every cupboard until she found plastic and tape, and Raf found a pair of scissors for her to cut it to size. Raf offered her a boost, and he lifted her up to tape it off. Once he let her down, she came face to face with him, and to her surprise, she wanted to scream at him.

She couldn’t believe how fucking irresponsible he had been! What the fuck did he think he was doing endangering himself like that? Why did he have to save her? Why?

But Danny was wheezing, and Charlie didn’t yell at Raf.

Charlie fell to Danny’s side as he leaned back against the hospital bed. His face was ashen white, and every breath was labored and pained. He tried to speak, but the effort was too hard. He only managed to say, “I… I don’t feel…” He paused, and his head fell back.

“It’s okay, Danny,” she whispered and took his pulse. It was weak and slow.

A lump formed in Charlie’s throat, and she squeezed Danny’s hand as she repeated, “It’s okay, Danny.” He weekly squeezed her back.

Charlie had to look away. When she eyed Bobby, she was on the edge of collapse. She felt everything and nothing, and one felt dangerously close to consuming her. Yet, hesitantly, she crawled in his direction.

Before she even touched him, she knew she wouldn’t find a pulse.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t heartbroken when it wasn’t there.

Raf followed her, and after a diligent attempt to find Bobby’s pulse, he grimaced.

They sat in silence, too many words to say to even begin speaking. The finality and grief were palpable.

They hadn’t saved Bobby, and they never would.

Charlie covered her mouth with her hand, holding her breath until the world might make sense again. It never did, and she exhaled in defeat.

Her limbs felt heavy, like a thousand atrocities now sat on them.

She was convinced that the world would never seem the same.

And she wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She couldn’t yet. Maybe not ever.

“Did you get much on you?” Raf asked finally, his eyes still on Bobby.

“Not much,” Charlie answered. She didn’t ask about Raf because she knew he was covered. He was relieved she didn’t mention it.

Charlie looked back to the window, where Ethan was on the phone. Behind him, she could see patients and employees evacuate, and she tentatively met his gaze. Face twisted with sorrow, Charlie nodded solemnly in Bobby’s direction.

Ethan understood, and it knocked the wind of out him.

Bobby was a good man. A colleague and a friend.

And he had been exposed to the same thing Charlie had.

His rookie. His Charlie. No.

Ethan pulled the phone away from his ear, and approaching the glass, he announced that the CDC was on their way.

“You’ll be okay, Charlie,” he promised, and trying not to panic, he affirmed, “All three of you. You’ll be alright.”

He said it because it had to be true.

It had to be.

He couldn’t lose Charlie, not like this. She couldn’t leave him when he’d just found her. This kind of thing doesn’t happen. And it doesn’t happen to her. It doesn’t!

And it won’t. And it won’t hurt her!

Anyone else but her.

He didn’t care if it was the senator. He was sad if it was a colleague. He was pained if it was a friend.

But it wasn’t her.

He didn’t know how to breathe. He didn’t know how to talk. He knew how to work, and he knew he needed to save her. That had to be enough.

His darling, wonderful Charlie.

He told her that she would be alright because it had to be true.

But Charlie didn’t believe him.

note: I probably should have spent more time working on this chapter, but it came out in one emotional sitting so I decided to share it.

tag list:

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#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices #choices stories you play #open heart 2 #angst

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joeyglowy · 5 years ago

Text

Bad Study Habits ft. Miya Twins

In which the Miya Twins learn not to waste your time when they are the ones that asked for help. That, and that their necks are surprisingly quite sensitive.

(Call it a commemoration for Miya Osamu finally having his character designs introduced, even if it’s the fucking laziest but most beautiful thing I’ve seen all week)

Miya Atsumu x Reader, 1500+ words Miya Osamu x Reader, 1700+ words

(I promise, I love them, almost equally)

Miya Atsumu

“Why do I need ta know Avocado’s number? Unless he’s down to help a brother getting blue balled by his own girlfriend, tell him I’m not interested.”

“It’s Avogadro’s number and for once in your life can you not think with your dick? We’re not here to have sex; I’m here to make you pass your chemistry test so you don’t get another detention for slacking off in class!”

For the past eighteen minutes, you had been using your middle and index finger to rub circles into your temple, a vain attempt to soothe the hammering headache that jabbed your eyelids each time Atsumu opened his mouth.

When your boyfriend had come to your door, ‘begging’ you to help him with chemistry, you found it pleasantly endearing. For all the faults to which Miya Atsumu had—for which there were many—he had unfortunately perfected the art of looking just sheepish enough that it became adorable while still bristling his feathers like a proud peacock that just made you want to pull his chubby cheeks. He was the naughty puppy that still had his ravenous canines punctured in your favourite lita boots with his tail tucked between his legs. He was that one bad kid in every class who fooled around but all the female teachers doted on him anyways because he was charismatic in that childishly infuriating way that made them lower their standards when he finally put in the effort.

Miya Atsumu, put bluntly, is a godforsaken brat.

“[Name]-chan! My chem teacher’s threatenin’ me! He said if I fail one more quiz I’ll have to sit through at least three detentions just, doin’ I don’t know, symbiosis! You gotta help me; you’re my girlfriend, aren’tcha?”

Yet, you somehow fell for this idiot anyway.

Enamoured with his honey-lemon eyes, you decided not to tell him that what you were doing was in fact stoichiometry and symbiosis is actually a biology term. But with the way he had grabbed your shoulders, for an inexperienced lover like yourself, it was more than enough to trigger a visceral reaction that caused some internal organ to clog your throat. His subtle guilt-trip did not go unnoticed but with your brain short-circuiting, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you had dumbly nodded, cursing your inability to deal with intimacy and members of the opposite sex as you allowed him to barge into your home.

Since he was always practicing, you thought it would be a chance to do something that couples do. Using your infinite knowledge collated from various fanfictions and shoujo manga online, you had constructed a seemingly infallible plan to make the most of your time with Atsumu. It involved having every excuse to stare at him without being teased for it and if anything, you would be in the rare position of the teaser, playfully pointing out his mistakes to which he’d probably pout and whine about before undoubtedly, once you were done, he’d demand a reward. Enter obligatory make out sesh. Which of course, was more than welcome in your book. You were a simple girl and he had cultivated excellently curved muscles from his years of volleyball, sue your transparency.

There was just one chink in your perfectly polished armoured plan.

Atsumu was a brat above all else. A horny one.

Tutoring him was like trying to make caramel for the first time.

At first, you think it’s going well. You’re simmering the white sugar, careful and attentive, determined to make it a success. Yet, as the browning starts to come in from the edges, a funny aroma that was not the scent of sweetness but one of something being grossly burned beyond recovery did you realise just how taxing the job was. Before you knew it, it was like having your kitchen on fire, the ignition source being the abomination that is Miya Atsumu.

As Osamu would say, “His mental age regresses by five years when he’s playing. . . but it plummets by ten when he’s, god forbid it, studyin’.”

If he wasn’t whining, he was trying to stroke your legs with his spider fingers under the kotatsu, creeping up your thigh only to be smacked away by your own hand to which he’d just go back to loudly whining. He had the attention span of a five year old and the attitude of a twelvie that equalled a near migraine for you. Least to say, you were far too annoyed to be turned on now so you had abruptly gotten up in a fit of annoyance, told him you were going to drink some water and left him in the living room.

You sighed, the water only granted a moment’s worth of reprieve as you headed back to the living room to see his honey coloured mop of hair from behind. Your eye twitched when you looked from behind to see him doodling an avant-garde penis on the page. Lovely.

He still hadn’t noticed you peering over his shoulder so you took the chance to admire the back of his head, watching how his hairline faded out from beneath his undercut, the roots of his old hair still left their stain. You wondered if his neck down ever got cold, with the constant exposure and all. The longer you stared, the more you felt your stomach lurch, toying with a lingering thought that just might get you what you wanted after all.

In a swift movement, with your lips gently planted on the supple flesh, beneath his hairline, you caressed the skin tenderly. Your lips quirked upward to hear a squeak from your boyfriend who had shuddered violently, his shoulders shaking as his penis drawing gained an unexpected gradient slope, his pen streaking in a straight line across the page. You chuckled into his neck; nipping at it playfully as your hot breath caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. Pleased with the pinkish hue that spread across the skin like paint, you pulled away as Atsumu snapped his head towards you, moon eyed.

Although you may have burnt the caramel, it looks like you’ve found some hidden strawberries to snack on instead.

You watched the way his pretty blush flourished to his cheeks while he looked visibly affronted by your sneak attack. “Wh-what do ya think yer doin’!?” he spluttered on the spot, his hand flying to his neck as if you had just bitten into it. You wanted to lick your lips at the thought before you narrowed your eyes sternly, trying not to let a wolfish grin slip through the cracks.

“I don’t know about you but personally, I despise wasting time, don’t you ‘Tsumu?”

You drummed your fingers on the kotatsu’s surface, slow and pronounced. His golden eyes zeroed onto them in anticipation. You licked your lips. All these food metaphors made you realise just how starved you are. Atsumu being someone who had always been observant, seemed to pick up on your hunger as well, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, as he glanced up at you from under his lashes, anxious. You turned back to the paper, almost nonchalant, as if you weren’t aware of his clenched fists and tensed thighs.

“Yet, you seem to be taking advantage of my generosity, good boyfriends shouldn’t do that ‘Tsumu. You’re a good boyfriend, aren’tcha?” you drawled lowly, as you started glancing at your nails using your other hand, viciously using his guilt-tripping tactic from before.

Atsumu looked positively famished. His brows twisted up guiltily, that sheepish, puppy look on his face once more. Still, you could see his eyes shining too bright, still thinking that it’d go his way if he played nice. He was a mischievous imp that was a little too used to getting what he wants. You decided you weren’t going to fall for it this time.

“[Name], I didn’t--”

“Oh, but you did,” you sharply interrupted him and he winced. Your heart throbbed and as much as you loved teasing him, you did want this to end with him pinning you to the couch so you smiled softly. “Why don’t we finish studying, yeah? Then you can make it up to me.”

If Atsumu wasn’t getting blue balled before, then he certainly is now. He had no idea how the situation began to drip with sexual undertone but with the unbearable heat coursing through him, he could only nod helplessly, at your mercy. For the remainder of the studying session, while it had become increasingly harder for him to stay focused with his raging hormones going haywire, he clung onto every single word that fell from your mouth like it was a lifeline as the incomprehensible scribbles on the page finally morphed into numbers and words that he could understand.

You grinned victoriously to see the eager look Atsumu would get in his eyes, awaiting your praise and what he thinks is his reward once you had both finally gotten through the content. He really is just like an overzealous, whiny puppy that wants his treat. Well now, this will most certainly result into an exciting night for you, just as you had planned.

You smirked triumphantly.

‘All according to keikaku.’

Miya Osamu

“So, do you know how to use Avogadro’s number?”

“Mm? Avocado?”

You sighed. “No, can’t you stop thinking about food for a second, it’s Avo—Osamu!” you yelped, seeing your boyfriend barely stirring from the nest he’s made with his arms as he blinks blearily at you. The sleep in his eyes quite nearly breaks open every dam with the unparalleled force that is your love and affection and ability to just gush about how adorable this man is for hours and yet, you are forced to restrain yourself. As much as you adore Miya Osamu, he is unfortunately, just as much of an idiot as his brother—yet strangely manages to get within a range of 1 to 5 per cent higher than him on every test.

Osamu lets a little smile slip. “Avosamu? I thought it was Avogadro.”

You offered him a hard glare before deflating into the kotatsu, just like he did. He perked his head up to hear your muffled groans, his lips quirking up at how cute you sound. “Osamuuuu, you need to study for the test tomorrow! It’s worth a third of your grade!” you exclaimed, erupting from the cocoon of your arms to pout at him. Osamu grimaced just a little because every move he made was with restraint as he guiltily looked away.

“I know but m’tired,” he mumbled into his arms, burying his nose into them. “From practice,” he clarified with a grumble that faded out into something roughly incoherent. You had to stop yourself from smiling at his petulant tone of voice as you sighed, shaking your head. He was a kid, just like Atsumu too apparently.

“I know but . . .” you trailed off to see him in a sleeping position. You shook your head, unable to stop your smile this time as you gently raked your fingers through his hair. A sound rumbled from his chest and you snorted, of course only Osamu would be able to do the human equivalent of purring. His face resurfaced from the blanket of his arms as he leaned into your touch, sighing contently. You found your hand devoured by the dishevelled mess that was his hair as you fondly played with his matted grey tresses. Your love for this man warmed your heart beyond words as you could feel yourself relaxing—you blinked.

Wait a minute.

The way you ripped your hand out of his hair was like a splash of cold water to the face as he startled, bewildered by your forceful action as you glowered at him. “You fox!” you hissed. He blinked innocently in return as you shook your head adamantly. “I will not be an accomplice to your illicit sleeping endeavours! Nor the reason why you fail tomorrow’s test and have to stay back to do catch up work! Atsumu and the team would never let you live it down you know!”

You clutched your beating heart with a flush on your cheeks. ‘Ahh, that was close! He’s much more convincing than I thought but I won’t be fooled!’

You offered him another glare before sighing. You’d done that too many times this session you now realised. “Look, I’ll get you some tea, okay? But after that, you have to stay awake! You’ll be in big trouble if I come back and you’re asleep,” you softly reprimanded him although he looked completely unabashed as he nodded.

“Mm’kay.”

You were only gone for five minutes but when you had returned . . . he was definitely in trouble.

You gripped the steaming cup of hot tea by the handle; careful not to brush your knuckles on the actual cup so you don’t burn yourself and spill it like a waterfall. Carefully, you placed the cup of tea out of reach so he doesn’t knock it over before you plopped onto the cushion next to him, pouting. Really, coming over, begging you to help him study, only to fall asleep in front of you, what a tease. . .

“Jeez, I was hoping for some, fun times after we finished up too~” you whined to yourself, letting your chin fall to your fist before a movement other than your own caught you from the corner of your periphery.

You narrowed your eyes. His lashes flickered like a butterfly’s wings, elegant yet silent. Then nothing. You drummed your fingers slowly on the kotatsu’s surface before aptly concluding that your, apparently, asshole boyfriend, was faking his slumber. Your Sleeping Beauty was actually a Beast in disguise so it would appear. You pursed your lips, blowing air from your nose like a puffing, huffing steam train. He wants to play like that, does he?

You swiftly rose out of your seat before standing behind him, your shadow devouring him. You just might too if Osamu doesn’t tread carefully. You eyed his fraying hairline, beneath his undercut. You wondered how sensitive it would have now become, what, with it being constantly exposed to the frigid air all the time. A smile coyly played to your lips, as you hummed kittenishly before leaning down.

Tenderly, you placed your lips to the back of his neck, giving it a quick peck.

You looked up, gauging for a reaction but received none. You smiled daringly. Perhaps your dear boyfriend needs a bit more persuasion. You pressed another kiss into his neck. And another one. Accompanied by another. Before you began peppering his neck in searing kisses, from the roots of his hair to the brim of his collared uniform. You watched in delight as the skin gradually increased in heat while you continued to reap the benefits of your ravenous exploits.

You could feel the skin beneath your lips beginning to tremble but since he still wouldn’t reveal he was awake. . . it might be time to go exploring. You hovered over his ‘sleeping’ frame as both your hands slithered under the arms pillowing his face. They coiled around his waist and you found yourself licking your lips, suddenly feeling rather hungry. You could see him beginning to squirm yet he was adamant not to budge. A wolfish laugh escaped you as you plunged your fingers under his shirt to dance on his stomach before your teeth finally met his skin.

The last thing you heard was a sharp gasp that sounded like absolute heaven before your world turned on its axis. Your back met the ground with a thud and you suddenly realised you couldn’t move. Casually taking a quick glance, you craned your neck to see two calloused fists handcuffing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You looked up to finally see a panting Osamu, glaring at you.

“Oi.”

You blinked.

Osamu was every shade of grey. Every expression, every movement, although a little rough, it was done with minimal effort and restrained. He was always in control and always composed. He was a little slow and sluggish like that, but he could become a dynamic black, cool and confident whenever you pluck just the right strings.

Which is why it was all the more endearing to see a lovely peach pink speckling on his cheeks.

“What,” he breathed out, as if he had just sprinted in a marathon, you could see his torso trembling, “do ya think yer doin’?”

You watched him placidly and couldn’t stop admiring the pretty colour on his cheeks. You wanted to capture it, burn it in your memory until your final breath. You wanted to paint it, to smear the red all over his grey. You licked your lips.

“I told you, didn’t I? That you would be in trouble if I came back to find you sleeping. So pray tell, what were you doing, ‘Samu?” you purred beneath him, a playful smirk crawling to your lips as you felt a pooling sensation bubble in the pit of your stomach.

Osamu’s eyes widened and even though he had overcast a shadow on the both of you, you could tell that his cheeks had darkened. He suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights and he could no longer meet your gaze. With an agonisingly slow movement, he tentatively released one of your wrists to feel the back of his neck.

“D-did you . . .?” he stammered, not able to bring himself to finish the question.

Picking on what he was insinuating, using your left hand, now free, you roughly grabbed him by the collar before pulling him down. He yelped like a puppy that had lost its footing, as he lurched forward like a tidal wave, almost tumbling over, quickly stamping his free hand to the ground, stopping him from knocking his head into your as you curled your finger under his chin.

“No, I didn’t. I warned you though, right? If you try to fall asleep again when I’m teaching you. . .” you slur, tracing your finger, teasingly let it tap on his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes now wide awake and focused only on you as you grinned hungrily.

“I’ll decorate your neck with hickies until you’ve got a goddamn necklace of bruises.”

Osamu shuddered as he fell to his elbows, barely holding himself up. Feeling his voice shake, he meekly nodded, trying to hide his arousal as he shakily—but briskly—flew back to the kotatsu, promptly hiding his face from you, just like a mouse.

You bit your lip, grinning wildly at the ceiling which although, was completely uninteresting, was the only excuse you had to not let him see your dorky smile.

‘HOLY SHIT THAT WORKED. Reading all those fanfics and manga finally paid off!’

You can’t let yourself come off as too desperate though. You realised that you had been waving the stick in front of him for too long now, it was time to finally bring out the carrot.

You propped yourself, being deliberately slow as to keep him waiting before you tenderly held onto his shoulder. You could feel him tense you brushed your nose against the lobe of his ear, your wispy breaths dyeing it pink as you whispered:

“When we’re done, I promise, you can eat whatever you want.”

While he didn’t fall asleep and actually got some proper studying in afterwards, perhaps it was him being petty or a vain attempt to gain back some control, he did not offer you his dick but went straight for the fridge to get some pudding. Still, it didn’t change the fact that you were hungry and Osamu found out that night that not only were you quite convincing yourself but you also really liked turning his neck red.

Hmm. And you called him a fox.

#miya twins #miya osamu #miya atsumu #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq atsumu #hq osamu #in which i am so whipped for the miya twins #finally putting atsumu in his place #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu osamu #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Ponder (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: None Characters: Shachi, Law

Shachi thought he'd got used to Law's odd moods by now. It had been nearly a year since he and Penguin had met the grumpy kid, and during that time they'd never parted company for more than a few hours at a time. He wouldn't say he was the most observant person in the world, but he'd noticed plenty about the younger boy and thought he had him sussed. There was one day fast approaching that he expected Law to go full sulk mode for, but that was still a little way off, unless he was misremembering.

This didn't seem like a day of mourning for his captain, though. Law wasn't hiding away or sulking or any of his other tells for "really not in the mood for your nonsense today, Shachi" days. He was a little quieter than usual – an impressive feat – and seemed lost in his own head more often than not, needing Penguin to snap his fingers more than once when his attention was required.

Patience was not one of Shachi's stronger suits.

"What is it?" he demanded, crouching in front of where Law was supposedly looking through notes on the floor of their library. The younger boy jumped and looked up from his arm – a regular draw for his eyes since he'd woken up that morning. Shachi had caught him running his fingers up and down the skin more than once, like he'd done back when the white was obvious.

It wasn't obvious now; the casual eye would never see it and Shachi could only spot the faintest of decolouration because he knew it was there. Law hadn't messed with it in months.

"What is what?" Law asked, a genuine curiosity in his voice that told Shachi he hadn't realised his unusual mood was obvious. Asking the question could go one of two ways – either his captain would clam up and get sulky, or he'd answer. Whether the possible answer would be truthful was another matter entirely. Still, Shachi bit the proverbial bullet. Not asking meant a sleepless night later – he'd learnt that one that hard way.

"You've been acting off all day," he said bluntly. "What's eating you?"

"I have not!" Law protested, and there were the hackles. He was on the verge of clamming up and Shachi really didn't want that. Some sleep later would be much appreciated.

He reached out and caught Law's arm, catching the other off guard as he carefully but firmly pulled it towards him and ran his own finger lightly over the skin, mimicking Law's earlier movements.

"You haven't turned a page the entire time I've been here," he began, feeling Law stiffen. "You didn't notice me arrive, either. Penguin keeps having to make noise to get your attention at all, and I don't think you've so much as glanced at Bepo all day. I've never seen you this unaware of your surroundings."

"It's nothing," Law claimed, turning his head away, and Shachi rolled his eyes. Did Law not know that it's nothing was an admission that there was something and that it was bothering him? He tightened his hold on the arm in his hand as Law tried to pull away.

"So what is it that it's distracting you constantly?" he challenged. "I'd ask if your arm was bothering you, what with the way you can't stop looking at it, except I know full well that if it's playing up you'd have shut yourself away in the infirmary hours ago, so don't you try and pull that one on me."

"It's none of your concern," Law countered, and Shachi chuckled because every denial was getting weaker. If Law was caving that easily, then victory was already his. "Don't try," his captain added, narrowing his eyes in clear suspicion.

Shachi tugged on his arm sharply, catching him off balance so that he fell forwards, across his notes, and landed firmly against Shachi's braced body. Wrapping his arms firmly around him so that he couldn't wriggle away, he rested his cheek on the smaller boy's head.

"If it's bothering you and you haven't found a solution yet I'm making it my concern," he declared, feeling smaller hands pushing against his chest with far less strength than he knew Law was capable of, and waited for him to crack.

"There isn't a solution," Law grumbled. "There isn't a problem. Everything will be normal tomorrow."

"Well if there isn't a problem and this mysterious thing only lasts a day…" Shachi trailed off, feeling a smirk against his neck as Law seemed to sense victory. He was quick to correct him. "Then you'd better tell me today while it's active." Law started to struggle again.

"I just told you it's not a problem!" he complained, and Shachi shrugged, unconcerned.

"Problem or not, it's got you acting weird and now you're telling me it's something that just lasts a day… You seem very certain on that but you also said there isn't a solution, so that sounds like it's the date that's got you in a twist, am I right?"

Law was a good liar, but his resounding no was betrayed by the way his body stiffened in Shachi's hold. Confident he was on the right track, the ginger continued.

"Well you're not sad or shutting yourself away," unlike that day a several weeks ago when you got really angsty and refused to say a word, "so you're not grieving. But this is the anniversary of something for you, right?"

"Wrong," Law muttered, but Shachi was long past being fooled by half-muffled words with no conviction behind them.

"Well you're not sad or happy about it, but you're not quite neutral either," he carried on as if Law hadn't said anything. He noted with interest that the younger boy had stopped squirming to escape and seemed resigned to his fate. Not as bothered as he pretended about Shachi figuring him out? Shachi sat in silence for a moment, thinking things over before the puzzle slot itself together.

"Hey, Law," he started. "It's not your birthday, is it?"

Law let out a breath in clear defeat before nodding – headbutting Shachi in the chin as he did so, and the ginger was certain that wasn't wholly unintentional.

"You could have just said so," he huffed, finally loosening his grip on Law. The younger boy didn't pull away. "Did you want to celebrate?" They'd celebrated both his and Penguin's birthdays when they'd passed, after all. Law shook his head, and Shachi frowned, now confused. His deductions had got him so far, but now Law had him stumped. "Then…"

"I was supposed to die when I was thirteen," Law said suddenly, his voice still muffed in Shachi's neck. "I should never have reached my fourteenth birthday."

That explained a lot – both the obsession with his arm, or more accurately the reminder of his old disease, and his lost countenance.

"Well," he said, refusing to let Law slip back into that lost state now that he was dragging him out of it. "You have. What are you going to do about it?"

"Huh?" Law's head shot up in surprise, once again clipping Shachi's chin sharply on the way. Shachi pouted and rubbed the afflicted spot. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," he replied. "You're fourteen. What are you going to do now?"

Law's mouth opened and closed a few times soundlessly, and Shachi shook his head before standing up, pulling the smaller boy with him.

"Well as you can't decide, I'm going to decide for you," he said firmly, cutting Law off as he opened his mouth again – this time clearly to protest. "You're coming with me into the kitchen, where I am making you a hot chocolate with all the trimmings, then tonight we're having one of those sleepovers because I know you like them more than you admit. Today is a day of celebrating that you beat whatever stupid thing decided you were gonna die a kid, got it? And tomorrow, you can go back to planning that feathered bastard's demise."

Law's open jaw shut with an audible clack and Shachi grinned victoriously when he allowed himself to be led out of the library, and straight into the kitchen.

"Oh, and Law?" he said, gaining a noise of acknowledgement. "Happy birthday."

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #shachi #trafalgar law

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kewltie · 5 years ago

Text

"Get out of my way, extras," Katsuki yells, pushing through a throng of busybody who all decided at that moment to move as sluggishly as possible like they got nothing to do but stand in his way. "Fucking move it already!"

"Sorry, sorry, he hadn’t has his lunch yet," Eijirou says behind him to the people Katsuki had offended.

Which is not an uncommon thing around him; he'd rightfully pissed off more than a few people in this lifetime. What is uncommon is Katsuki storming his way through a police station in the afternoon with adrenaline and anticipation hot on his tail since he'd received that message from Captain Omari.

Zero, I believe we just had a major breakthrough with the Nine case. I suggest you come to the station this instance.

Nine, that fucking ratface bastard has been thorn in Katsuki side for so long now that there’s not a day he doesn’t think about grinding his face in the dust. Ruthless and cunning, Nine had managed to keep a tight rein of terror in Katsuki's city.

He'd went head to head against Nine in countless battles before, came out on top more than half it, but had been denied his rightful victory every fucking time Nine had clawed his way out and escaped Katsuki's grip. More than just beyond frustrating, it is his greatest humiliation.

Katsuki has been on this chase for three years now, right after his agency had took over the main patrol routes of the city, but Nine remains elusive as ever and for all Katsuki’s accomplishment and accolades he'd achieved so far – owning his own agency in just only five years after his debut, unseating the previous number one hero, and a growing list of villains he'd taken down and thrown in Tartarus. Nine's entire existence is an embarrassing mar on his more than stellar record.

Now, he finally get a chance to put Nine away for good and keep it that way, with no hope of that slimy bastard wiggling his way out of it this time around, because Katsuki is going to fucking destroy him.

Katsuki's legs eventually carry him right outside of a secure interrogation room, where two armed officers are station by the door. "Ground Zero," one of them says, dipping his head in deference, "the captain is waiting for you in there."

He makes a grunt of acknowledgement. Just as he about to open the door with Eijirou close behind him, the officer on the left puts his hand out to block them from coming in.

"Sorry, sir, but the captain requested to only see Zero-san at the moment," he says.

Katsuki's eyes narrow. "What the fuck. He's my partner."

"S-sorry," the man says again, wilting under the force of Katsuki's glare, "but it’s captain's order."

Eijirou, who is less of an asshole than him and therefore marginally better at handling other people, just pats Katsuki's on the shoulder and shrugs. "Don't worry, just go on ahead without me. I'm sure, Captain Omari has a good reason for it."

Katsuki makes a face and lets out a resigned sigh. Nine is such a troublesome little shit that it became an inter-agencies mission to hunt him down with Katsuki leading the charge, bullying other agencies in the district to work with him because Nine is a public menace and UA had beaten him black and blue the lone wolf mentally out of him. Captain Omari had been supporting him from the side, doing menial investigations and interviews that Katsuki is too busy for.

They work closely together enough now that if the old man thinks this is serious enough to warrant secrecy, even though he trusts Eijirou with his life, then fuck Katsuki is going to respect it. "Fine," he grits out, giving Eijirou a nod, "you stay out here then. Wait for me."

Ejirou gives him a thumb up. "You got it, bro."

Katsuki rolls his eyes and turns to the officer, blocking him from entering currently. "Can I fucking go in now?" he demands.

"Uh, y-yes, of course, sir," the officer squeaks out, stepping aside so Katsuki can come through. Katsuki’s terrifying reputation precedes him once more. Good.

He opens the door with no resistance and walks into an even smaller room as the door shuts behind him. It's empty of occupant and a compact space with a large blackened glass mirror taking over one half of the wall, separating this room from another room where there's another door tucked to a corner.

There's no sound coming through from the other side, but he knows Omari is there and whatever lead he might have caught is there also. He thinks maybe it’s another witness to Nine’s crime or one of Nine’s associates finally coming in to turn against Nine for leniency later. The former is more likely than the latter, because nobody connected with Nine was stupid or insane enough to betrayed him; those fucking cowards.

Katsuki clenches and unclenches his hand, knowing that Omari wouldn't hail him here like this if he didn't expect something good to come out of it. He trusts Omari.

He walks over to the door, twists the knob open, pushes his way through and steps inside to a—nursery? There are kids on the floor, three bowed head shading away on pages of a coloring book and there's another one sitting nearby, watching them closely with a cool detachment.

Their quiet giggles and murmurs that had filled the room earlier stops abruptly at the sound of his entrance, and he's staring right into the eyes of youthful curiosity in some and heavy skepticism and wariness in others. These children make him feels stripped raw.

One, two, three, and four, he counts off in his head, from what look to be the oldest sitting in a chair against the wall with her hands carefully place on her lap and the youngest sandwiching between his other siblings, because they're clearly blood related with three of the four sharing the same eerie white hair and stormy grey eyes.

Only the youngest, no. 4, Katsuki quietly dubs in his head, sticks out like a sore thumb with a head full of green curl and an even greener set of eyes that avoided his gaze.

"It's Ground Zero!" the little girl, no. 3, on the floor says with a delighted gasp, reaching over no. 4 to shake no. 2’s shoulder excitedly.

No. 2, a sour looking boy, grunts in annoyance and roll away from her touch. "I can see that, Akira. I'm not blind."

No. 4 huddles closer to no. 3 as though he can hide from Katsuki's scrutiny, while no. 1 doesn't even react to his presence, continuing to watch over her younger siblings with careful consideration.

Someone clears their throat and it's definitely none of the kids because Omari says, "Ah, there you are, Bakugou."

Katsuki jerks his head up to meet Omari's amused gaze. He'd been so preoccupied by these kids, who shouldn’t be here in the first place, that he didn’t even take notice of anybody else in the room and eve forgot the reason why he's here.

"Sorry," he grumbles. "I just—who the fuck are these brats?! And where the hell are their parents?!"

"Language," No. 1 snaps out, speaking up for the first time. There’s an arrogance lilt to her voice as her eyes narrow at him, finally deeming him important enough to be acknowledge. "Please watch your mouth around my younger siblings, Zero-san."

Katsuki glares at that tiny ball of superiority, who doesn't even flinch under the heat of his fury. She's cool as fucking ice and he has a lot of things he want to say about that, but wisely keeps his mouth shut because he's not getting into an argument with a fucking fetus.

Omari stifles a laugh at the hilarious theater unfolding before him, because it's not everyday Ground Zero get scolded by a child, and clears his throat again. "Sorry that I called you in such a hurry, but," he rises from his seat and steps back, "this is extremely important. I would like you to meet someone," he says, gesturing his hand out toward the other person, who'd been sitting quietly across the table from him.

Katsuki's eyes widen as he looks past Omari and into the face he hadn't seen in more than ten years. "Hello, Kacchan," Midoriya Izuku says. It’s same green curls, green eyes, and freckles dusting across his cheeks, but he’s older and surer of himself, looking particularly comfortable in his seat.

"W-what, Deku?!" Katsuki stumbles out, half in hysteric and disbelief. "I-I thought you fucking died! What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Well, I see you have met my children," Izuku says instead, glancing over at the brats lovingly with a soft smile. "And they're the sole reason I'm here today."

The last time, Katsuki had seen Midoriya Izuku was when he was watching him get cart off into a car by the social services three days after Aunt Inko had died of a car accident; he was only thirteen. Quirkless, omega, and recently orphaned – Izuku was truly one of the world’s the unluckiest bastards.

Katsuki's mother had wanted to take Izuku in, but a young omega and alpha living under the same roof was ill advised and Katsuki would have fought it every single step. The social service simply wouldn't have it, and so Izuku became a ward of the state. Katsuki didn't see him again after that. Until now that is.

After more than ten years, he'd only assumed the worst.

Omegas, especially one that young, who had taken in by the state would eventually get fostered – auctioned - off to eligible bachelor alphas as soon as they turn sixteen to be mated, leaving them with little to no choice but to comply.

Afterward, they tend to disappeared off the map.

Sometimes that means they're dead, other times they're alive but enslaved. Katsuki doesn't know which the better outcome is because they're both shit either way. His mother had tried to look for Izuku afterward and even Katsuki made his own attempt because he realized what a shit he was, but years had passed by and still nothing, no sign of a Midoriya Izuku at all. Eventually, Katsuki had to write Izuku off completely.

Now, he's standing in a secured room at a police station and Midoriya Izuku is not only alive, but whole and healthy. The only thing he can think of is: "These horrid little monsters are your kids?!"

No. 3's head perks up and she scowls at him. "Hey, hey, that's not nice!"

No. 2's eyes narrow, raising his fist up and looking at Katsuki's thoughtfully. "Should I kick him?" he offers.

No. 1 frowns, lips thinning out in unimpressed line. "Kouki, do not do that," she scolds at her brother. "We don't lower ourselves to his baser level."

No. 4 leans close to no. 3’s ear and whispers, not quite quiet enough, to his sister, "are we monster, Akira-nee?"

"Yea," she curls her fingers like they are claws at him and a low growl rumbles from her throat, "and I'mma eat you, Hikaru!" Her fingers attacks his side relentlessly.

No. 4 tries to fend off her attack with a fit of loud giggles and flailing hands, hiding behind no. 2 ,who only scowls before raising his fists up to defend no. 4 from no. 3, which quickly descends into a tickle fight. No. 1 looks upon her younger siblings and sighs deeply like they pained her.

"Yes," Izuku says, watching the tickle fight unfolding before them with barely contained amusement and fondness, "they're my most precious children." There's an entire world in those few words; a fierce love that could weather any storm. He turns toward no. 1 and gestures toward her. "Over there is my eldest daughter and pride, Yuko."

Yuko rises to her feet and lowers her head just slightly enough to show respect, but her cold gaze locking on him says another otherwise. "Hello," she greets, and a heavy beat, then, "Kacchan."

Katsuki's left eye twitch, but he holds his tongue as Izuku fails to hide his smile.

"My twins," Izuku continues, waving to the tangled limbs on the floor, "the sullen Kouki and fierce Akira, who are pulling at each other's hair."

"Papaaaaaaa," Akira whines, kicking Kouki in the side to get him off of her as Kouki grunts in pain, "Kouki is embarrassing me in front of Kacchan!"

Kouki releases his sister with a shove and scowls, which is all he seems to be able to do. "Kacchan," he sneers, "can eat my—"

"Kouki!" Yuko snaps, grey eyes flashing with heat.

Kouki stares up at Yuko for a beat, and then ducks his head dejectedly. "Sorry, Yuko-nii. Sorry, Papa."

"As you can see they’re my lovely twins," Izuku says, smiling proudly down at his children like his kids didn't tried to kill each other in front of him and there are witnesses to it. "And lastly my youngest and treasure, Hikaru."

Hikaru scrambles up from the floor and hurries to Izuku, climbing into his lap. He buries his face into Izuku's shoulder, hands fisting around Izuku's shirt tightly like he's trying to hide himself from the world, but slowly he raises his head away from Izuku to quietly and shyly says, "Hi, Kacchan."

Ok, Katsuki’s heart quickens just slightly there but the fact that he’s also adopting his older siblings' choice of name for Katsuki is—annoying. These kids have no fucking boundaries at all.

Katsuki scrubs his face, feeling a headache coming on. "Yea, thanks for introduction and all, I guess, but I still don't understand what the fu—" Yuko shoots him another quelling glare and Katsuki grimaces as he corrects himself, because this kid is not letting up, "is going on."

Omari, who had been letting Izuku lead the conversation so far, pips up finally, "I told you in the message earlier that I need you here." His expression straightens out and there’s a heavy solemnness to it. “It’s Nine. Izuku-san is here for Nine.”

With just that name alone the entire room freezes as though a forbidding cloud have descended upon them.

Yuko's shoulders tighten just minutely enough that if Katsuki didn't pay close attention he wouldn't have notice. The twins get up from the floor to stand behind their older sister, holding to each other in a united front like they're going to war. Izuku squeezes his arms around Hikaru, who ducks his head under his chin and tries to pretend nobody else exist in the room.

Katsuki frowns at the sudden change in the family's friendly atmosphere earlier. "What does that have to do with Deku and the kids?" he demands, even though there's a nagging feeling in his head that he’ll hate whatever words to come out of their mouth next.

"He's my husband," Izuku admits quietly, and it’s strained like the words had to dragged out of him, "and the sire of my children."

Yea, he fucking hates it. Katsuki feels like someone had just ripped the rug under him. "You married the bastard?!" he demands, storming up to Izuku. "Do you even know what kind of person he is?! He’s a murdering psychopath whose kill counts are in the triple digits!"

"Get away from my Papa," he hears Kouki yells off in the distance, but fuck Katsuki couldn't care less right now as Yuko scolds, "Kouki! Kouki, enough! Stop it."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the two sisters struggling to hold Kouki back from jumping Katsuki. For such a small body, there’s a lot of rage in him. Something that Katsuki is keenly familiar with.

"Kouki, please," Izuku says gently. And that's all it take for Kouki to completely exhausts his fighting spirit. "Sorry," he says, looking at Katsuki apologetically, "my kids are just protective." He looks down at the table separating them, hand carefully stroking Hikaru's back.

Katsuki casts a quick glance at Omari, who quietly shakes his head and keeps his mouth zip, clearly wanting Izuku to dictate the pace of the conversation. There's a story here, he knows, and Izuku and his kids are at the very center of it and Katsuki doesn't like it one bit. "Deku," he says awkwardly, like blubbering fool, "just take your time. I'll wait."

He finds himself in the uncomfortable position of having to comfort a distressed civilian and his wayward kids, which is not something Katsuki is used to. It should have been Eijirou rather, who always been better at this than him, but somehow that's not good enough.

"And it is because I know who my husband is that's why I'm here before you," Izuku reveals, voice steady and firm with each word. "When I'd married him, I was sixteen and had no other choice, but now my children are older and I will do anything to secure their future so that they have the choice that I didn't." He lifts his gaze and meets Katsuki's own, eyes bright and fierce with all the power of a parental love behind it; it’s a force to be reckon with. "I will not let my children become a monster like their sire. They will not be a villain of their own story," he declares to the entire room.

Katsuki cast a quick glance at Omari, a silence exchange passes between them, and Omari gives a short nod before Katsuki’s focus falls back on Izuku. "It would take us a few hours and a bit of work, but we can arrange to take you and your kids away right now," he offers. His mind is already racing with the logistic of it. It'll be rush job, but he knows they can do it. They will do it. Izuku won't accept anything less for his family and neither will Katsuki, this is something they can both agreed upon. "We can protect your family from Nine. Just tell us what you know of him and his operation and we'll take it from here," he presses.

Nine is still a main priority of him and his team even though he’s now terribly aware that the monster he had been dreaming of putting away for life has a spouse and kid, but even then Nine had ruined the idea of a family too with his taint. You have to be a certain kind of rotten bastard to invoke enough fear and anger in your family to have them turned on you.

Izuku smiles, but it’s too wide and crooked. "Thank you,” he shakes his head, “but no."

Katsuki blinks, then reels back in shock and annoyance. Does he even know what he’s rejecting?! "What do you mean no? Didn't you come here specifically for our help?!"

"You can't help me," Izuku says, slowly but firmly. "Nine has been given free ranged of this city for years, Kacchan, and you and your people couldn't even do anything to stop him. You didn't even know my family existed until now, because you had nothing on him. The only one who can help me right now is myself and I will be the one to put him down for good."

Katsuki flinches, instinctively the young hotheaded alpha in him rumbles unpleasantly. "What can you even do?!" He sneers. "You're what—a househusband? Last a check you're quirkless and an omega, what can you even do that we can't? Leave this to the pros, we'll take care of it."

Izuku winces, a flash of hurt runs across his face as his eyes lower to the table and his hand balls into a fist at the back of Hikaru, who cries out a soft, concern, "Papa?"

"Bakugou," Katsuki hears the infliction of a scold in Omari's voice, but he doesn't care. Izuku's earlier words had sting harder than he like to admit. He always know how to get under Katsuki’s skin even after all these years. Something never changes.

"Fuck you!" he hears a young, angry voice from the side then a flash of movement before he gets a face full of spite in Kouki. "You don't know what sort of hell we'd suffered in that house, so don't you ever talk that way to my Papa. He's more of a hero than any of you people!" His small fists clenched at his side, body bristling in defense and ready for a fight with him.

Katsuki casts a hasty, furtive glance at the other two who remains silence, but their silence is deafening with the way a wrought of disappointment and hurt runs across Akira's face. While Kouki's anger is all fire and brimstone, Yuko's contempt runs much deeper and colder in it placidly, enough to chills him to the bones. The fact that she didn't rebuke Kouki right away for his language tells Katsuki that there's a storm brewing behind those her cold grey eyes and he's the culprit for it.

Katsuki is a rightful asshole. He knows this, his friends like to remind him often enough, but he isn't a malicious one. Not anymore anyway. Being around Izuku though brought back that angry and dumb boy who only knows how to lash out and hurt others for the damage he'd perceived they committed against him.

That isn't him though. He isn’t that boy anymore.

He really thought he truly outgrown it, but confronted with the living memory of all his insecurities, he had regressed once more. Midoriya Izuku always got the better of him. Quirkless and omega be damned, because Izuku always broke Katsuki’s carefully laid boundaries and expectations.

That truth made him furious back then. Now it leaves him empty.

Katsuki takes several steps back from them, scrubs his face furiously, and exhales. A long, deep exhale and shoves out all his crumbling self doubts and fucked ups down, because this isn't about him. Not, not about him at all. "Sorry," he murmurs, embarrassed, then he remembers the face of those kids and sighs. "Sorry," he says again, louder and stronger this time around. "That's inexcusable. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way."

Omari looks so shock by his sudden apology that he nearly chokes on air. Izuku also seems surprised by his outburst by the slight hang of his lips, but it softens out into a small, shy smile that makes him appear much younger than he really is. Almost like the boy Katsuki used to know.

"No. 2 is right, I know shit so I shouldn't have assumed," Katsuki presses on, cheeks flushing at his own admission.

"No. 2? Did he mean Kouki?" Akira not whispers to her sister, because nobody in this fucking family knows how to do it properly.

Yuko hisses a, "be quiet, Akira," in return.

"Thank you," Izuku acknowledges with a curve of his lips, because he always been kinder and better than Katsuki in that regard. "I accept your apology, Kacchan."

Kouki only glares at him as he settles next to Izuku, arms folded and hovering close by as some sort of silent sentinel, but really he just look like a miniature protector. Kinda useless but an A for effort, Katsuki guesses.

"I understand where your doubt and hesitation is coming from, so I came prepared to prove my point," Izuku continues, jerking his head toward the two girls. "Yuko, would you please?"

"Yes, Papa," Yuko says, pulling back to rummage through her small purse, and takes out a pencil case from the bag.

Katsuki's brows furrow as Yuko approaches him with the fuzzy panda shape pencil case. He glances at Omari who also adopts a look of total confusion on his face too.

"Hand, please. This is for you, Kacchan," Yuko says coolly, depositing it onto his open palm. "Open it and look inside."

A tiny bit miffed at having to take order by a damn fetus, but he finds himself obeying anyway and unzips the bag to find four USB flash drives tucked inside and nothing else. He jerks his head up, eyes widen as Izuku gives him a knowing and purposeful smile that is full of bite. Izuku hasn't said anything yet, but Katsuki's heart is already racing with the hints of what to come.

"Those four flash drives contain all the information I've collected over ten years about my husband and his crime wave. They hold everything about his associates, sources, and businesses," Izuku explains. "Pictures, documentations, and weekly logs of what he had been up to for the past years. I had painstakingly gathered them together and put it all in those flash drives as evidence. And this is just four of the ten I made so far. The rest is to guarantee my children safety." He places his hands on the table and stares at Omari and Katsuki with a pointed look. "As you can see it's not that I need you, but it is you who need me," he finishes. "Like I said before, there is nothing I won't do for my children, so do I have your attention now?"

It has been over ten years since they had last seen each other — Katsuki had went on and seized the number one ranking as the top hero in the country, and Izuku had all disappeared from Katsuki’s life . Only to reappear before him as the spouse of one of the most dangerous villains in the world. And he even got four kids in tow now.

What utter bullshit.

If someone told him that this is their future — standing on opposing side, he, a hero, trying to put down a villain and Izuku, a quirkless omega, who effectively engineered his own husband downfall. It's absurd. Laughable even. But here they both are, staring each other down like the clash of titans; an unstoppable force colliding with an unmovable object. Katsuki had fought more formidable foe than this married, quirkless omega in front of him, and yet, he shakes his head and sighs; a curious foreign feeling stirs within.

It's not awful and that's the thing, the rage and despair doesn't kick in even though he realizes who had come out of this battle of wills victorious. "Fine. Fucking fine. You win, Deku," he says with wry twist of his lips. "We'll do as you say and follow your lead."

A true smile spreads across Izuku's face that isn't hinder by any passing secrets and machination. It was one he reserved solely for his children. "Thank you, Kacchan," he says, tilting his head toward Katsuki. "I came to you because I knew I can trust you, but I didn't expect you to have grown this much too. It's a nice surprised," he admits, blush staining his cheeks as he looks away, unwilling to meet Katsuki's startled gaze.

"I—I, yea, uh, you too," Katsuki stumbles out like a total idiot as Omari sucks in a deep breath next to him, clearly amused by their entire exchange.

But he's the only one because Kouki's face crunches up like he'd ate something bitter, Yuko just glares at him with the force enough to level a city, and Akira's eyes widen as she glances back and forth between a blushing Izuku and Katsuki's foot in his mouth act.

"Ohmygod," Akira says horrified, a palm flying to her mouth.

"Be quiet," Yuko hisses at her.

But it's not them, who is the final nail in the coffin for Katsuki and Izuku. Hikaru pushes himself away from Izuku's hold, enough to get look at him and frowns. "Papa, why is your face so red?" says Hikaru, brows furrowing worriedly. "Are—are you sick?"

"N—no, I'm fine," Izuku immediately denies, hands flying toward his face to cover himself from Hikaru's curious inquiry, but Hikaru is relentless.

"Then why are you hiding?" he demands, reaching for Izuku to pry the fingers away. And it's a battle between father and son.

Katsuki finds himself watching Deku—Izuku—who had easily flipped their power game around and put himself on top of them like it was nothing, now he's currently fighting off his son's curious attention and failing.

It's. All. Just. So. Fucking. Cute. Fuck him. He's going crazy now. Losing his fucking mind the longer he spend in here.

Kouki reaches over and snatches Hikaru's hand in his grip. "Stop," he orders, low and pointed. "You're bothering Papa."

Hikaru's head dips and he says quietly, "Sorry, Kouki-nii." And Kouki releases Hikaru's hand.

Izuku lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you, Kouki."

God, kill him now. Adorable. This family is going to be the death of him. Every one of them.

He groans, rubbing his face as thought that will cure whatever fucking illness that had taken hold of him. He can hear Omari trying to smother a chuckle beside him.

Katsuki straightens up and clears his throat. "So shall we do next?"

Izuku places Hikaru on the floor, who quickly clambers toward Kouki to hold his older brother’s hand in his. "I'll head home with the kids for now and we go on as though nothing had changed as I gathered the last of my flash drives and the incriminating information for you," he tells them.

A brow shoots up to Katsuki's hairline. "Just like that? You're fine with coming back to him after all that shit?" Isn’t he scare of what Nine could do to them if he accidently slipped off somehow? Katsuki had seen all of Nine’s former associates choosing to be thrown in Tartarus rather than give up Nine, because of how much terror he had instill in all of them.

Izuku gives an amused snort. "I have been living with him since I was sixteen, young and helpless, and no power to fight back. I can handle him just fine."

Izuku may say it all nonchalantly, but there's strange flicker of his face that causes all his children tense up. It makes Katsuki want to reach out and grabs Izuku and his children so he can stuffed them away in a safe house so Nine can't touch any of them. Fucking slimy bastard.

Just because Izuku thinks he's okay doesn't make it so. Sometimes abuse doesn’t leave any physical imprints behind, but it grips the heart and poisoned everything else, leaving the victim just as damaged and broken in the same way.

But Izuku is no victim. He's a survivor. This is the most obvious thing he'd understood today.

"Okay, but if you need anything, you can contact me anytime," Katsuki says, holding his hands still at his side so he doesn't do anything stupid like reach out toward Izuku without his permission. "I'm here if you need me."

"Oh," Izuku breathes, a pink tint rises to his cheeks once more and Katsuki wonders how many times he can be the cause of it? And then proceeds to want to punch himself in the face for that train of thought. "I—I see, thank you for that offer. I wouldn't want to impose."

"No!" Katsuki says vehemently, feeling like he's losing his fucking mind here because he can't stop running his stupid mouth. "I don't fucking care. Impose away. It doesn't matter how small it is, just let me help you. You don't have to take on everything yourself."

Izuku's lips part, but no words come out as he stares at Katsuki with an inexplicable expression across his face, making Katsuki's edgy under the scrutiny like he’s picking Katsuki’s apart to see what make him tick.

Silence descends upon them.

Omari coughs into his hand, clearing the strange air between them. "If that will be all?

Izuku drags his gaze away from Katsuki enough to nods his head. "Yes, I'll contact you as soon as I finished my preparation," he says, rising to his feet.

Yea, the quicker they get the mission done with and throw Nine in prison, the sooner Izuku and his children can be free. And be out of Katsuki’s life and thought.

The only problem is the fucking waiting around, and he's not used to being still and holding out for others to take action first, but he's not leading this mission. It's all Izuku's. They're just following him along and aiding him, when Izuku is the one in control of everything.

It's a sore situation he finds himself in, but as Izuku steps away from the table to reveal his hand carefully resting over the tiny bump of his stomach. And Katsuki is not fucking dumb, okay? He knows what he's seeing. "Wait, you're pregnant?!" Katsuki demands, voice going scratchy high with disbelief.

Izuku pauses, glances down at his stomach as though he’d forgotten about it. "Ah, yes that's right." His face brightens as he rubs his slightly bulging belly. "I told you before, I would do anything to secure my children's future. No children of mine will be raised as monster. "

The children huddle around Izuku protectively, a united front against the world. This kind of bond goes beyond just blood. Forged in the fire of the hell they must have endure under Nine's fearful reign over their household.

He may not know their full story, but it's there. He can see it all over their face in the frigid glare of Yuko, the aggressive stance of Kouki, and the tightness of Akira's shoulders. But even among all that horror, there is hope still: "Hello, baby sister," Hikaru says softly to Izuku's belly, touching it fondly.

“Hey, it could be boy!” Akira protests.

“Girl,” Kouki says with a frown. “I want a little sister.”

“Don’t assume things,” Yuko lectures her siblings. “We don’t know yet!”

Izuku laughs, seemingly delighted by his children fighting over their newest sibling.

Katsuki is a pro-hero, fighting and protecting is part of his job, his duty; it's who he is, but looking at the family in front of him he has never been more seized by this wretched feeling to be better, to do better to earn their—trust and faith. Fuck, he just wants to be enough to deserve them. To be able to protect them against all the wrongs that had been dealt against them.

He wants them.

#bakudeku #stepdad au #fic snippet

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Ungodly Hour, Chapter One (Jaida x Nicky) - Scarlet Bloo

a/n: Hi! I started this fic back when the fic challenge was announced and here it finally is, (2?) months later, 3 days from the deadline. It’s been a ride, but I’ve finally gotten it to a place where I’m happy with it, and while not every chapter will posted during the challenge I’ve at least managed to get one in!

summary: Nicky is crushing hard on a bubbly soccer playing sorority sister. It’s unusual for her to ever be into anyone like this, and all she wants is to be on her radar. Popular girl Jaida is captain of the basketball team, and while she’s usually smart, French just isn’t her forte. Lucky for her, Nicky is a native speaker, so she makes it her mission to get her as her tutor.

Challenge notes:

A large amount of the story is told from Jaida’s point of view.

Close friends of the main characters: Widow, Heidi and Akeria (who will become more prominent characters in future chapters.)

The title is a song by Chloe and Halle Bailey.

Nicky snuck a look in Jan Sport’s direction, her heart tingling as she absorbed her beauty. She sighed, knowing the preppy, popular sorority girl had absolutely no idea she even existed. It was laughable that she ever entertained the idea of a relationship with her, even if it was only in the late hours of the night, a fantasy to procrastinate her studies with. But with her long blonde hair, muscular arms and smiling eyes, how couldn’t Nicky be so intrigued by her? This was a new feeling. Nicky hardly ever found herself interested in anyone, let alone a woman. It was surreal to her, but it somehow felt right.

She cast her eyes away from Jan and tried to focus on the Professor at the front of the lecture hall. Unsurprisingly, it was nothing of value to Nicky. Miss Coulee was voicing her disappointment with the class after 70% of the class had gotten less than a C in the last exam. Nicky rolled her eyes, looking down at the big red “A!” circled on her own paper. Despite this achievement, she was regretting her decision to take French. Sure, it being her first language definitely made the classes easier, but left her so unsatisfied with how little she had to push herself to pass.

“Of course you got an A”, Gigi whispered to Nicky.

She had a defeated look on her face and Nicky felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Gigi and Nicky weren’t close, but seeing as they’d been sitting next to each other every French lecture since September, they’d gotten to know a fair bit about each other. Like Nicky, Gigi was a fashion major but was taking French so she could “make it big in Paris one day” and Nicky knew academics wasn’t her strong suit.

“Yeah well,” Nicky smiled sweetly, “French is my language, fashion is yours.”

Gigi seemed content with that answer and nodded satisfactorily as Coulee dismissed the class and all that could be heard was the snapping shut of laptops and notebooks and friendly chatter.

Jan lingered by the door giggling with her friends and Nicky’s gaze locked in on her like a missile. She was beautiful, and she could help but trace each curve of her body with her eyes. She felt her hands go clammy as she found herself lost in her animated expressions. Jan was different to Nicky’s image of a popular girl, she didn’t strut around campus like she owned the place or go through millions of relationships. She radiated positive energy and it just made Nicky all the more eager to get to know her. She wasn’t usually this into people, but Jan Sport had turned her into a pile of mush.

“You’re staring again.” Gigi’s teasing voice brought a blush to Nicky’s cheeks. She had caught her staring at Jan in awe on multiple occasions and was one of the very few people she’d actually admitted the crush to. The only other person who she’d told was her roommate and best friend, Widow. But her other friends? Definitely not. They were all art majors, and while Jan was taking music, it wasn’t really the same thing. Nicky guessed it made them the artsy crowd, and therefore substantially less popular. With the exception of Gigi and Widow, who had been in an on and off relationship with a soccer player since freshman year, Nicky’s friends spent lunch breaks talking as much shit as they could about Charles College’s elite. And it was somewhat justified. Most of the popular kids were complete pieces of shit.

Case in point - Jaida Essence Hall, Charles College’s star athlete. The girl walked around like she owned the place, and Nicky guessed she kind of did. At the snap of a finger someone would appear at her side, eager to grant any and every wish. Or jump into her lap. Or stick their tongue down her throat. She didn’t look as confident as usual right then though, sitting fists curled around the edge of her paper in the lecture hall. Everyone else, including Coulee, had left, but Jaida remained in her seat. She must have failed the test too, but Nicky didn’t feel much sympathy for the girl. Charles college was best known for its Basketball, with its best players usually ending up in the pros, and during their years at Charles, they’d get handed everything on a silver platter. Maybe it was unfair, and a tiny bit vindictive, but Nicky got a sense of triumph from knowing that Coulee was failing the captain of the women’s basketball team along with everyone else.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Gigi asked as she gathered her books.

“Can’t, I have to finish up all of last week’s design work.” Nicky got up, but didn’t follow her to the door, “Go on ahead. I need to check the schedule before I go, I can’t remember when my next tutorial is.”

“Okay,” Gigi said, “I’ll see you later!”

“Later!” Nicky called after her.

At the sound of her voice, Jan paused in the doorway and turned her head. It was impossible to stop the flush that rose in Nicky’s cheeks. This was the first time they’d ever made eye contact, and she didn’t know how to respond. In the end, she settled for a small nod of greeting. There. Cool, casual yet wouldn’t come off as rude. Her heart skipped a beat when the corner of Jan’s mouth lifted into a faint grin. She waved in response, and then she was gone. Nicky stared at the empty doorway. Her pulse exploded in a gallop. After six weeks of breathing in the same air in the stuffy lecture hall, Jan Sport had finally noticed her. She wished she was brave enough to go after her. Maybe ask her to grab a coffee. Or dinner. Or brunch - hell, is brunch even a big thing in America? But her feet stayed glued in place because she was a total coward. She was terrified she’d say no, but even more terrified she’d say yes.

Nicky was in a good place when she started college. Her issues solidly behind her, her guard lowered. She was ready to date again, and she did. She dated several guys, but other than her ex, Kayla, none of them had been female, and none of them had made her body tingle the way Jan Sport did, and that freaked her out.

Baby steps. That was her therapist’s favourite piece of advice, and she couldn’t deny that the strategy had helped her a lot. Focus on the small victories, Sasha had always advised. So, today’s victory, she nodded at Jan and she waved at her. Next class, maybe she’d wave back. And the one after that, maybe she’d bring up the coffee, dinner or brunch idea. She took a breath as she headed down the aisle, clinging to that feeling of victory, however miniscule it may be.

Jaida had failed. She’d fucking failed. For the last 15 years before she’d joined Charles College, they had handed out A’s like tic tacs. But the year she decided to take a French class? She had gotten stuck with Shea Coulee. It was official. This woman was her archenemy. Just the sight of her flowery handwriting—which filled up every inch of available space in the margins of Jaida’s midterm—made her want to scream, rip up the page, and leave education indefinitely. Jaida had been passing all her other classes, but this (almost ironic) F in French was completely bringing her average down. Normally, she had no problem keeping her G.P.A up. Despite what she knew a lot of Charle’s population believed, she wasn’t dumb. And the worst thing about Charles? Their dean demanded excellence—academically and athletically. While other schools were lenient toward athletes, Charles has a zero-tolerance policy. When she spoke to Coulee before class, she’d bluntly told her that unless she was going to find her own private tutor, she’d have no choice but to turn up to extra tutorials which overlapped with basketball practice. It really was a lose-lose situation.

Jaida’s frustration manifested itself in the form of an audible groan, and from the corner of her eye, she saw someone jerk in surprise. Jaida jumped too, because here she thought she was wallowing in her misery alone. However, the girl from the back row had stuck around and was headed towards Coulee’s desk. Staci? Selena? Jaida couldn’t remember her name, probably because she’d never thought to ask for it before. She was pretty, though. A lot prettier than Jaida had ever realised. Perfect features, dark hair, a petite hourglass figure. How had she never noticed her before now? Her skinny jeans clung to a round, perky ass and her round breasts peaked slightly out of her v neck.

“Everything okay?” the girl asked with a pointed look. Jaida murmured a reply under her breath. She really wasn’t in the mood to talk right then.

The girl raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow in Jaida’s direction, “Sorry, was that english?”

Jaida balled up her paper and scraped her chair back, “I said everythings fine.”

“Okay, then,” The girl shrugged and continued down the steps. As she picked up the clipboard that contained the tutorial schedule, Jaida flung on her jacked, then shoved her pathetic midterm into her backpack and zipped it up. The dark-haired girl headed back to the aisle. Sophie? Sabrina? The S sounded right, but the rest was a mystery. She had her midterm in hand, but Jaida didn’t sneak a peek because she assumed she failed just like everyone else.

Jaida let her pass before she stepped into the aisle. She followed her up to the exit, suddenly realizing how tiny she was compared to herself—she was one step below her yet could see the top of her head. Just as they reached the door, the girl stumbled on absolutely nothing and the books in her hand clattered to the floor.

“Shit. I’m such a klutz.”

She dropped to her knees and so did Jaida, because contrary popular belief, she wasn’t heartless, and the polite thing to do was help her gather her books.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine,” she insisted.

But Jaida’s hand had already connected with her midterm, and her jaw dropped when she saw her grade.

“Fucking hell. You aced it?” Jaida demanded.

The girl gave a sweet smile. “Well, I am French. I thought you’d have been able to tell from the accent.”

“Holy shit.” Jaida felt like she’d just bumped into Coco fuckin’ Chanel and she was dangling the secrets to her universe under her nose. “Can I read your answers?”

Her brows quirked up again. “That’s rather forward of you, don’t you think? We don’t even know each other.”

Jaida rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, baby. I just want to peek at your midterm.”

“Baby? Goodbye forward, hello presumptuous.”

“Would you prefer miss? Ma’am maybe? I’d use your name but I don’t know it.”

“Of course you don’t.” She sighed. “It’s Nicolette. Nicky for short.” Then she paused meaningfully. “Jaida.”

Okay, she was way off on the S thing. And Jaida didn’t miss the way she emphasized her name as if to say, Ha! I know yours, bitch! Nicky collected the rest of her books and stood up, but Jaida didn’t hand over her midterm. Instead, she hopped to her feet and started flipping through it. As she skimmed her answers, her spirits plummeted even lower, because if this is what Coulee was looking for, she was screwed. There was a reason she was a geography major, for gods sake—she dealt in facts. Black and white. This happened at this time to this person and here was the result. Nicky’s answers focused on detailed analysis on texts Jaida couldn’t even translate in the first place.

“Thanks.” Jaida gave her the booklet, then cracked her knuckles. “Hey, listen. Do you…would you consider…” she shrugged. “You know…”

Nicky’s lips twitched as if she was trying not to laugh. “Actually, I don’t know.”

Jaida let out a breath. “Will you tutor me?”

Her grey eyes—slightly green and surrounded by thick black eyelashes—went from surprised to skeptical in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll pay you,” Jaida added hastily.

“Oh. Um. Well, yeah, of course I’d expect you to pay me. But…” She shaked her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Jaida bit back her disappointment. “C’mon, do me a solid. If I fail this makeup, my GPA will implode. Please?” She flashed a smile, the one that made her dimples pop out and never failed to make people melt.

“Does that usually work?” she asked curiously.

“What?“

“The winning innocent pageant girl smile… Does it help you get your way?”

“Always,” the taller girl answered without hesitation.

“Almost always,” Nicky corrected. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time. I’m already juggling school and work, and with the winter showcase coming up, I’ll have even less time.”

“Winter showcase?” Jaida said blankly.

“Right, I forgot. If it’s not about basketball or your big pageants, then it’s not on your radar.”

“Now who’s being presumptuous? You don’t even know me.”

There’s a beat, and then she sighed. “I’m a fashion major, okay? And the arts faculty puts on two major displays every year, the winter showcase and the spring one. The winner gets a five thousand dollar scholarship. It’s kind of a huge deal, actually. Important industry people fly in from all over the country to see it. Fashion houses, investors, big magazines…. So, as much as I’d love to help you—”

“You would not,” Jaida grumbled. “You look like you don’t even want to talk to me right now.”

Her little you-got-me shrug was grating. “I have to go finish up some designs. I’m sorry you’re failing this course, but if it makes you feel better, so is everyone else.”

Jaida narrowed her eyes. “Not you.”

“I can’t help that I was born into a french speaking household.”

“Well, I want your help.”

Jaida was two seconds from dropping to her knees and begging her, but she edged towards the door. “You know there’s a study group, right? I can give you the number for—”

“I’m already in it,” Jaida muttered, embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, then there’s not much else I can do for you. Good luck on the makeup test. Baby.”

She darted out the door, leaving Jaida staring after her in frustration. Unbelievable. Everyone at this college would have cut their leg off to help her out. But this girl? Ran away like she’d just asked her to give up her first born so they could give it to Rumplestiltskin. And now Jaida was right back to where she was before Nicky-not-with-an-S gave her that faintest flicker of hope. Completely fucking screwed.

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida essence hall #nicky doll #widow von du #jan sport #gigi goode #jaida x nicky #fic challenge #black girl magic fic #diversity fic #lesbian au #college au #s12 #ungodly hour #scarlet bloo #concrit welcome #submission

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caretaker-au · 5 years ago

Text

Home invasion

Note: As of October 31, 2021, the order of the chapters has been updated from release order to the original intended order: alternating between past and present.

Interlude: Perseverance (Summary)

It is Summer of 2028 in the Underground. Chara is about to head out on their daily survey of the Ruins when Asriel interrupts them, a matter weighing heavily on his mind. He asks Chara to consider giving fallen humans a chance, since they couldn’t all be as bad as the one who wounded him.

“This old argument again? Really?” Chara sighs and checks their watch. Thankfully, their last save wasn’t that long ago.

“ ‘Old argument’? I don’t remember–”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Now. Let us take it from the top.”

Chara reloads to a point before Asriel had approached them, but this time they are prepared for his confrontation. They begin to argue, and any time it seems like Asriel won’t be easily convinced, they reload and try a different tactic. Chara reloads over and over, until they finally find the right combination of words to make Asriel concede.

Tired but satisfied with their victory, Chara walks to the Ruins, congratulating themself for “sparing” Asriel an unpleasant argument and being such a wonderful partner to him. However, their self-important smile fades when they spy an odd sight: inside the old Dreemurr house, a small pair of boots sit neatly by the front door. Chara is not alone.

They do a quick and silent search to find a human child in Asriel’s childhood room, asleep in his bed.

Anger flaring, Chara tears the covers off the bed, demanding the invader to get out. The child wakes up apologizing, snatching their glasses off the mattress and fumbling them onto their face. They are a female child, somewhere between grade schooler and teenager, and dressed for travel. Their backpack is sitting on the floor next to the bed, along with their coat. Chara cuts off the apology, one question ringing in their mind. They demand to know how the child made it past the traps, but the child doesn’t seem to hear and instead rambles excuses for being there. Chara’s rage begins to simmer down to annoyance as they collect themself.

“I didn’t mean to intrude or anything. You see, I’m an investigator. Or a researcher? I’m trying to prove the existence of monsters, or I was, but I got lost and fell down and now-- well some awful stuff happened, but now you’re here so--”

“Enough.” Chara interrupts with a scowl. They take a few steps to the floor lamp, switching it on. “Let us try this again.” They regard the child with an icy expression, unable to muster even a fake smile.

“My name is Chara, the caretaker of these ruins and–” they gesture to the room, “–this dwelling. No one has made it this far without my guidance. So I ask you again. How did you get here.”

The child is quiet for a moment, a still apprehension washing over them. “It took a lot of tries. I failed but… I came back. I came back from the dead.”

Chara’s blood runs cold. “Explain.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how it works or anything, but I wrote it all down,” they crouch and unzip their backpack to retrieve a large, hardcover notebook. They start to open the cover but change their mind, instead hugging it to their chest, as if for comfort. “The first few traps were easy. I flipped switches, and I swam around the room with all the spikes on the floor. But there was one room where I fell. And I… died.”

Chara says nothing, understanding this phenomenon all too well. The child goes on to explain that after dying, they came back at an earlier spot in the Ruins. However, when attempting to cross the pitfall trap a second time, they failed again, and again, each time learning a bit more about the puzzle until they finally solved it through trial and error.

Dread begins to weigh in Chara’s chest as they try to formulate a plan to override the child’s apparent immortality, but then the child says something odd. They explain that even when they solved the trap, the time loops continued, pulling them back to the same point. Ever tenacious, the child kept resolving the puzzle until the time loops stopped, allowing them to finally find refuge in this house.

Finding it odd the child turned back time against their will, Chara asks them when the last time loop occurred.

“Oh, uh,” the child folds back the notebook, thumbing through the lined pages and checking their small daisy-themed watch, “About... 42 minutes ago? Gosh, it feels so long ago.”

Chara matches the child’s gesture by checking their own watch. Their tense expression relaxes into a relieved smile. “So that is what is going on,” Chara chuckles, shaking their head, “And to think I was worried.”

“‘Worried’? What do you--”

“Human.” Chara interjects, as if they didn’t hear, “Thank you for cooperating. I now see that I am responsible for this confusing turn of events.” Chara draws their knife from beneath the hem of their tunic, eliciting a gasp as the child takes a half-step back into the mattress behind them.

Chara briefly regards their reflection in the steel before fixing their eyes back on the child. “I will correct this.”

Chara swings the knife down towards the child, but they block the attack with their notebook, torn pages scattering as the force knocks it from their hands. The child runs, scrambling out of the bedroom and towards the front door. They get only three steps down the hall before Chara snatches the back of their jumper, snapping them backward. Trapped, the kid switches from flight to fight.

Pain and adrenaline shoots through the child, bringing with it a ferocity that only panic can inspire.

“Let go! Let go! Let go!” they shriek, each demand louder than the last, their fingers clawing and punching any surface within arm’s reach. Abruptly, Chara releases their collar, and the child stumbles to keep their balance as Chara backs away from them.

The child looks Chara up and down, frantically searching for the weapon. Did they drop it?

“No…” the child’s voice wavers when they see it: the knife buried into their stomach down to the handle. The pain they were biting back rushes through their body, and instinctively the child tears the blade out. They freeze, despair flashing across their face with the realization that they’ve only expedited their death. The child collapses forward onto the floor, bloody knife skittering out of their hand.

Chara’s eyes are wide and vacant. Wordlessly, they bend down to pick up the knife and step past the child to enter the kitchen. They pause to look themself over. The seam of their sleeve is torn, and blood is smeared across the hem. With a bit of annoyance, Chara rolls up both sleeves, and washes their hands, the knife, then their hands again for good measure. They splash cold water on their face, hanging over the sink for a few moments to compose themself.

After a couple deep breaths, they dry off with a kitchen towel and open a cabinet. Four soul containers sit inside.

Returning with a soul container, Chara is surprised to see the child has dragged themself down the hall, stopping just a few feet from the front door.

“What a mess.” Chara mutters. With their free hand, they pull out their phone and browse to Muffet’s name, “Your perseverance is admirable, human. However. It will not save you.”

The child’s eyes are unfocused, tears obscuring whatever vision they have left. Their voice is little more than a whisper.

“Monster.”

interlude: perseverance // end

[ ✧ START ] [ « BACK ] [ NEXT » ]

#undertale #chara #chara dreemurr #perserverance #undertale au #undertale spoilers #the caretaker of the ruins #main comic #story summary #interlude perserverance #notebook kid #writing this to the nier automata soundtrack is really something

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icecoldflames · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 8 - The Mystery of Sanders Castle

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

***

“What is it?” Roman asked for the thousandth time, trailing after Patton the next morning. Satomi was at his side, just as excited as he was.

Patton grinned, glancing over his shoulder at them. “I’m walking as fast as I can without sprinting through the halls. Here, look.” He gestured to his own dorm door and pushed it open. “I think all of my roommates are at breakfast.”

“You have Logan’s bedroom,” Satomi said in awe, managing to squeeze her way past Roman so she could enter second. “That’s totally cool. I wish my dorm was here. All I have is a lousy guest bedroom.”

“Well, what is it?” Roman asked again, beginning to get even more impatient than he already was. “I don’t think I can take it much longer!” “Alright, alright,” Patton said with a laugh and kicked over a colourful rug to reveal the wooden floor.

Roman watched with bated breath as Patton kneeled down and ran his fingers over the boards carefully. He paused at one specific spot and dug his fingernails between the boards. They creaked and eventually gave way, half of the board flipping up so it looked like a seesaw. Patton pulled up a couple more boards so the three of them could get down into the little room below.

Once the three of them got in, Roman was pleasantly surprised by how roomy it was. There was a small desk and two chairs with plenty of extra space.

“Whoah, even I didn’t know about this place,” Satomi said, stomping her feet on the stone floor and inspecting the chairs.

“I found this place last year,” Patton explained with a smile. “I was studying for exams one night and I think I was a little loopy. I had heard there were secret rooms and passageways in the castle and wondered if my dorm had them. I took what was supposed to be a thirty minute break and happened upon this place. Cool, huh?”

Roman eyed the desk and noticed a dark book. As he reached out to grab it, Satomi smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch that unless you’ve got gloves! We don’t want your fingerprints and finger oils all over it!”

“Uh,” Patton said, scratching his neck awkwardly, “I already touched it plenty of times before.”

Satomi crossed her arms, miffed, and stood on one of the chairs so she could climb out of the secret room. “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t touch anything else while I’m gone. You hear me? Nothing.”

Five minutes later, Satomi came back in with three pairs of disposable, blue, gloves the hospital would have and a notebook and pencil. “They’re non-latex,” she added in as she passed them out.

Roman wondered how often Satomi used these disposable gloves. He pictured a box of them on her nightstand in her dorm.

“Now you can pick up the book,” Satomi said with a nod, laying her notebook and pencil on the desk.

Roman greedily reached his hands out to pick up the thick book. He flipped to the first page. The handwriting was so loopy and regal it was almost too hard to pick out.

This diary belongs to Philomena Scharf

Satomi grabbed the book out of Roman’s hands. “Sorry,” she muttered apologetically as she began flicking through the pages quickly, her eyes roving over the writing. Was she a really fast reader or was she just looking through the diary to find one specific word? Whatever Satomi was thinking was something important, Roman could tell. The tension in the room was crushing.

“What is it?” Patton asked, looking over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

Satomi hadn’t finished flicking through when Roman could practically see the light bulb go off in her head. “I think Philomena is the founder of this school! Her handwriting is exactly like Ronan’s,” Satomi said, putting down the journal.

“Are you sure?” Patton asked, scratching his head. “We learned about Ronan M.V. Gighe-Lapillio in history class and I did a project on him. Him actually being Philomena doesn’t really make sense. I mean, just the fact that—” Patton’s eyes went as large as saucers.

“What is it?” Satomi demanded impatiently.

Patton picked up the notebook and pencil Satomi had laid down and began scrawling something on it, biting his lip in the process. “Have you ever thought…” he began, then trailed off as he erased something. “Have you ever thought,” Patton tried again, “that the M and V in Ronan’s name doesn’t actually stand for anything in particular?” He threw the notebook down on the desk in victory, a smug smile on his face.

Both Roman and Satomi looked down at the page in curiosity.

Ronan M.V. Gighe-Lapillio

R O N A N M V G I G H E L A P I L L I O

L O G A N V I R G I L P H I L O M E N A

Logan & Virgil & Philomena

Roman slowly turned to Satomi and Satomi slowly turned to look at Roman. They both swiveled to look at Patton.

“H-how?” Satomi asked, shocked. She picked up the notebook and began double-checking it, chewing the top of her pencil as she did.

“I knew all those word-scrambling apps I downloaded on my phone would be useful one day,” Patton said with a grin. “I kinda got obsessed this summer. Remy said I had a problem.”

“This is incredible! This proves that the three of them didn’t die in the resistance attack!” Satomi exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I have to show mom! I have actual proof this time instead of theories without evidence…”

Roman picked up Philomena’s journal idly as Satomi kept rambling on, and flipped to a page that seemed close to where Satomi had left off. His parents always complained about how kids these days couldn’t read handwriting and it hadn't really bothered him except now because it took him a good minute to decode a word like “especially” in Philomena’s writing.

A small piece of ripped paper delicately fell to the floor. Satomi stopped speaking and all three of them looked at it for a good minute before Roman bent down to pick it up.

The page was yellowed with age and one corner seemed to be burnt. Roman recognized the handwriting from the alleged letters between Prince Logan and Prince Virgil. This time, the handwriting was easier to read.

“This is a ruined letter anyway,” Roman read aloud. “I will burn this once I let some of my thoughts out. Yesterday, I told everyone I was going for another walk to pick up Virgil’s letter. I don’t think I can use that excuse anymore as Lillian looked at me rather oddly. I believe she’s becoming suspicious of me and all my walks. Maybe I’ll get Mabel to distract her next time. If there is a next time. It takes too long to write letters then find a good time to walk into the woods and then wonder when Logan will respond and take another walk. It’s worth it, though. I’m glad—” Roman paused, furrowing his eyebrows. “That’s all that’s there.”

Satomi inspected Philomena’s journal. “There’s nothing in here about that letter. I assume when Logan burned the letter he didn’t burn all of it and Philomena found it later on. Although you would think she’d write about it in her diary…” she said, trailing off.

“What about that?” Patton asked, pointing at the diary.

Roman quickly wrapped around Satomi to see what the two of them were goggling at. “Oh,” he breathed. Two full pages were blacked out with what looked like charcoal. None of the words on those pages were readable.

“Why would she do that?” Roman asked.

“Either Virgil and/or Logan did it without Philomena’s permission or Philomena did it herself after Virgil and/or Logan asked her to,” Satomi said.

“You think it’s possible she was in on the secret?” Roman said.

“Of course. After all, the person she was supposed to marry ended up with her brother. I don’t think it would be really easy to hide that kind of thing,” Satomi replied with a roll of her eyes. She straightened her spine in excitement, “c’mon, we gotta show my mom! First, we got to go to my dorm and pick up the biography of Ronan so we can prove the handwriting is the same as Philomena’s.”

Satomi’s dorm was in the basement close to the kitchens. She shared it with five other girls. “Apparently a couple of valets used to live here,” Satomi explained with a shrug as she grabbed the biography. And then they were off again.

The three of them rushed through the hallways and up the stairs to Ms. Yano’s classroom where she was quietly organizing her books.

“Mom! Mom! You gotta take a look at what we found! You’re not going to believe this!” Satomi practically yelled, sprinting to the desk and dropping Philomena’s diary, Ronan’s biography, and the notebook on it with a loud bang.

Ms. Yano turned around and cocked her head to the side. “Yes?” She asked with a closed lip smile, her eyes wide in false-listening. She sat down behind her desk but she looked like she would rather be anywhere but.

“Mom, look,” Satomi opened up Philomena’s diary and then a page in Ronan’s biography. “Patton’s room is Prince Logan’s old room and we found Philomena’s diary in a secret room below.” She began explaining everything, pointing to the notebook where Patton had unscrambled Ronan’s long name into the two princes and Philomena’s names.

Ronan and Patton listened excitedly and watched as Ms. Yano’s face grew more interested in what her daughter had to say.

Patton silently took off his gloves and gave them to Ms. Yano who quickly put them on and instantly picked up Philomena’s diary. “Amazing…although I wonder why it wasn’t found earlier…”

Satomi showed the half-burned piece of paper written by Virgil. “And this is a messed up letter Prince Virgil wrote!” She pulled out her phone and brought up the pictures of the letters they had seen at the library. “The handwriting matches up perfectly to whoever ‘Sweet Violet’ is. Which is Prince Virgil. Which means my theory that he and Prince Logan were in a romantic relationship is fully backed up!” Satomi breathed in deeply and grinned excitedly. “What d’ya think?”

“Am I…interrupting something?” A voice asked.

Roman snapped his head around and saw Headmistress Crespo in the doorway, looking much less regal with her honey-blonde hair piled on top of her head and in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

Satomi deflated and she scowled at the headmistress. “You are, actually.”

Ms. Yano shot a glare her daughter’s way before bringing her attention back to Headmistress Crespo. “I’m sorry, Emilia. My daughter and her friends were just showing me something.” She stood up from her desk.

“I brought the book you were looking for, the librarian had it under her desk which is why it took so long…” the headmistress met Satomi’s cold gaze and trailed off. “Maybe I could come back some other time…?”

“That would be a good—” Satomi began but her mom cut her off.

“No, stay. This is important and you should probably know about it too.” Ms. Yano cocked her head to the side and looked over at Satomi. “Would you mind explaining it to her?”

“I would mind, actually,” Satomi said, stubbornly sitting down at one of the front desks. “You always say you listen when I’m talking so let’s see if you were telling the truth. Tell Emilia what we figured out.”

Ms. Yano’s cheeks flushed a little and her eyebrows drew down in anger. “Young lady, that is no way to treat your elders. You should call your headmistress by her proper title.”

Roman and Patton exchanged a glance. Maybe they should leave? They both inched closer to the exit.

“And by her proper title do you mean step-mother? Is that any way to treat dad?” Satomi yelled, stomping her foot, her voice cracking.

Both Ms. Yano and Headmistress Crespo took in a sharp breath at the same time, glancing nervously between each other.

Satomi crossed her arms as Ms. Yano rushed to her door to quickly close and lock it. Roman and Patton seemed to be invisible at the moment. “I saw you two together when me and mom were supposed to have our nightly hot chocolates in her room. I open my door and what do I see? My mom and another woman locking lips!”

Headmistress Crespo gulped.

“Satomi…” Ms. Yano said gently. “Please, calm down, I can explain.”

“You can explain why you’re cheating on dad? Why, in every aspect, you’re a cruddy mom? You never listen to me and every time I say something you always have to find a way to criticize it. Oh, Prince Logan and Prince Virgil were in a secret relationship? Satomi,” she said, raising the pitch of her voice, “there’s absolutely no facts on that theory, oh, you can be so funny.” Her voice went back to normal, “and that was that. You didn’t even think about them as a possibility. Because everything I say you never take into consideration!”

Ms. Yano looked close to crying, she was as still as a statue. Roman felt very out of his depth and wanted to leave. “Satomi,” she said, “you have every right to be angry—”

Satomi looked up at her mom defiantly, chin raised high, “you’re absolutely right. And dad has every right to know what his wife’s been up to these past couple of years when he’s been having a grand ol’ time in Germany, huh, mom?” She grabbed her phone off the desk.

Pure panic took over both women’s faces but Headmistress Crespo was the first to speak. “Satomi, I know our relationship has been…rough.”

“Understatement of the decade,” Satomi said, searching for her dad’s contact on her phone.

Headmistress Crespo held her breath. “I’m not a descendant of the Sanders,” she said, all in one rush, bursting out crying.

This made Satomi pause for a second. “You want me to feel bad for you?” She continued on scrolling. “I’ve known that from the first time I’ve met you. Ah, here it is.”

“I’m actually related to the old head chef, Emese, not even actual royalty,” Headmistress Crespo continued, her mascara beginning to go spidery.

Ms. Yano stepped up to comfort her but one look from Satomi made her freeze. “You never told me about that,” Ms. Yano said softly. “Weren’t her and the queen good friends?”

Roman could hear the quiet ringing of Satomi’s phone.

“They used to be,” Headmistress Crespo wailed, pulling hair out of her mouth. “But then Emese blackmailed Queen Alice into doing her bidding because she knew that the queen had an illegitimate baby with the king before their marriage!” She broke down into even more sobbing.

“What?” Satomi said sharply. “Queen Alice and King James had another child before Prince Logan?”

Headmistress Crespo nodded. “I’ve heard you tell people that I’m fake royalty and it’s true. I'm incredibly sorry for what I’ve done to your family. I don’t want to be my ancestor and do horrible things to people. I know you won’t forgive me but please let myself and Akemi be the ones to tell your dad.”

“Squirt? That you?” A male’s voice asked, coming from Satomi’s phone.

Satomi didn’t say anything. She stared at Headmistress Crespo, hard.

“Satomi? You okay?” Satomi’s dad tried again, a little more worry in his voice. “Are you there?” He paused. “Akemi?”

“Uh, hi dad!” Satomi finally said, her voice strained. “Sorry, I must’ve butt dialed you.”

“Well, shoot. How have you been doing?”

Satomi glanced around nervously and breathed a sigh of relief when the loud bell rang. “Oh sorry, dad, I’ve got to go. That’s the warning bell. Call you later? Our usual time?”

“Of course. See ya squirt, have fun at school!” The line went dead.

Ms. Yano and the headmistress both visibly sighed out in relief. “Thank you, Satomi.” Headmistress Crespo had stopped crying and was pulling out her bun and beginning to redo it.

“I didn’t do it because of you,” Satomi said sharply, glaring at the headmistress. “Dad should hear that his wife’s been unloyal from his wife, not his daughter. But you better do it sooner rather than later,” she added, pointing a finger at her mom.

“Of course,” Ms. Yano said with a nod and the room was thrusted into awkward silence.

“This, uh, illegitimate royal child…” Roman began, awkwardly clearing his throat. “You don’t suppose that’s who I’m descended from?”

“That would make sense,” Satomi said, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she had just had a very personal conversation in front of two people who were not part of the picture. She turned to Headmistress Crespo glaringly. “What do you know about Queen Alice’s firstborn?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. All I know is that the little guy wasn’t even named—he was sent off to some other kingdom and put up for adoption practically the moment he was born. It would almost be impossible to figure out what happened to him.”

The late bell rang and seemed to break everyone out of their stupor. Headmistress Crespo walked over to Ms. Yano’s desk and ripped out two pages from Satomi’s notebook. “I’ll write you three late passes, then you should probably hurry along to your classes.”

“Satomi?” Ms. Yano asked as they were about to leave the room. “Why don’t you come up to my room for hot chocolate tonight after your call with your dad? You can tell me about anything you want. I’ll listen. I’m sorry I haven’t been paying much attention to you recently. I wanted to give you some space since you’re getting older and I, myself, find it hard to pay attention for long periods of time when others are talking. I’m going to try to get better, I swear. What do you say?”

Satomi looked at her mom for the longest time before finally nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”

***

“I’ve always loved surprises and mysteries but I think I’m all mystery-ed out,” Roman said, following Satomi down to the basement. It was a couple weeks later and everything seemed a bit smoother. Satomi and her mom were having nightly get-togethers whenever they could, Ms. Yano’s husband was arriving at Violet Branch in a couple of weeks, and Patton was officially going to stay home next year for his senior year with his boyfriend.

“This is the last one,” Satomi said. “I thought I should probably share this place with someone else,” she added in with a shrug. She stopped at her dorm door and knocked. “Anyone in there?” She cracked open the door and peeked inside. “Empty. Come on in.”

“Where are we going?” Roman asked hesitantly, glancing around the large room.

“I found this place one evening in the summer a couple of years ago running from Crespo after I put glitter in her shampoo,” Satomi explained, walking to the furthest wall and kicking over a heavy rug which revealed a trapdoor.

At Roman’s apprehension, Satomi said, “it’s not too long, I promise.” She pulled open the trapdoor and jumped down inside. “I’ve found a couple of tunnels underground. A couple of them lead to Betrug, across the woods. But this one. This one isn’t like the others.”

They began walking, using Satomi’s trusty penlight to light the way. Roman’s chest was buzzing with curiosity and he felt like he was about to see something momentous. This felt different from when he and Satomi were going to the library. He couldn’t explain it, but it did.

“So, I hear your two roommates have begun to date,” Satomi said with a small smile.

“I feel happy for them,” Roman said, nodding. “They really work together. Oskar knows what Maxime’s saying without him saying it. It’s like magic. I just hope if they ever get into arguments, they won’t keep me awake,” he added in with a laugh.

They began climbing a rope ladder.

“I put in a new ladder after I found this place, the old one practically disintegrated into my hands,” Satomi said, popping the penlight into her mouth.

This was the first secret tunnel Roman had been in that had a ladder. It wasn’t his favourite thing ever, he decided as he felt his hands burning.

“Here we are,” Satomi finally said, letting go of one hand on the rope ladder to push up the wooden door above her. It creaked violently before giving way, the cool, evening, air rushing down.

After Satomi helped Roman up, he finally got a good look at the place.

“It’s the tallest tower of the castle,” Satomi said quietly, the harsh wind whipping her hair around.

Roman walked over to the edge, leaning over the rail. It was smoothed down from years and years of hard weather.

Satomi pointed upwards and Roman couldn’t help but breath out in wonder. Stars. So many of them. They twinkled and shone, the lights from the town and the castle casting a soft glow around them. Where they were so high up, the night sky looked endless.

“It’s beautiful,” Roman muttered, bringing his sweater closer to him. “Freezing, but beautiful.”

The inexplicable buzzing in his chest quieted down until it disappeared completely. It felt like some kind of resolution inside of him. The end of a story. But that just meant a new one was just beginning. And Roman couldn’t wait.

#the mystery of sanders castle

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aromanticautobot · 5 years ago

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One Black Coffee.

But it's Transformers. :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626267

The van was quiet, other than Optimus’ audiobook, playing over the speakers. Raf was interested in listening, Jack was partially engaged, and Miko was ready to bash her face through the window. Ratchet was driving, his tired focus on the road. It had been a long drive, and they still had a distance to go.

Chapter thirteen started, in a man’s calm, soothing voice. He wasn’t very good at making different voices, but he tried his best. Optimus stared forward, listening intently. His focus was broken when his seat jolted. “Miko, please don’t kick my seat,” he asked politely.

“I’m bored.” She whined. Raf, who was sitting in the middle, scooted closer to Jack as she brought her legs up to the seat, rising to her knees to stick her head out the window.

Ratchet regarded her sharply through the rearview. “Absolutely not.” He flipped the child lock on both backseat windows before she could roll hers down.

“How does he react so fast?” He heard her mutter to Raf as she huffily sat back down.

A few minutes passed.

“The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth open, . .”

“Don’t you fragging dare,” Ratchet hissed as some fleshling idiot cut him off while merging.

“Ratchet, the children,” his husband chastised softly.

“Raf, don’t repeat what I say.”

“I won’t.”

Miko slouched against the door, flicking the button longingly. Frag child safety locks. She stared out at the buildings drifting by, sighing loudly and dramatically. Jack sent her a look, before looking back out his own window, watching other drivers as they moved past.

Unmistakable yellow arches came into sight, bold against the sky’s soft blue. Miko straightened up excitedly. “Can we go to McDonald’s?” She leaned forward and pushed on Ratchet’s seat.

“No.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Ratch, come on, we’re hungry!” She looked at the other two expectantly, nodding towards Ratchet.

“I could eat.” Jack obliged.

“There’s food where we’re going.” Ratchet replied dismissively. “If this damn truck would get out of my lane. . .”

“Ratchet, come on, the exit is coming up!” Miko started bouncing in her seat. “McDonald’s, McDonald’s, McDonald’s,” she began chanting. “McDonald’s, Jack, Raf, come on, McDonald’s, McDonald’s!”

Optimus paused his audiobook, no longer able to hear it over Miko’s shouting. He looked over to see Ratchet’s reaction, and found Ratchet exercising his determination to ignore them.

“JACK COME ON! McDonald’s, McDonald’s!”

Reluctantly, and starting out quiet, Jack joined in. Pressured to join his friends, Raf piped up as well, until anyone driving by could hear the chant of ‘McDonald’s’ from inside the van.

“McDONALD’S! McDONALD’S! McDONALD’S!”

Cheers of victory replaced the chanting as Ratchet flipped the blinker, and eased down the offramp, slowing to a stop before pulling into the McDonald’s parking lot. Optimus watched Ratchet carefully; it wasn’t like him to relent easily, the children hadn’t won yet. The drive through was empty, and the children all cheered and announced what they wanted.

Ratchet listened silently, before leaning out the window and speaking, clearly and calmly: “I would like one black coffee, please.”

And then they proceeded to the window. A coffee was handed to Ratchet.

And then they drove off, heading straight for the onramp.

The van was silent. Satisfaction was rolling off of Ratchet’s shoulders as he sipped the steaming coffee, accelerating to meet the speed limit and merging. Miko’s mouth was caught open in pure shock. The boys were exchanging dumbfounded looks.

Optimus stared at his husband, both impressed and unamused simultaneously. This was rather coldhearted, especially since he knew that Ratchet was a very generous personality. The Prime looked over his shoulder into the backseat.

Raf looked disappointed, staring at his lap and fiddling with his glasses. Jack seemed to be trying to play it off cool, but he too seemed dejected. Miko was slumping with her arms crossed, pouting.

Looking back to Ratchet, Optimus quietly addressed him. “Ratchet, you upset them.”

“Mm.” Ratchet dismissed.

“They look sad.” Optimus gestured to the rear view, adjusting it so Ratchet could see their faces.

The medic glanced at the mirror briefly. “I don’t care how they look.” He retorted with a huff. “I couldn’t care less about. . .” He turned his head to send his husband a glare, and he was met with those big, round eyes he would always see on Orion Pax, whenever he was unhappy. Sad, soft and dejected looking. Ratchet stared at Optimus’ sad, pouty face, fully aware that he was being manipulated, and still falling for it. “Fine.” He hissed, before roughly jerking the wheel and flipping them around in a violent circle across both lanes of the freeway. The kids screamed, and Optimus held onto the ‘oh shit handle’ for dear life, exclaiming loudly as the van nearly tipped.

“RATCHET, WHAT ARE YOU- OH PRIMUS!” The Prime shouted frantically as they tore down the freeway in the wrong direction, before zooming across the center lane through a break in the barrier. They broke onto the pair of lanes traveling in the other direction, speeding until they reached the offramp just before the McDonald’s. “Ratchet, what were you thinking?!” Optimus demanded as they reached a stop sign.

“I-I think I need new pants,” Jack was gripping his shirt above his heart, chest heaving.

“That was awesome.” Miko wheezed, out of breath, but smiling widely.

The hot coffee had spilled into Optimus’ lap, but that was the last of his worries. He was staring at Ratchet with a horrified look, eyes wide and face pale. He went disregarded as his husband delivered them to the McDonald’s parking lot.

This time, they went inside. Optimus didn’t trust Ratchet at the wheel anymore, and insisted on taking a break in their drive so he could dry the coffee stains on his legs. Jack couldn’t stop sputtering, but Ratchet interpreted it as much as he could for the employee taking their orders. Miko loudly announced her desire for chicken nuggets, and Raf politely ordered, his face as pale as Optimus’.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Raf timidly pulled on Ratchet’s sleeve. “Can we go to the playground?” He asked carefully, as if Ratchet might snap again. “We just want to stretch our legs and move around a bit. . .”

“Don’t be too long.” The medic waved dismissively. The three of them enthusiastically bounced towards the indoor playground, with slides and climbing tubes and rope ladders that were definitely made for smaller children.

“You’re never driving again.” Optimus announced when they were gone.

“Don’t be so dramatic, we made it, didn’t we?”

“Ratchet!” Optimus pushed.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.” Ratchet hid his amused smile, sitting back in his seat to watch the kids crawl around in the play tubes. He scoffed when Miko announced “long live the king!” before shoving Jack down a slide. He barreled down it head over heels, landing with a thud and an oof. “I don’t regret it, though. Look at them.”

Optimus followed his gaze, sighing. “You’ve made their night. I believe they have a newfound respect for you.” A smile of his own quirked the sides of his mouth, and he leaned over to press a tender kiss to his husband’s cheek. “I don’t agree with your method of delivering us here, but I am content that you had a change of heart.”

An employee approached them, clearing his throat. “Excuse me? All three of them are too big for that playground. There’s a height limit at the entrance. I need to ask you to call them out of there.” He looked tired and annoyed under his cap.

Optimus made to rise to his feet. He had always been respectul of rules, especially those set by humans. Ratchet stopped him with a hand on his thigh. Digging into his pocket for his wallet, he pulled out a hundred dollar bill and offered it to the employee rather matter of factly. “They can play for a little longer.”

The employee seemed to battle with confliction between right and wrong before taking the bill and hurrying off. Optimus rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease some of his tension, muttering about Ratchet’s carelessness. His husband didn’t seem to care.

There was a loud crack in one of the tubes, and Miko came crashing down, before shooting back up and darting back to the adults, Raf and Jack at her heels. “We gotta go.” She pulled on Optimus’ arm.

“Did you break something?”

“We gotta go!” She repeated, giving up on pulling Optimus to his feet and dashing out the door on her own.

“Well, let’s get back on the road. You’re driving, I take it?” Ratchet stood up, straightening his coat out.

Optimus gave a stressed sigh, shoulders sagging.

Fowler was going to kill him.

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catalinaroleplay · 4 years ago

Photo

Gender & Pronouns: Cis man, he/him

Date of Birth: December 20th, 1986 (34)

Place of Birth: Catalina Island, California

Neighborhood: Lafayette Square

Length of Residency: Native

Occupation: Professional Golf Player

Face Claim: Derek Theler

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: ADHD, Dyslexia, Car Accident, Suicide.

When Sylvie and Johnathan got pregnant with their second child, they weren’t ready for how different their experience with the boy would be from his oldest sister. Starting by his premature birth (by a whole month) in the middle of the holidays. He soon proved to be strong through, he wasn’t a quiet baby by any means, Gabriel tested his parents’ will power and patience every night when he made them have a taste of his healthy lungs at three in the morning, sometimes not keeping quiet the whole night. He would hear those stories continuously while growing up, especially when he brought girlfriends home to meet the family. He still thinks they are Sylvie’s finest way of making him feel embarrassed as any good mother should. It’s needless to say that he grew up surrounded by what most people envied: a good, supporting family. He was incredibly close to his parents, even closer to his sisters. His proximity with all that female energy made him inevitably stray away from some male stereotypes which didn’t make school any easier for him. He spent too much time with his mother in Carmichael Roses, which made him learn everything about flowers, including the best of each season, and as a teenager helped with their shipments for a while. The rest of his time would be spent in a green field, playing and falling in love with golf alongside his father and his older sister.

Gabriel never felt like he was a child as the other children around him. He was loud and rambunctious, yes? However, his mind was far too scarce for him, he was disruptive in class, impatient, he was forgetful of his tasks and had a difficulty in concentrating, not to mention, he constantly complained about his difficulty in reading and writing. It would take a while for the family to this as more than a kid just being a kid, thankfully, his parents paid his symptoms much mind, and when Gabriel’s grades started tanking in elementary school, before everything got worrisome, he was sent to a therapist and diagnosed with dyslexia and ADHD. From that moment on, both Sylvie and Jonathan would do everything in their power to make sure that it wouldn’t hinder him in any way in his future and that he would have a chance as any other kid would, even if he was already behind by a grade from the rest of his classmates.

From the moment he was diagnosed, Gabriel remembers working harder than ever just to fit in. He was still made from the same mold as his older sister, but as a young boy he couldn’t feel more different if he tried. His diagnosis translated into anxiety to deal with most social situations, but over time, and with the proper support, not only from his family, but medically speaking, he got better. Gabriel understood that quite possibly he would never be able to function the same way other children did, and it was perfectly fine. Both himself and his parents were completely against medicating him as a child. For once they were afraid it would cause some sort of dependency, and for Gabriel, he was scared of the side effects and that instead of giving him just enough to concentrate, it would numb him out and he was not interested in that. Therapy, stress management and educational support, not to mention cognitive behavioural therapy became normal in his life. His parents hired tutors to help him study after school in attempts to keep up, but he was always a step behind no matter how hard he tried. His difficulty with learning words and how to write properly, paired with a brain who thought too fast for how slow he was able to scribble words on a page, or read them for that matter. He hated math, the symbols confused him to no end and he thought that if he never had to see math in his life, he was fine with it.

As a part of his therapy, though, to learn how to concentrate better, his therapist told him not to abandon golf, in fact, she prescribed him more time on the field, as he had described a sense of peace and quiet whenever he was swinging a golf club.

Golf would soon become his whole life, much to his father’s happiness. It was as if he was someone else when he was on that course. He managed to get the queues without having to read anything on a board and his mind had its own way of processing what his hands needed to do, the exact amount of force he needed to put in to make sure that his swings were precise. Besides, it was nice to see people praising him, instead of being concerned over something that if he had any say in it, would never hinder his professional path. It was clear that he wanted to be just like his father and it was also clear to see that Johnathan took it as a compliment, especially when he saw his son had a natural talent for the game. Gabriel would want to start competing as soon as his father and his teacher thought he would be able to do so. Competitions brought a different side of him and made his fear of failure and being a disappointment flourish. He didn’t win every tournament under his belt, by any means, but it wasn’t until he was ranked high enough to participate in the 2000’s masters that a loss hit him so hard.

Coming back home as a second placer did not bode well with what he demanded of himself, thinking that because he lacked in certain areas of his life, he needed desperately to compensate in others. Everything pertaining to Gabriel needed to be handled carefully, it was easy to see that the boy didn’t treat himself kindly upon failure and naturally, the family had been wary of it, with reason too. After the failure in the masters and with other competitions approaching, he turned to performance enhancers. There was no denying his head felt more in the game, and he did better in practice. It wasn’t until the next year’s masters that he even attempted to take one for an official competition. He was busted, of course, his reputation tainted and he never saw his father as disappointed with him as he was at that moment. It was agreed that maybe he should take a break from the game, handle the penalties that were put his way and try another time, in a few years perhaps. Not knowing what he would do with his free time, Gabriel turned to working for Carmichael Roses, helping his mother with shipments and anywhere he couldn’t mess up. Golf had put him in a certain place at the school’s social hierarchy, but things definitely changed after his use of drugs hit the national news.

His next few years in school were a way for him to rebuild his reputation. He stopped using the enhancers and logged in extra hours in the therapist’s office to try and deal with the feelings properly. He got himself his first girlfriend, which would not end well on both parts, and while he wanted to follow the family’s footsteps and aim high for Stanford, he knew it was an unnecessary risk for his well being and years of treatment to try and fit in alongside people who were, for the lack of a better word, overachievers. By the time he was 17 years old, he had returned fully and carefully to golffing and because of the game, and how he was so good at rebuilding his image (alongside a marketing team, of course), Gabriel landed a sports scholarship to UCLA. Getting a superior education and having something to fall back on was Sylvie’s condition to let Gabriel play his game. It would soothe her heart, she used to say, but he was pretty sure that after the stunt he pulled on her, she would never stop worrying again. His father, on the other side, had forgiven him entirely after he apologized and swore to him he wouldn’t take anything. Truth be told, Gabriel missed the way golf made him feel, and while he had his fun while working at Carmichael’s, nothing quite compared to the thrill of being recognizably good at something.

His time at UCLA came with a nasty break, but breezed through. He was happy for the scholarship, although it wasn’t really necessary. He was the first, in a long time not to attend Stanford, but his parents seemed to be okay with it. He was trying and while he was going through college for his mother, there was nothing that could make him feel interested there. During the four years of university, Gabriel concentrated more than never in what he was there for. The close proximity with Catalina, made him able to commute and be home to practice with his father whenever the man could. Soon he would be making headlines again. Sports channels predicted a larger than ever return, because up until his 18th birthday, he had been only playing in minor tournaments, ranking himself up again, rebuilding his reputation from the ground up and handling all sorts of jokes from his peers. He would go on to play his next masters at 19, this time coming home with a victory, and that scene would repeat itself for the many years to come.

It wouldn’t be easy, but by the time he was 24 he managed to get his degree in psychology and the whole family was there to see it. Among every trophy and medal he had conquered so far, getting his diploma meant more to him than Gabriel was willing to admit. It meant, more than anything else, that he had conquered his childhood difficulties, and while he would always live with them in one way or another, he had spent years learning how to make himself better. Ever since he had enough money to do so, Gabriel has been very vocal about his support for organizations who do their part for kids who went through what he did and did his best to educate other people on what that meant for him and what it would mean for other children who had different experiences and harder experiences than he did. For years and before starting his own organization once he had a good influential level, he was a spokesperson for children and their parents. Especially those who weren’t as lucky as him. His condition was also one of the reasons why he chose his degree, and what made him even more proud to have gotten it. After his diploma, Gabriel would once again settle back in Catalina, despite his constant travels, the island would always be the home he would return to.

The next year, one day after his 25th birthday, Gabriel would receive a call in his parents home telling him of the passing of his best friend. Few things had been pivotal in changing the way Gabriel thought about things, or caused disruptive changes in his life. Peter had been someone he knew since he was 2 or 3 years old, he was always with the family, almost glued to Gabriel’s hip in a way and he had commited suicide. Gabriel was devastated and numb at the same time. He would spend his next few months (and the rest of his life) doing everything to support Peter’s family, but even when everyone had moved on, he didn’t. He got depressive and reclusive, only leaving home for practice and even then, he took too many weeks off the game to process what had happened. While Sylvie and Johnathan had raised their children in a free environment, as a young boy, Gabriel had turned to the catholic church for many answers, he was regular in his attendance to Sunday church, he had a good relationship with the community, he went to the confessional weekly and thought that all those rituals brought his mind some peace, but once Peter passed away, there were no answers his church could give him. He went soul searching, he took a break from the game, traveled places, met new religions, but none quite spoke to him like spiritualism. He doesn’t know now if he considers himself to have broken up from catholicism, but he definitely found a place that gave tranquility to his heart when nothing else had done ever since Peter died. Gabriel’s depression gave place to peace and he was able to close that chapter in his life.

From late 2013 to middle 2020 Gabriel collected trophies and ranked high among other golf players such as his own father (who had retired to take care of his family) and Tiger Woods. He got endorsements, appeared (much to his chagrin) in underwear commercials. He was officially sponsored by Nike for the 2014 Rio Olympics and while he didn’t come home with a gold medal, he knew how to deal with that now. Despite his romantic slip ups, and those were many, Gabriel didn’t lose his place as a hopeless romantic, saying in many interviews, he wanted what his parents had: someone to be with him for the rest of his life.

Enter Rebecca. They would meet at a journalist and players get together after a particular game, during interviews. Truth be told, Gabriel never cared for any sport other than golf, but he would listen to her going over football plays forever. He was struck from the moment he met her. He would ask her out on a date, which would not go good, and be fairly surprised when she was the first one to contact him the next day. They would be together for three years total before Gabriel popped the question. He didn’t do it in the middle of the field, or anything for the world to see, it was just between the two of them. She would go on to plan the wedding alongside his mother and while being a romantic at heart, Gabriel knew better than to put himself in the middle. As the wedding approached, Rebecca changed, Gabriel brushed it off for wedding jitters, since the nuptials were so close. It would be an intimate ceremony, just the family, no media, no press, no nothing. It wasn’t until he knocked on her dressing room door on the morning of their wedding that he found a small note. She had ran away with her best friend, and claimed to be in love with him. Gabriel never took such a high leap again, but he still made some minor mistakes for love over the next few years. He had to go through some awkward press conferences after he was left.

Gabriel was thankful to have his game to fall back on. Rebecca had been a big part of his life for the last four years, but he needed to move on. In some ways, he was happy that she was happy. Was there anything he could ask more? He started prepping for the next Olympics and ranking high enough to be a part of the team. He was okay with being resumed to the one thing he loved the most (aside from his niece and nephew, of course). Being left at the altar only hyped people’s interest over him, his PO box had never been more full and he had good laughs about it.

Around November 2020, Gabriel got into a car accident with another friend. They were just making a short ride from his parents’ house to his friend when a car came straight towards theirs. In an attempt to get rid from the collision, Gabriel’s friend swerved and they ended up hitting a tree instead. His friend had the seatbelt on, but Gabriel, because the ride was so short, didn’t. In attempts to soften the blow and buffer the impact, he put his right hand on the dash, which caused him to dislocate his shoulder, shatter his thumb, broke his wrist and tore a ligament. A concussion cost him his consciousness and he would only wake up hours later after the surgery was done. Naturally, he was worried about his game, and was relieved when the doctor explained that the injury wouldn’t cost him his grip or his swing, but he needed to be careful, take it easy and not overstep himself and injure himself further. It would take him months to return fully and he needed to be patient with himself, although patience wasn’t exactly what Gabriel was known for.

Since the injury took him out of any future competitions, Gabriel has moved back to Catalina full time now, getting himself an apartment in Lafayette Square, large enough for him and his big ball of fur. His mother has been overwhelmingly around, but he doesn’t complain about it. His time is both devoted to his physical therapy and everything he needs to do, but also he has been spending a lot of time on the organization he has helped fund about two years ago and became his baby. The Smile Foundation came from an effort to help underprivileged children with learning disabilities to reach their full potential, Gabriel spends most of his time now at their building close to his home and makes sure to speak to children and parents alike. Since it’s non-profit they thrive out of other people’s volunteering and donations, and they have been offering a good space. Naturally, Gabriel is doing everything in his power to return to where he left, but it doesn’t mean that for the first time in forever he hasn’t been enjoying some off time from the game.

PERSONALITY

Positive: Optimistic | Spontaneous | Fair-minded

Negative: Restless | Tactless | Naive

Gabriel Livingston is portrayed by Rosa.

#all #cis #man #lafayette square #adhd tw #dyslexia tw #car accident tw #suicide tw #derek theler

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homespork-review · 4 years ago

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HOMESPORK ACT 5 ACT 1: Mobius Double Plusungood, Part 2

BRIGHT: Nepeta wants to know what’s going on. Aradia finally stops dodging the question and tells Nepeta she’s dead, but doesn’t elaborate on how it happened. She asks Nepeta to keep it a secret, which Nepeta agrees to. Aradia’s also picked up some froglike traits from being merged with the sprite -- namely a tendency to ribbit.

In retrospect, it’s kind of funny that an active player can merge with a sprite. The role of a sprite seems to involve having detailed knowledge of how the Game works and what the player should do next, but only dispensing vague advice to the player. Prototyping a player would give them full access to that knowledge with no sprite vagueness to get in the way. The Game doesn’t seem too concerned about that, though.

CHEL: Now it’s time to get to know AG better. A doodle of her declaring her to be a HUGE BITCH fades into her standing in her room. Rather gothic, and also filthy-looking; it’s dark, with a red sky outside, and cobwebs and broken Magic 8 Balls lie around everywhere. There’s a FLARP poster and numerous pages of notes on the wall.

Your name is VRISKA SERKET.

You are a master of EXTREME ROLE PLAYING. You can't get enough of it, or really any game of high stakes and chance. You have persisted with the habit even in spite of your ACCIDENT. But then again, you don't have much choice.

Your lusus is VERY HUNGRY, ALL THE TIME. She can only be appeased by the FLESH OF YOUNG TROLLS. You cloud campaigns for teams of Flarpers, utilizing your abilities for ORCHESTRATING THE DEMISE OF THE IMPRESSSSSSSSIONA8LE. Your victories supply you with treasure, experience points, and SPIDER FOOD.

You are something of an APOCALYPSE BUFF, which is something you can be on Alternia. You are fascinated by end of the world scenarios, and enjoy constructing DOOMSDAY DEVICES for the hell of it. You are drawn to means of DARK PROGNOSTICATION and the advantages they offer, particularly in gaming scenarios. Your abilities in this department were hobbled with the loss of your VISION EIGHTFOLD, and you have since sought alternatives through various BLACK ORACLES. You consult with these ominous globes, but routinely destroy them in frustration over the PUZZLING GUARANTEED INACCURACY of their predictions. Breaking them has developed into a habit BORDERING ON FETISHISTIC, and with each you destroy, you add to an insurmountable stockpile of TERRIBLE LUCK. You have to stop. But addiction is a powerful thing.

FAILURE ARTIST: FINALLY we get a name for her and we don’t have to keep saying AG. I imagine the non-Homestucks are feeling like I did when I played Danganronpa 2 finally and saw the “fingers-in-his-ass” guy.

CHEL: She examines a drawing on the wall, of her FLARP character MARQUISE SPINNERET MINDFANG, who is just Vriska in a different coat and seaboots, with a hook instead of her robot hand. She is the scourge of land dwellers and sea dwellers alike, and worst nightmare to silly BOY-SKYLARKS everywhere. She has accumulated more treasure and gained more levels than any member of the PETTICOAT SEAGRIFT class ever. She gained all the levels. All of them.

En route to her computer, Vriska steps on a D4, and complains about how she’s had terrible luck since her mysterious accident. I’d just like it noted that this is a small but noticeable occurrence of Vriska’s tendency to blame others for her problems; if she cleaned her room some time, that wouldn’t happen. Still, she doesn’t worry about it too long, as she’s busy.

So many irons in the fire. Such a tangled web. It is a web full of flaming irons and mixed metaphors.

BRIGHT: Vriska equips her weapon of choice, a set of enchanted D8 dice called the FLUORITE OCTET.

...okay, I’m getting used to characters having semi-absurd weapons, but seriously, what? Let’s review everyone else’s chosen weapons: Hammer, knitting needles, sword, gun, sickles, lance, clawed gloves, walking cane. Sollux had some throwing stars but didn’t assign them to his specibus owing to his telekinesis being enough; we haven’t seen Aradia’s strifekind yet, but she also has telekinetic abilities, and hers are apparently enhanced by her being dead. So that’s a lot of genuine weapons, and some things which aren’t weapons but can readily be used that way in a pinch...and then Vriska has a set of enchanted dice.

It’s a good fit both for Homestuck’s absurdity and for Vriska’s obsession with luck. But it does stand out rather.

Anyway, rolling the dice will execute a wide range of highly unpredictable attacks. Very high rolls can be devastating to even the most powerful opponents. Apparently these work everywhere, not just in FLARP games. Also, while we see ghosts, psychic powers, and superpowered coding, I think this is the only reference to plain magic we have on Alternia.

Vriska steps away from the computer to avoid talking to GA, who she refers to as an unwelcome solicitor, but returns to it when someone else starts messaging her. Vriska calls him this guy; he has no icon -- and, oddly, no username -- and types in white, which means the reader (and Vriska) ends up highlighting the conversation a lot.

Hello.

AG: Oh my god, why are you talking to me????????

This is the last time we'll ever talk.

AG: Still sticking with the white text I see. So smooth and stylish!

AG: I forgot how much I loved highlighting it to read all the 8oring things you have to say.

AG: It's like a fun game for super extra handicapped retarded people. Like opening a present! Find out what o8noxious thing the mystery tool typed.

AG: What is it!

A parting courtesy, I suppose.

All the ways I've exploited you were meant to bring about the events that will take place this evening.

Knowing this will provide context for the events in your near future, and will affect how you behave in response.

These events will be just as important as those preceding it.

I've gone to great lengths, you see.

Well, this guy sounds ominous.

Also, using ‘handicapped’ and ‘retarded’ as insults is entirely in character for Vriska, who has no time for people who can’t operate on her level. Currently Vriska’s also being shown as an unlikeable character. We’ll see how that develops.

CHEL: Still, a lot of people really don’t like those words being used casually, and the fact that we need to show you how things develop should imply that they won’t develop in a way you’ll like. So…

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 39

White Text Guy, as the characters refer to him for a while to come yet, continues gloating about how successfully he’s exploited Vriska, who tells him she’ll log off and orders him not to use that nasty trick where you log me 8ack on out of petty douchey spite! WTG says he’ll be brief, though he’s not particularly brief in fact, tells her he no longer hold[s] her accountable for any wrongdoing, and says that if she accepts this, she may get her luck back. Vriska doesn’t believe him and continues to rant, and he points out that her unpleasant, simplistic temperament is what made her so easy to mess with.

If you turn a swarm of wasps on a crowd, the outcome is certain.

He leaves with these even more ominous words:

Though the magnitude of the ensuing destruction resulting directly from your actions will be neither possible or necessary for you to fathom, there nevertheless ought to be a silver lining.

The only question is whether you will live long enough to see it.

Vriska, enraged, lifts a Magic 8 Ball with the intention to smash it, but decides she can’t be bothered, and answers GA, hoping some camaraderie will cheer her up, even if it’s from a meddler. However, GA’s first question is “Is Your Lusus Dead Yet”. Not particularly cheering, is it?

Vriska, for the first time, expresses concern and sympathy for another person when GA says her own lusus is dead, though it may be undermined slightly by her own personal disappointment in never having got to meet said lusus. GA doesn’t seem very concerned, and says “Maybe You Still Can”. According to her, though, all their lusii are dying, as a “Preemptive Consequence” (if that’s a meaningful concept) of the upcoming Game. Karkat blames himself for activating the cursed code, but GA thinks it was inevitable. However, Karkat’s idea of a curse Is Inseparable From His Perception Of Events As Intrinsically Negative And As Tailored To His Personal Dissatisfaction, and so is Vriska’s poor luck. GA points out that if Vriska cleaned her floor she wouldn’t step on so many things. THANK YOU, GA, you made my point for me! Vriska is angry at GA “meddling” so, and demands to know why she does.

GA: Because Youre Dangerous

[...]

GA: Its Ok To Be Dangerous

GA: Lots Of People Are

GA: And Dangerous People Can Be Really Important

GA: Maybe Even The Most Important Sometimes

GA: But It Just Means Theres Got To Be Someone Around To Keep An Eye On Them

As Vriska gets angrier, it’s noted that she puts 8s in her typing in places where they don’t work as Bs or as “eight” sounds, and they become more numerous.

AG: Or you know, if you're so h8gh 8nd might8 an8 th8nk you're so gr8at, m8y88 you c8uld oh I d8n't kn8w........

AG: TRY AND ST8P ME FROM DO8NG B8D THINGS????????

GA: That Wouldnt Work

GA: If I Tried To Stop You You Would Regard Me As An Enemy

GA: Instead Of Merely As A Nuisance

BRIGHT: GA’s strategy appears to be trying to talk Vriska into being a better person, either by persuading her that it’s the right thing to do or by being so annoying that Vriska does the right thing to avoid being meddled with. She’s making an effort, I’ll give her that. And given that she doesn’t live anywhere near Vriska, there isn’t all that much she can do to rein her in.

CHEL: Vriska signs off, ranting about her “Lousy st8pid godd8mn supportive friend!” and heads down the enormous staircase to check on her lusus.

You wonder if any other kid on the planet has such a high maintenance lusus? You DOUBT it.

As a matter of fact, one does and Vriska knows that, but we’ll see them later. Not a continuity error, it’s just Vriska self-pitying.

From a window, we see a doomsday device hanging over a chasm by chains attached to the surrounding cliffs. Vriska built it for an especially powerful and influential member of the nautical aristocracy, with help from an as-yet-unnamed nearby friend. Vriska reaches the bottom of the stairwell, and we meet her lusus, which is…

… a spider about the size of a cathedral. For the sake of our arachnophobic readers, we’ll refrain from posting a picture. Suffice it to say she’s as terrifying as she sounds. Pan out to show the entire valley is filled with cobwebs, and Vriska’s hive is matched by a similar one on the other side of the valley.

Before we move on, I’d just like to chat a little about the astrological symbolisms used here. Vriska’s the Scorpio troll, and it puzzles a lot of people that she’s spider-themed instead of scorpion-themed. Both arachnids, but not the same thing. However, Scorpio does have multiple symbols, depending on the source of the interpretation of the constellation, including the spider and the phoenix. Observe! (I enjoy astrology. Sue me.) Also, a scorpion would be a lot harder to get the story symbolism out of; Vriska is at least attempting to be a master manipulator pulling on strings, i.e. webs. The astrological symbolism and alleged personality traits aren’t used for all of the trolls in general, either. The troll with the sign of Aquarius the Water-Bearer is seadwelling nobility and probably wouldn’t be happy to be represented astrologically by a servant, and Gamzee is basically the opposite of the ambitious and hardworking traits of the allegedly typical Capricorn. Basically the signs are mostly aesthetic and if Huss can work in some connected symbolism that’s a bonus. I don’t consider this a negative thing in particular, though it might annoy some astrology buffs.

Actually, I don’t know how intentional this was, but one fan actually analysed how the social expectations on Alternia are in fact the exact opposite of what would actually suit their astrological sign. It didn’t get finished but there’s some interesting information - read the posts in question here, beware spoilers!

BRIGHT: One amusing consequence of this can be turned into a game: Go to Tumblr, find an astrology post, and see how long it takes to figure out if it’s a Homestuck riff. Some of them even just say ‘Vriska’ for Scorpio.

It’s probably just because I mostly follow fandom-related blogs, but I’ve yet to see a Tumblr astrology post that wasn’t a more-or-less-subtle Homestuck joke.

CHEL: And the ones which aren’t make for great fanfic prompts!

BRIGHT: Vriska’s lusus is fine, as it happens. Vriska pretends to be happy about this, but she’s rather less convincing than Dave is about his own guardianship issues.

FAILURE ARTIST: And we turn from Vriska to look in her neighbor and it’s….that creepy guy! Hurray!

Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK.

You love being STRONG.

You are so strong, you would surely be the class of the elite legion of RUFFIANNIHILATORS. And while such a calling would be quite honorable, you would prefer to join the ranks of the ARCHERADICATORS, perhaps the most noble echelon the imperial forces have to offer. Unfortunately, you SUCK AT ARCHERY. You have not successfully fired a SINGLE ARROW. Every time you try, you BREAK THE BOW. You are simply too strong. You have broken so many bows, it has developed into a habit BORDERING ON FETISHISTIC. You have to stop. But addiction is a powerful thing.

You have a great appreciation for THE FINE ARTS. You use your aristocratic connections to acquire PRICELESS MASTERPIECES, painted in the oldest and most respected Alternian tradition of NUDE MUSCLEBEAST PORTRAITS. These striking depictions of the EXQUISITE FAUNA native to Alternia remind you of the PUREST PHYSICAL IDEAL that must be sought by anyone who professes a LOVE OF STRENGTH. When those of lesser bloodlines turn up their uncultured noses at such stunning material, it MAKES YOU FURIOUS.

Practically everything MAKES YOU FURIOUS. You have so much rage, it can only be expressed through STAGGERING QUANTITIES OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE. You build strong and sturdy robots, set them to kill mode, and BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THEM in caged brawls. Sometimes you LOSE TEETH. But they usually grow back.

FAILURE ARTIST: Equius Zahhak’s first name is obviously a take on the Latin word for horses, but his last name is from a Persian demon who is also known as “he who has 10,000 horses”.

So yes, that furry porn on his walls is high art to trolls. Though the prequel Hiveswap Friendsim, which has artist characters, doesn’t have MUSCLEBEAST PORTRAITS. Maybe Equius is actually weird.

CHEL: Actually, the Friendsim does have musclebeast art; if you squint at the beginning of Nikhee’s route, you can see depictions of white muscular chests flanking the arena, which don’t look like troll chests. Hiveswap proper is rated PG, so we’ll be spared it there, too.

FAILURE ARTIST: Equius is more even-tempered than his introduction suggests. He’s not completely violence-free (as we will see) but he’s not in a constant ‘roid-rage. Heck, from what we’ve seen before of him he just gets peeved and snotty.

Equius calls for his lusus Aurthour, who I guess could be called another self-insert. Aurthour is a centaur-type creature with cow udders and a mustache and looks like something out of Hussie’s early comics. Aurthour carries a glass of lusus milk on a platter, presumably from its own udders. Ummm.

You cannot hope to beat Aurthour in a butler-off. He is simply the best there is.

Sweet, I guess.

CHEL: I wonder how Aurthour contorts around to reach his udder. Centaurs aren’t really known for flexibility.

FAILURE ARTIST: We find out why Aurthour has a shiner. It’s not because of domestic abuse but because when Equius “gently” pats Aurthour, Aurthour bruises. Yet this creature is the only lusus STRONG enough to raise Equius.

Equius tries to drink the glass, but it shatters in his hand. Which begs the question of why Aurthour doesn’t use an alternative to glass. Well, I guess Equius going straight to the source would be too disturbing even for Hussie. A bigger problem is how Equius can do the fine detail work of building robots when he can’t hold a glass.

Equius goes into a rage, which just means he stands around in Hero Mode while the lusus milk quickly evaporates. Wait, quickly evaporates? What is it made of?

CHEL: I assumed the heat of his rage boiled it.

FAILURE ARTIST: Equius tries to equiup equip a bow but fails due to his strength. Like the glass smashing, this is a normal occurrence. You’d think he’d give up but apparently breaking bows is like popping bubble wrap to him. Expensive bubble wrap. So he has the useless 1/2bowkind, a bowkind for when he’s ever that lucky, and the fistkind which he actually utilizes. Yes, in Homestuck, you can register your fists as lethal weapons.

Equius talks with Nepeta and the narration summarizes like thus:

CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no CT: D --> Yes AC: :33 < no

Equius is still worried about his good friend Nepeta, so he decides to relieve his stress by talking with another friend. And here comes a line fans take as meaning trolls don’t have friendship.

It should be noted that in troll language, the word for friend is exactly the same as the word for enemy.

Though that line contradicts Equius considering Nepeta his friend only a few lines back. This worldbuilding sucks.

CHEL: Well, he doesn’t treat her the way a human should treat a friend at this point.

FAILURE ARTIST: So Equius trolls this frienemy who turns out to be Gamzee.

centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CT: D --> Have I ever told you what a reprehensible disgrace you are

TC: hAhA, fUcK yEaH, oNlY eVeRy MoThErFuCkIn DaY bRo!

Yeah, Equius, pretty much everyone tells Gamzee that every day.

Equius says he wants get some things off his chest, which giving what we later learn about troll relationships might be adulterous. Gamzee tells him not to let his feelings be bottled up lIkE a FuCkIn AlL sHaKeD uP bOtTlE oF fAyGo and this metaphor makes Gamzee thristy. Equius berates Gamzee for drinking soda, which seems harsh but we later find out soda is booze for trolls. He’s also angry at Gamzee for doing sopor slime. Now, fans think Karkat didn’t like Gamzee doing sopor slime but we never actually see it. It’s just Equius who cares. This leads to an exchange I find interesting.

CT: D --> You will stop

TC: WhOaAaA, i WiLl?

TC: hOw Do YoU kNoW tHaT?

CT: D --> No, you don't understand

CT: D --> It's not a predi%ion, it's an order

CT: D --> I command you to stop

Gamzee is so passive he finds it hard to imagine making decisions that will change his future. Sad. And when Gamzee does get what Equius means:

TC: Oh, AlRiGhT bRoThEr.

TC: yOu MoThErFuCkIn GoT iT.

CT: D --> What

CT: D --> Are you serious

TC: yEaH.

TC: I mEaN, yOu GoT tO sHoW sOmE fAiTh In YoUr FrIeNdS, cAuSe ThEy'Re AlL tHe OnEs WhO'rE bEiNg To LoOk OuT fOr YoU.

TC: sO fUcK iF yOu SaY i'M nOt DoInG tHe ShIt RiGhT, tHeN wHaT tHe MoThErFuCk Do I kNoW!

CT: D --> No

CT: D --> This is una%eptable

CT: D --> Ok, let's start over

CT: D --> I apologize

CT: D --> I was completely out of of line, and I'm sorry

CT: D --> I have no right to talk to you like that, or tell you what you can't do

TC: aWw, No WoRrIeS!

Gamzee was ready to kick sopor slime except Equius backed down. Wondering about the timeline where Equius didn’t back down.

Still, Equius begs Gamzee to behave like a superior. Gamzee asks what that means and Equius gives a very creepy answer.

CT: D --> 100k, it isn't that difficult

CT: D --> Try to be cognizant of your desires and needs

CT: D --> And attempt to regard those around you as simple vehicles meant to bring about your gratification

At least Equius is a hypocrite...most of the time.

Equius asks what Gamzee is doing and Gamzee relates his adventures in Sgrub. He bonked an imp on the head and scared another with a horn and eventually ended up sharing pie with them. Equius likes the tales of valor but is disappointed with the peaceful end.

Equius asks Gamzee to roleplay and Gamzee says yes; there’s an uncomfortable sequence where Equius tries to get Gamzee to virtually dom him. Gamzee is terrible at being assertive, but Equius is still whipped into a state of contrition. Basically, Equius is getting off on this.

CHEL: It should be noted that tricking a child into sexual behaviour is a form of abuse even when it’s done by a child of the same age. Not cool, Eq, and not funny, Hussie.

CALL CPA PLEASE: 11

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 40

SEND THEM TO THE SLAMMER: 4

Though, while that is clearly the reading we’re meant to get from that, I have to say Equius never reads to me like he’s actually enjoying being ordered around. With Gamzee he’s just frustrated that he’s not behaving in a correct manner, and in later exchanges he seems knocked off-balance by the normal social order being upended. I know I’m just projecting, but it reads more like he has some issues with anxiety or OCD and is desperate for someone else to take control and tell him what they want him to do so he doesn’t have to worry. He sweats constantly during these exchanges, which is supposed to imply he’s aroused, but people sweat when they’re worried or afraid too.

FAILURE ARTIST: On a lighter front, Equius says he doesn’t live near the ocean, which considering his neighbor regularly goes on a pirate ship is an odd thing to say.

CHEL: How near is “near”? He might just mean not within walking distance so he can’t casually wander out to the sea like Gamzee does.

FAILURE ARTIST: Equius ends by wondering about the social order that puts someone like Gamzee above him but someone as graceful and poised as a certain mysterious she is of the lowest caste. Gamzee (and the readers) ask who she is and Equius brusquely says D -->I shouldn’t be talking about this D → You’re the enemy before signing off.

CHEL: If one’s been paying attention, one can guess.

Next, Equius and Vriska are in cahoots. Cahoooooooots. Vriska declares her intention to meddle, and they have a brief exchange about sarcasm. It’s horribly inconsistent whether trolls have sarcasm or not, as I’ve pointed out before. Already gave a point for it, though.

Anyway, Vriska asks if Aradia’s present is finished. It is.

CT: D --> But I don't understand why you're intent on gratifying that worthless peasant

AG: 8ecause I promised I would and it's none of your damn 8usiness! Man.

Their plan is to let Aradia usurp Sollux as leader with her cute little ploy (recall her sending him to sleep and letting him swallow mind honey earlier), then both snatch power from her and become joint leaders. Each asks the other if they’re planning something sneaky and each insists they’re not. Equius can sense that Vriska is trying to read his mind, and when she won’t stop, he takes control of her cybernetic arm, which he built, and makes her slap herself in the face.

FAILURE ARTIST: So given that Vriska tried to read Equius’ mind, despite the dangers (both physically and mentally), it is unbelievable she refrained from reading Karkat’s due to delicacy.

I think Hussie has said in his commentary that Vriska had a crush on Equius. The fandom prefers lesbian Vriska at this point and so has ignored that. YMMV on if there is evidence of a crush in the text but I find the idea amusing.

CHEL: Equius goes to fetch the present for Aradia which he was supposed to give to Vriska.

You naturally will doublecross your accomplice, just as you assume she has plans to doublecross you. You assume she is assuming the same of you. Business as usual for blue bloods.

How the hell does this society get anything done?

You will deliver it to Aradia yourself to gain her favor, and then doublecross her and take your rightful position as team leader. How ironic that someone of your blood purity must work to win the favor of the lowest sort of peasant. Humiliating. Strangely titillating, even. But in the end, class order will be restored.

He takes the tarp off the present, and it is…

Why, Aradia. It appears the red glass of your eye has caught the pink and green glint of the moons in their perigees. The sweet poetry almost makes a man forget how the grime that once filled your veins made his stomach turn. It is a good omen for illicit lovers. Could you imagine the scandal if anyone found out?? No one must ever know.

But worry not. Your heart will pump no more of that despicable red sludge. You have been given a new heart. You can be taught the ways of the class you were always meant for. No one is beyond redemption.

Be grateful, dear Aradia. For the first time in your meaningless life you have met a man with true compassion.

Jesus fucking Christ. See what I meant when I said his interactions with girls were worse than his posters? No points because it’s supposed to be creepy, and with the teachings of his society it’s not entirely his fault, but wow.

FAILURE ARTIST: Well, his interaction with a girl is creepy. His relationship with Nepeta is more problematic than fans remember but that’s two-sided and not infatuation. As for Vriska, he’s cold and business-like with her. He collaborates with GA but that’s off-screen and was probably also business-like. Meanwhile, he has lustful interactions with most every male character. We’ve seen how he acts with Gamzee and we’ll see more later. Equius’ interactions with guys are another example of Hussie using male attraction to other males as a punchline.

CHEL: But yes, he’s built her a robot body. Unfortunately for everyone involved, while making out with it, he feels judged by one of his battlebots, gets angry, and punches it. It goes flying out the window and robosplodes above the valley, and its remains hit Vriska’s doomsday device, setting it off. It breaks before it can actually destroy the planet, but the chains holding it up snap, sending it swinging into the cliffside, causing another explosion. The cliff collapses, taking part of Equius’ hive with it, sending Aurthour plummeting into the chasm and crushing Vriska’s spider lusus under tons of rubble.

Cutting back to before that, we see Terezi battling imps on her treehouse’s rooftop, when Vriska messages her, declaring that playing the game together means breaking their truce. Terezi says that’s not what the truce was about; it was about STOPP1NG TH3 3NDL3SS CYCL3 OF R3V3NG3 and Vriska not using her powers maliciously anymore. Terezi’s next couple of comments are just calling Vriska a liar so I’ll just take Vriska’s, to further illustrate her behaviour.

AG: Man, you like to give me such a hard time a8out all that. I can't catch a 8reak! AG: Can't you see I'm trying to put all that 8ehind me and make amends with every8ody? AG: No, of course you can't see that. What am I saying! [...] AG: I'll prove it to you. I'm giving Aradia a present that will make her feel all 8etter finally. AG: Then I'll 8e in the clear. Phew! Totally redeemed. You'll see. I mean smell.

Vriska appears under the impression that large flashy gestures are the important part of an apology, not actual sincerity. Terezi points out Aradia doesn’t care about anything anymore and probably won’t care about this.

AG: Man, why can't you cut me some slack for once???????? AG: It's not like I even did anything that 8ad to you. AG: I lost seven eyes 8ut you only lost two! I would say you came out ahead in the 8argain. GC: 1 KNOW GC: 4ND 4CTU4LLY GC: 1 N3V3R R34LLY GOT TH3 CH4NC3 TO TH4NK YOU >:D

Vriska’s disbelief aside, Terezi really is serious here. Not surprising to the reader, her blindness is basically a superpower.

AG: Remem8er Team Scourge? How convenient all that must 8e to have forgotten! You were so nasty. AG: Oh man, if you crossed Terezi Pyrope you were fucked!!!!!!!! GC: Y34H 1F YOU W3R3 4 B4D GUY GC: W3 W3R3 SUPPOS3D TO B3 L1K3 4 V1G1L4NT3 DUO D1SP3NS1NG JUST1C3 GC: 4ND YOU COULD T4K3 TH3 B4D GUYS HOM3 4ND F33D TH3M TO YOUR STUP1D SP1D3R GC: BUT 1NST34D YOU JUST F3D H3R 3V3RYBODY! GC: 4ND L13D 4ND L13D 4ND L13D

Okay, this little exchange needs some more dissection. Terezi is supposed to be the “good cop” of Team Scourge, the by-the-book one on the side of the law. But we saw what Alternian law is like, and later on we’ll see demonstrations that things such as having a birth defect or, according to Hiveswap, owning fiction which so much as mentions the possibility of rebellion, are punishable by death. Not only is this not making Terezi look any better, if she’s as obsessed with the law as we saw, who would she deem not a “bad guy”, and why would Vriska have such a shortage of “bad guys” that she’d need to take anyone else? Hussie appears to have forgotten that the Alternian concept of justice is different from the Earth one.

FAILURE ARTIST: And what we would consider a “bad guy” wouldn’t be the same on Alternia. There’s tons of trolls murdering other trolls on Hiveswap Friendsim without any hint that’s illegal. It’s probably completely lawful for a highblood to kill a lowblood just because the lowblood annoyed them.

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 29

BRIGHT: Maybe. I’d say what this shows us, and is intended to show us, is that Terezi’s sense of justice isn’t just based on Alternian law, but on her own moral code. The law made it perfectly acceptable for Vriska to feed lowbloods to her lusus regardless of whether they’d done anything, but Terezi didn’t think it was right, and for her that superseded the law. She’s the ‘good cop’ not because she always follows the book, but because she’s willing to ignore it.

We also know she thought Vriska was on the same page as her. Note that Terezi makes two accusations here — the first is that Vriska killed people who don’t deserve it, and the second is that Vriska lied to Terezi about doing so.

CHEL: That may be what it’s intended to show us, but what we’ve already seen is that she worships the law; she draws and gleefully licks pictures of the head of the troll court, His Honorable Tyranny, and she shows no concern in her roleplay with hypothetically executing people for relatively trivial crimes. That makes this a bit… shaky, IMO.

BRIGHT: True. Terezi may have stopped killing since her FLARP days (or, at least, we get no indication that she’s still doing so), but it doesn’t seem to have shaken her belief in the Alternian legal system. Just her belief in Vriska, who even brings up a similar point.

AG: Well if you want to know what I think, you should start changing your tune. AG: Cause even though you got all these highfalutin morals and fancy reserv8tions, you know as well as me that a killer is a killer is a killer! AG: There 8n't no ch8nging your ways for good, and one d8y you're going to flail that silly l8ttle cane of yours and not find n8thin to 8ump into, and fall f8ce first into the shit ag8in. AG: And you're going to do something t8rri8le to some8ody and wish you could t8ke it 8ack 8ut you c8n't!!!!!!!! AG: And then you'll work hard to win 8ack their trust, and you'll try and try and tr8, and you'll see how hard it is! AG: You'll seeeeeeee!

Vriska’s making this all about her own feelings about Terezi abandoning her, but she’s not wrong.

Vriska hears the doomsday device exploding and the subsequent rockslide, and goes to find out what it is. Terezi tells her not to get crushed.

The next page jumps back in time again -- this time, quite far back. Terezi’s eyes are normal, and she’s talking to Aradia about Tavros’s recovery. Aradia says he’s probably paralysed for life. Terezi brings up the possibility of getting him robo-prosthetics, but after the Vriska debacle Aradia is firmly against having anything to do with bluebloods.

CHEL: Terezi warns Aradia that revenge attempts will end badly and she wants to handle it. Aradia says Vriska isn’t able to control her, but Terezi says Vriska will find a way to harm her anyway. They lament how they were both distracted by the same person.

AA: wh0 was he anyway GC: PR3TTY SUR3 1T WAS VR1SKAS FR13ND AA: what was he d0ing there AA: watching us GC: WHO KNOWS GC: H3S NOT R34LLY H3R FR13ND THOUGH GC: YOU SHOULD S33 HOW H3 T4LKS 4BOUT H3R B3H1ND H3R B4CK GC: SH3 H4S NO 1D34 HOW B4D H3S PL4Y1NG H3R GC: BUT TH3N 1 DONT TH1NK H3 KNOWS HOW B4D SH3S PL4Y1NG H1M 31TH3R

This sounds like they mean Equius, but we’ll see. Aradia feels she’s letting Vriska win by doing nothing, but Terezi has a plan. She confirms that her friendship with Vriska is over.

Cut to Aradia’s house, and here I need to go into a bit more detail. This is her house:

Aradia’s a maroonblood, the lowest of the low on the hemospectrum, peasantry and cannon fodder and supposedly extremely numerous. Yet her house looks to be about the size of the entire block of flats I live in, and she lives in it alone, with no other buildings at all in sight. In the next page, we see inside her house, which looks exactly the same as all the others; she has piles of roleplaying books and posters and a computer, and nothing looks to be in disrepair.

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 30

BRIGHT: Her house also looks a lot like Tavros’s, what with the windmill feature on top and the brown hangings rather than maroon, which threw me off at first.

CHEL: We’ll talk about this more later. For now, let’s stick with the most noticeable thing; Aradia is alive! Her skirt is untattered and her eyes have colour and pupils. Her lusus is alive too, napping beside her. It’s not quite clear what it is exactly; it has a sheep-like head, but its body is long and slim with much bigger hind legs than forelegs. Could be supposed to be dragon-like? I’ve also seen it interpreted as kangaroo-like. I don’t think we ever get a better view of it.

Anyway, Aradia knows Terezi’s advice is sound, but she can’t bear not to do something to Make her pay. She puts her hands up to her temples, and the image fades back and forth with one of wrapped troll corpses in Spidermom’s web…

It's a shame it had to come to this. You don't like summoning the spirits of the dead to settle scores.

But if she had to face her victims again, maybe she'd finally learn to feel remorse.

OOOOOOOOOO

This begs the question, how the fuck can the highbloods oppress people who not only hugely outnumber them but can shoot lasers from their eyes, control animals, and summon the dead at will? Well, there’s actually some explanation for that. The player trolls all appear to have unusual levels of power, for whatever their given powers are; most maroonbloods can’t do this. In Hiveswap a main character is a more typical maroonblood, who can just about bend spoons with his telekinesis and not much else (though we haven’t seen him speak with dead yet, and it’s possible he’s better at that). Not all trolls even have their caste’s powers, as far as I can tell, as we do see a yellow in Hiveswap Friendsim who’s not a psionic and some ceruleans who don’t seem to have mind-control powers as well. Head or eye injuries, which aren’t exactly rare in Alternia, can cause the loss of said powers. Also, the highest blood castes have powers of their own and other things to hold over the lowbloods’ heads. It’ll be a while till we get to that, but I’ll say now it is convincing, we do not have an Oppressed Mages scenario.

Anyway, Aradia does her thing…

As Vriska cowers on her floor, White Text Guy messages her again. Vriska replies angrily, ghosts looming over her shoulders.

Aren't you going to kill her?

AG: Who????????

Your friend.

The one who summoned the spirits.

AG: Will that make them go away?

Does it matter?

She brought them here to torment you. This obviously warrants revenge.

Vriska asks why WTG doesn’t kill Aradia instead, since he helped kill Tavros; he replies “All I did was stand somewhere for a few minutes. I just gave you an opportunity to do something you wanted to do anyway.” So, seems it wasn’t Equius they meant earlier. Vriska protests she never intended to kill her gaming companions, and blames him.

Again, I didn't talk you into anything, nor am I doing so now.

You were, and are, going to do this regardless.

I only ever place myself into positions of tangential involvement with events that will bring about my employer's entry into this universe.

I oversee the events as they take place, and ever so slightly nudge them into motion when necessary.

BRIGHT: Looks like Aradia and Terezi haven’t told her Tavros survived, which is eminently sensible. This conversation also highlights another Vriska trait: That she’s a very active person, but will try to shift responsibility as soon as she doesn’t like the consequences. That could be a result of her upbringing -- Vriska had to actively go and kill people for Spidermom, but she wasn’t responsible for the overall situation. (Although -- how much did she do to ameliorate it? By the time SGRUB starts, Spidermom’s far too big to fit into Vriska’s home. Vriska might have been able to get away with not feeding her at that point; there’s not much Spidermom can do if she can’t get to her.)

CHEL: The later addition to the canon, Pesterquest, claims that the lusii can psychically nag their charges and she could bother Vriska that way, but that directly contradicts Act 5, in which the trolls want to prototype their lusii so that they’ll be able to communicate properly with them for the first time, and also couldn’t Vriska just move further away?

BRIGHT: Inertia is very much a thing, and people do often just settle into a rut of ‘this is the way things are’ even when something could be changed, so it’s not improbable that it wouldn’t occur to Vriska to move — come to that, I don’t believe it occurs to anyone else either — but the fact that it doesn’t occur to her does say something about her character.

CHEL: Also, why didn’t Vriska feed the spider on animals? The possibility is never so much as considered by her or anyone else, though it seems the most obvious thing to do. Sure, the spider might be picky, but as we said, it can’t leave the valley due to its size, or it’d be hunting for itself. If it’s left with the choice to eat cows or die, it’d presumably pick the former, especially since the lusii aren’t supposed to be sapient and thus wouldn’t have the capacity for spite. For assuming that Vriska did what she had to when such a screamingly obvious better option is never addressed, here we go with a new count, which will rise whenever Vriska’s horrible actions are excused.

ALL THE LUCK: 1

Back to the scene, Scratch claims omniscience, which Vriska mocks.

AG: Sure you know a lot, 8ut I know for a FACT there's stuff you don't know.

That's true.

But the gaps in my knowledge exist by design.

They are the pillars of shadow on which my comprehensive vision is built.

Necessary pockets of void meant to effectuate outcomes I've foreseen and which will require my influence.

Each dark pocket, in time, will be filled.

[...]

I don't lie.

Deception is only necessary for those like you to achieve their objectives.

I play with my cards face up.

Isn't it funny how during our various matches, I can tell you what my moves will be in advance, and still win?

Vriska, angered by this, does in fact plan to kill Aradia; Not much point in living with all these moaning spooks just to spite some guy you don't give a shit about. She can’t control Aradia because Aradia’s own powers get in the way, but there are other people she can use.

How about this guy? Unfortunately, you can only control him about half the time.

Then again, that should be all the time you need.

Cut back to Aradia’s place, and she receives a message from Vriska, telling her her boyfriend is outside.

BRIGHT: Vriska also lightheartedly tells Aradia she’s sorry, and that she’ll make it up to ‘him’ someday. Presumably ‘he’ is meant to be Tavros, except that Vriska seemed to think Tavros was dead in literally the last conversation she had. This is probably just a slip-up on Hussie’s part, but it’s possible to read this as Vriska referring to a different ‘he’ entirely, considering what’s about to happen.

CHEL: Aradia looks, and sees a figure hovering telekinetically over the fields....

Note what’s in his hand. You do not under any circumstances eat the mind honey… His eyes start flashing and Aradia looks afraid, but we suddenly cut to a view of Alternia, and then to a closeup of its green moon. The prompt instructs us to Be the white text guy, and we meet him in a very familiar-looking green mansion.

You try to be the white text guy, but fail to be the white text guy. No one can be the white text guy except for the white text guy.

The white text guy is known as Doc Scratch.

He is an officer of an indestructible demon known as Lord English. His job is to pave the way for the arrival of his master, who will be summoned upon the termination of the universe. He has worked at this task for many centuries, and will continue to do so until THE GREAT UNDOING.

Scratch is Alternia's FIRST GUARDIAN. Every planet destined for intelligent life has such an entity meant to protect it, and facilitate the planet's ultimate purpose. A first guardian is typically almost as old as the planet itself, and each has a unique, circuitous origin through the knots of paradox space. They can be born into a great diversity of forms, though they all share a common, especially potent genetic sequence.

Remember Rose’s MEOW book, and how DD used it to create Becquerel? Yep.

The code grants them near omnipotence, and when merged with a host of great intelligence, near omniscience as well.

BRIGHT: Only near-omniscence, however. Scratch is surprised to find Terezi contacting him, but he’s able to work out that she got Sollux to help pretty fast:

Occasionally I discover there are things I have not always known.

It gives me the opportunity to make deductions, which are practically always flawless.

It's gratifying.

He also suggests she call him ‘Mr. Vanilla Milkshake’, and then hints that Aradia might not be straightforwardly dead by stating that Sollux and Terezi believe she is dead, and will soon believe she is not, both of which are true statements about their beliefs rather than reality.

Props to Hussie on this: I’m pretty sure every Homestuck fan wants to punch Scratch in the face. He’s just so obnoxious.

Terezi, however, refuses to let Scratch keep derailing her for long. She wants Scratch to get involved in their feud again, and she has a good reason for him: She knows how Vriska’s been able to come so close to beating Scratch in their games lately. Before she can tell him, though, she needs to talk to Vriska again.

She starts by asking how Vriska feels about killing Aradia, after she promised not to. Vriska responds with dramatic insincerity about how she feels awful, and then says Terezi should be happy that Team Charge is out of the picture.

AG: Uuuuuuuugh, what do you want from me????????

GC: 1M NOT SUR3

GC: 1 GU3SS 1M LOOK1NG FOR SOM3 R34SON TO CH4NG3 MY M1ND

GC: 1 DONT KNOW WH4T YOU C4N S4Y TH4TLL DO 1T

GC: 1 SORT4 HOP3 TH3R3S SOM3TH1NG THOUGH

In the end, there isn’t. Terezi tells Vriska she’ll be dead in a couple of minutes, and to ‘CONSULT W1TH YOUR L1TTL3 4DV4NT4G3’ if she doesn’t believe it, then leaves the conversation.

Vriska’s little advantage turns out to be a MAGIC CUE BALL, which is similar to a magic 8 ball except that it’s predictions are specific and accurate, and it lacks a portal through which the user can read said predictions. Fortunately that’s not an obstacle for Vriska: Her VISION EIGHTFOLD allows her to see through the opaque casing.

CHEL: Vision Eightfold is the vision from the one of Vriska’s eyes which has seven pupils, which she covered with an eyepatch with seven rubies on it when she was FLARPing. Also remember that Jade had a Magic Cue Ball but couldn’t read it? Yeah, it’s another one.

BRIGHT: One other thing: According to rumour, it used to belong to the man on the moon.

As Vriska asks the cueball whether she should be worried about Terezi’s threat (answer: YES), Terezi lets Scratch know where his missing property has gone. Vriska asks the cueball how it’s going to happen…

I WILL EXPLODE IN YOUR FACE.

Boom.

This section is one of my favourite Terezi moments. It really shows off Terezi’s ability to outthink and manoeuvre people. She’s never spoken to Scratch before, but she still plays him against Vriska easily.

CHEL: This is why Vriska has a plain eyepatch and a robot arm in her future appearances, but she’s otherwise fine. Bluebloods are tough, apparently.

BRIGHT: Back in the future, Spidermom has survived the rubble falling on her, but just barely. Vriska puts her out of her misery with her magic dice, which summon up a massive guillotine and decapitate the lusus, drenching Vriska in spider blood.

GORE GALORE: 11

The decapitation sets off another landslide, sending Equius’s house straight down on Vriska’s head, but before it can land, a portal opens underneath it and transports it into the Medium.

Vriska promptly jumps on Trollian to freak out about this, because her plan depended on her getting Aradia’s surprise present from Equius to pass along and then Aradia and Vriska entering the Medium together, and never mind that a house was about to fall on her -- in fact, when Aradia points out that Vriska was about to die, Vriska accuses her of planning this. Aradia placidly agrees.

CHEL: This is part of my evidence for thinking Vriska might not be neurotypical. Not the priorities most people would have. Also, meanwhile, note that the lusii have the same blood colour as their charges, while the non-lusus animals Nepeta killed were black and had red blood. I’m not sure whether that’s a species trait, or a side effect of the weird bond between them (doesn’t make a lot of biological sense, but then this is basically fantasy with a sci-fi coat of paint).

Vriska is enraged by things not going the way she planned; her grand gesture of apology, the robot body, will now be handed over by Equius and not her, ruining her chance to be friends again with Aradia. Again, she doesn’t seem to understand how apologies work.

AA: were we ever really friends

AG: Yeah!!!!!!!!

AG: I don't know. I felt like we were even if you didn't think so.

AG: I guess I'm not very good at acting like a friend. Or saying stuff like, hey friend! You're my friend! It doesn't really occur to me.

For some strange reason related to her prototyping with the frog statue, Aradia types out “ribbit” into the chatbox, and informs Vriska she’s not on the Blue team as she expected, enraging Vriska further. Vriska accuses her of taking revenge, which Aradia denies, saying Vriska was always going to be on the Red team, and that she doesn’t care about her death.

AG: You're so infuri8ing! Why c8n't you just h8 me? It would 8e a lot easier th8t way.

AG: Or at least feel 8othered or annoyed or S8METHING! God!!!!!!!!

AG: May8e I sh8uld just rip my he8rt out of my chest and pound it to a 8loody pulp here on my desk with my sup8r strong ro8ot arm.

AG: Pound pound pound pound pound pound pound pound!

AG: Look at that, more nasty 8lue 8lood all over me. Why not! Might as well op8n the floodg8s and p8nt my whole hive with this oh so envia8le cerulean SWILL.

AG: 8ecause clearly it's up to me to feel em8tions for the 8oth of us, you misera8le soulless witch!

AA: 0_0

AG: I h88888888 you!

AG: H8 h8 h8 h8 h8 h8 h8 haaaaaaaate!

AG: I only regret killing you cause it m8de you so 8ORING!!!!!!!!

AA: s0rry

Aradia assures her that the teams are meaningless, but being on the Red team will put Vriska in the position they need her in. Vriska’s confused and angry, and leaves the chat.

In Equius’ LAND OF CAVES AND SILENCE, he trolls Aradia again, telling her he will be the sole leader, which she doesn’t care about. He’s surprised she isn’t objecting, and says he needs a towel.

CT: D --> Never mind

CT: D --> I'm trying to stay professional about this

AA: ab0ut what

AA: what are y0u talking ab0ut

CT: D --> Forget it

CT: D --> It's just pleasant to consort with one of lesser breeding who clearly understands her place

He’s been established to suffer from hyperhydrosis, but he’s clearly also supposed to be getting off on this, which, since he’s thirteen, is icky to read.

CALL CPA PLEASE: 12

It only gets worse.

CT: D --> I 100k forward to seeing how well you serve me, server player

AA: uh

AA: thats n0t quite the meaning 0f the w0rd server

CT: D --> What do you mean

AA: as y0ur server i manipulate y0ur envir0nment t0 help y0u advance

CT: D --> I don't understand

CT: D --> Are you

CT: D --> Are you saying

CT: D --> That

CT: D --> You are in a position of control over me

AA: i supp0se s0

CT: D --> Oh

AA: what

CT: D --> Oh my God

He babbles about how he needs fresh air or another towel, getting so agitated he actually drops an F-bomb, which he immediately covers up with “Fiddlesticks”. He says he wants to break something, and Aradia offers to break something for him, as she’s developed an interest in breaking things recently. Next page, she flings an “abluti0n trap” through his wall.

FAILURE ARTIST: The running gag of girls fucking up boy’s homes with bathroom appliances continues!

CHEL: He’s very happy, except about her commoner slang.

CT: D --> In fact, this is an order from your leader

CT: D --> Call things by their proper names

AA: what

AA: y0u want me t0 call it a bath tub

AA: that s0unds ridicul0us

As FA noted, this bit of worldbuilding ends up retconned out with all trolls calling things by strange rewordings later on.

Whatever it’s called, Equius asks her to throw it through the wall again. She asks if that’s an order, and he can’t decide.

CT: D --> You could cause quite a bother for me, with the power you wield

CT: D --> I can do nothing to stop you, peasant girl

CT: D --> It's so magnificently depraved

CALL CPA PLEASE: 13

Aradia ribbits again and he takes it for roleplaying, but commands her to continue to do as she pleases. He tells her he’s bringing the robot body, and muses on whether she should actually be co-leader again; in fact, he decides, she should be the actual leader, in secret, through him. She points out that’s what they’re doing anyway.

CT: D --> You take to authority well for one of your b100d

AA: i d0nt have bl00d

CT: D --> Not yet

CT: D --> But soon your heart will beat anew, and through it, fresh b100d and fresh passion

AA: 0_0

CALL CPA PLEASE: 14

Equius proceeds to STRONGJUMP right up to his first Gate, punching off an ogre’s head as he goes, and to STRONGFALL out into LOQAM, where Aradia waits. Equius hands over the robot and Aradia enters it; she seems happy, but Equius cautiously asks if she feels anything else.

EQUIUS: D --> Can you detect anything within you might describe as

EQUIUS: D --> Smoldering passion

[...]

ARADIABOT: 0h g0d

ARADIABOT: 0H MY G0D WHAT DID Y0U D0!

ARADIABOT: did y0u pr0gram this r0b0t t0 have feelings f0r y0u?

ARADIABOT: R0MANTIC FEELINGS???

EQUIUS: D --> Hrrrk

ARADIABOT: ANSWER ME BLUE BL00D SCUM

EQUIUS: D --> I

EQUIUS: D --> Yes

EQUIUS: D --> Uh

EQUIUS: D --> It's a chip in your heart

EQUIUS: D --> Is that not ok

Understandably, it is emphatically not.

GORE GALORE: 12

Now, this is undeniably a really, really, really creepy thing to do. I’m not sure how much blame can be applied to Equius here, though; he’s been raised in a society which would presumably tell him she would have to accept his advances no matter what, considering their caste difference. In a horrifying way, the chip might have been, in his mind, the nicer option. Still, as I said, creepy.

CALL CPA PLEASE: 15

BRIGHT: I think it’s telling that he asks if it’s not okay after Aradia freaks out, as though he honestly hadn’t considered that Aradia might have a problem with it. Specifically, up until that point, Equius seems to be interacting with Aradia more like she’s a prop than a person — it doesn’t seem to occur to him that she might not want what he wants, unless their wants conflict in a way that he finds titillating. Then she freaks out and he’s surprised. And that in turn speaks volumes about how lowbloods are viewed by highbloods in wider society.

Contrast Vriska, who absolutely realises that people down spectrum can have their own agendas and emotional reactions; she just does her own thing anyway. Vriska is actively malicious; Equius is, at least in this case, accidentally malicious. Note that he doesn’t make any effort to prevent her from removing the chip once he realises she’s distressed. (Not that he really gets a chance.)

Equius in particular also seems to have a problem about slotting people into roles in general -- he does it with Gamzee, too, although since Gamzee is higher-blooded than him, he has to at least face the fact that Gamzee doesn’t fit into his role. He comes across as very sheltered.

FAILURE ARTIST: Equius considers it such a good thing to be a highblood that he thinks he’s doing her the greatest favor by turning her into one.

CHEL: This also brings up the question of where he got all that blue blood. I hope it’s synthetic. If not, he’s already said he doesn’t kill animals, so I’m not sure whether it’s creepier if he killed another troll for it or if he slowly drained it off from his own.

Aradia’s not contemplating that, too busy crushing the artificial heart and slapping the shit out of Equius for multiple pages, before, er…

Yes, she’s apparently making out with him as a reward for violating her mind, even after the chip was removed.

BRIGHT: The first time I read Homestuck, I thought that was meant to imply that not all of the programming was gone.

FAILURE ARTIST: Hussie did confirm the programming was gone. He compared it to a failed roofying.

CHEL: This is a bit of a shock, but it makes somewhat more sense when we see more of troll culture, not long in the future. Still, right now it’s probably upsetting for a number of readers because that part of troll culture hasn’t been established, so…

CALL CPA PLEASE: 16

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 41

#Homespork #homestuck #review #reread #Let's read #homestuck meta #vriskourse

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