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masterweaverx · 4 years ago

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RWBY Parents from Best to Worst

That’s right, everybody, I’m a-going to rank how terrible these people are to and for their kids! For the sake of covering as many parents as I can, I am defining ‘parent’ as either ‘legal guardian’ or ‘the one that gave birth to you’, and excluding relationships that are explicitly something else. That does mean that we’re going to miss out on some very important people, though, so before we begin, let’s have some Honorable Mentions!

Yang Xiao Long and Winter Schnee: Professional Momsisters

“That’s why big sisters come first, to protect the ones that come after.” I don’t know who said that to these two, if anybody actually did, but it’s a quote that most definitely applies to them. Not only would they take a bullet (or a sword, or a fireball) for their younger siblings, they took the time out to give them affection and training that they needed when their own parents weren’t quite doing the job. If I absolutely had to rank one of them as the better momsister, I’d say Yang, but that’s really only because Yang had less to deal with overall; a depressed single dad not being able to pull himself together just doesn’t stack up with an abusive powermonger, a self-loathing drunkard, and all the institutional bigotry and pressure of Atlas. Plus, you know, Winter went into the military for a bit. Still, pretty good track record considering!

Klein Sieben: Doing the work of seven good dads

Look, there is only one reason Klein wasn’t listed before the momsisters, and that reason is that he is technically the hired help (and could therefore become the fired help). He is, hands down, a better surrogate parent than Yang and Winter, providing guidance and care to all the Schneeblings and very effectively undoing the damage Jacques Gele (HE DOES NOT GET TO BE CALLED SCHNEE!) did to them. And he even helped out Willow! If he was allowed to do more, he would absolutely be My Real Dad of the year.

Qrow Branwen: “The only one that gets to be sad in this house is me!”

Qrow has a lot of flaws. Like, so so many flaws. As Yang said in a noncanon spinoff, he’s cool but not exactly a role model. Thing is, you don’t have to be a role model to be a good parent--you just have to make sure your kids (or nieces in this case) get good advice and the opportunity to grow into the best versions of themselves they can be. And when Qrow’s not beating himself up or drowning his sorrows, he’s actually very good at helping Yang and Ruby. Honestly the only reason he’s not on the actual list is because he’s technically not a parent.

Uncle Copper: Adopting a blind kid automatically makes you cool

So here we have a character that appeared in a single flashback in the novels, but from what we do know he was pretty likely to be a good guy. Like, raising a blind kid is hard enough; raising a blind kid in a desert after their actual parents got nommed by sand is so, so much more difficult. And yet, this guy said ‘If nobody else is going to adopt this kid I will!’ and by all measures he was a very caring and loving guy. Also, shout-out to the tribe, who took Fox in after Copper got killed by some maniac (and also killed said maniac). Fox has had a rough life, but it’s been filled with supportive people. Not everyone can say that.

Starr Sanzang: She put up with Sun

Sure, she’s only had one scene in one novel, but Starr showed patience and caring and... probably did a lot to make sure Sun stays as aggressively cheery and patient as he is. Plus she’s got a dojo in Vacuo now... okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t know nearly enough about her to really assess her. Still, as far as cousins go, Sun Wukong could do a lot worse. And there are the implications of their motifs to factor in...

Rhodes: If you’d done even just a little bit more--!

So, reasonably, what would you do when you see a little girl enslaved with a shock collar? Would you (A) get the girl out of there, (B) arrest the woman doing it, (C) try to get the girl therapy, or (D) all of the above? If you picked (E) secretly train the girl in swordplay so she can join a huntsman academy when she comes of age, then congratulations! You’ve given her hope! Good for you! And what if she snaps after five years of literal torture, kills her abuser, and then turns to you for comfort and/or approval? Welp, obviously she’s an irredeemable criminal and you have to bring her in, crushing all the faith she had in you and herself.

Seriously Rhodes, dropped the ball hard on that one. I’m only mentioning you because you had such a serious impact on Cinder’s development.

Brother Gods: Creating and destroying entire species

Like, okay. Look. These are the two that made humanity, so an argument could be made that they’re humanity’s parents. But, by the strict and arbitrary rules I have selected, they aren’t parents. And even if they were, they would be just the worst sort of parents possible. Darkbro is bad enough, what with viewing only strength as valuable and creating the Grimm and, you know, annihilating humanity that one time, but he’s at least honest and honorable. Not like the cryptic Lightbro, who doesn’t bother making sure people understand him, who doesn’t even keep his own promises to his brother... I get that they’re basically overpowered children. Yeah, they are. Still... kinda terrible.

So, now that that’s all done, let’s get to the actual list! After the break, so you don’t get stuck scrolling a lot. RWBY parents, from best to worst, are as follows:

23. Saphron and Terra Cotta-Arc: Two moms are better than none!

If I’m rating all the parents, and I am, then I have to acknowledge their flaws. And... these two don’t have any! Okay, fine, they used Adrian in a criminal scheme that one time (and that was literally just asking him to cry on command) and maybe Terra’s overworked and, to be fair, parenting a young kid is a lot different than parenting a teenager. But not only did they support their kid, they helped out all the kids that needed to room with them for a while! Saphron may also qualify as a momsister, depending on how well the Arcs managed their massive-numbered horde of kids. Look, the point is: Excellent parents. Bam.

22. Yatsuhashi's Parents: Their slipups weren’t their fault

When your kid can wipe your memories and you don’t know about it, you’re bound to get a few mistakes down the line. Luckily for everyone, after the whole incident with Hiyoko Yatsu came clean, and his parents made absolutely sure that he understood (A) that having such an ability was a big responsibility and (B) that even though he really screwed up he was NOT evil. Given the man that Yatsuhashi is now, I’m pretty confident in calling them great parents--even if they only appeared in a book flashback.

21. Coco's Dad: He exists!

That’s... honestly all I really know about him. He’s mentioned once in the books, and Coco has a few brothers. I’m kind of just assuming he’s a good parent from that, even if he didn’t figure out how to help Coco with her claustrophobia. So... yeah, shrug, Coco’s got a dad.

20: Ghira and Kali Belladonna: Actually marvelous people

Loving. Caring. Mentoring, protective. You may be asking why these two aren’t lower on the list, given that they are absolutely great for Blake, and I’ll have to admit that they only really made one slipup--letting Adam talk with Blake.

And okay, look. The thing about people like Adam is that they don’t start out showing their true colors. It’s always a slow, gentle broil. Blake was young and stupid, Adam was cute and edgy, and these parents want their daughter to be happy. So not twigging on what Adam really was--or at least not being able to properly convince Blake--that’s entirely understandable. And they did instill her with a strong enough moral code to leave when enough was enough, and they absolutely welcomed her back with open arms. Frankly, if the lower-listing parents didn’t exist, I would happily say they are the best parents in the show.

19. Pietro Polendina: He took Penny’s death flags

When you carve out part of your literal soul to bring your girl back from the dead, you get MAJOR parenting props. And even beyond that, Pietro is an absolutely caring and supportive father to everyone’s favorite bundle of sunshine. Even when she’s put in the rough position she was in, Pietro did his best to help her out. His one big flaw, though, is being overprotective and a bit presumptive. He does want Penny to live her best life, but he also can be just a touch too quick to say he knows what’s best for her. To his credit, when he’s called out on it, he does mend his ways. And he’s at least better then the GENERAL...

18. Salem and Ozma: Good parents, surprisingly!

Sure, Salem decided that world conquest was a good idea and wanted to put down anybody that wasn’t directly from her bloodline. Sure, she psychologically manipulated her husband when he had doubts. And, being fair, it’s highly likely that her four daughters were killed in the crossfire of her and Ozma’s little tuff. But! That was likely an accident, she’s been shown to still clearly mourn their passing, and before that point she absolutely loved and adored the girls. Ozma gets points for being a generally good person who fell in love with her before she became unstable and, honestly, was just trying to help his girls escape... and hey, he blames himself for their deaths. As does Salem.

Just because they’re kind of directly responsible for a LOT of Remnant’s woes doesn’t mean they aren’t good parents!

17. Will and Meg Scarlatina: Estranged but loving...

Yes, I know Rooster Teeth hasn’t officially confirmed that Bill is Will. I still believe though! Also it makes for a great picture, in any case.

Look, you can be the best and most loving parents ever--and from what we saw in the novels Will was definitely loving--but if you split up, your kid is going to get a little stressed. And hey, it’s not like these two were terrible people! Velvet’s just got a lot going on because of things entirely out of her control. Parents are people too, but sometimes the stress of one situation will leak out into another. Just... give people time to adapt.

16. Nicholas Schnee: The man, the legend, the titan!

Nicholas Schnee is the rockstar success story of Remnant. Some guy from Mantle put in all the work to make the SDC, and honestly from what little we know about him he was probably a great guy! But if we’re registering parental goodness, well... he wasn’t quite smart enough to warn Willow away from abusive gold diggers, and he’s not present when the story starts. So, yeah, even if he was a good parent otherwise--and I think he would be--he kinda... didn’t put in the work to prevent Willow breaking later. Still. Not deliberately terrible!

15. Li and An Ren: Don’t die in front of your kids, folks!

Seriously, it traumatizes them, especially if there’s a Grimm assault going on at the same time. Oh, double-especially if you reassure them that everything will be fine literally the second before the roof collapses on your head. And... well, okay, you couldn’t help your son and some random girl being the only survivors...

In all seriousness, that whole situation was absolutely out of their control. And before their deaths they were shown to be loving, wise, giving good advice to Lie Ren and helping him understand what the right thing to do was. Honestly, if they hadn’t died in front of him he’d be a lot better, mentally speaking. His trauma is not their fault. Plus Li went out distracting the big Grimm so Lie could run. No greater love hath man, indeed.

14. Summer Rose: Loving mother, ticking trauma bomb

When she was around, Summer Rose was probably the best mom Yang and Ruby could ask for. Sure, everyone could be exaggerating a little on how great a person she was--fond memories and grief can do that--but even taking that into account, she was probably a great and wonderful woman to be raised by. And hey, it turns out the reason she vanished was to go confront basically the Devil Herself so her kids wouldn’t have to live in a world where she existed! I can totally get the logic behind that.

And to be fair, “I’m going to do this on my own so nobody else suffers” is a pretty common character flaw among the RWBY cast. There are entire arcs where each character learns to overcome it. Still, wandering off on your lonesome without telling anyone was not the smartest move, Summer. Especially if you expected to die--which, you know, Devil Herself, high probability. And you know, if you had died, that would be bad enough, but now Ruby’s practically certain to have to fight your grimmified self. At least she figured out what happened to you before Salem decided to hammer in the trauma button, so she’ll be a little more ready, but... seriously.

13. The Arc Parents: Look, you try juggling eight kids!

To be fair, neither Arc parent has appeared on screen, but we can derive some of their traits from their kids. Jaune’s father said women like confident men. Jaune’s mother said strangers are friends you haven’t met yet. Jaune’s sister moved out of the house and (it’s implied) was happier for it. Jaune himself took his family’s ancestral weapon and ran off to Beacon to become a hero without any training whatsoever....

I get the impression that these two are not horrible parents, but they aren’t really stellar ones either. They slip up, don’t understand their children, give some really bad advice (as well as really good advice), and... look, it’s kind of middle of the road here. The Arcs could be wonderful people that just weren’t ready for the complexities of raising eight kids. I come from a big family myself, I know it can be stressful. And their kids turned out well anyway, so...

12. The Mother of Pyrrha Nikos: You taught your girl too well

Hero complexes are funny things. And Pyrrha Nikos... in retrospect, she was really hiding a lot of insecurities under that facade. Laying it all at this woman’s feet is unfair, I’ll admit, a lot of that came from being The Mistral Champion. But... with stories and fairy tales of heroes, it’s not hard to imagine a genuinely loving mother making sure her daughter knew right from wrong, always knew to act with mercy and protect the weak, and made her hardline into being a hero at the cost of her own... sense of self. It wouldn’t even be something either of them noticed, really. Good people can make bad choices sometimes.

11: Ilia's Parents: Oh god, can good people make bad choices...

So the idea of getting Ilia up to Atlas for a better life, that rocks (if you assume the propaganda to be true). And I’m certain her parents absolutely did what they did out of love. But what they did, you see, was tell Ilia to hide a very important part of herself from anybody who could find out, since it was likely she would be kicked out of the school she was in if people found out she was a faunus.

Which actually, did a lot of damage.

I mean look at Ilia now! She has trouble expressing herself until she explodes, she follows a crowd instead of her own morals, she broke down in tears when she finally did the right thing... Conceal Don’t Feel is never good advice, and these two went on and said ‘Honey, because of racism, you have to hide the fact you literally change color when you have emotions.’ Oh, and then they died offscreen--again, not their fault, but boy howdy did it give Ilia a complex.

10. Taiyang Xiao Long: Slumped at just the wrong time

Honestly, Tai as he is now is a wonderful dad. Supportive of his daughters in their time of need, able to lift their mood with a tasteless joke or two, frankly if we were assessing just how they were in the moment... I’d still be a little critical of his refusal to talk about the girls’ mothers, but hey, that’s minor. Compared to, you know...

Okay, so this needs serious addressing. Taiyang cannot be blamed for falling into a depressive slump. People can hurt, and need time to heal. That said, his depressive slump is at the root of Yang’s many issues, and frankly if she hadn’t had to pull herself together for Ruby she would be a major mess. It’s a bad situation all round, even if it’s not his fault.

9. Willow Schnee: “Kids, don’t wind up like me.”

Drowning her sorrows isn’t the best way to handle being stuck in an abusive marriage, but it was the best way Willow could think of. And, yeah, that really cut into her skills as a mom... but despite that, she did her darnedest to make sure her kids had what they needed to free themselves. Heck, once Jacques was out of the picture, she even pulled herself together and risked her life to save them! A broken women, to be sure, but not a shattered one.

8. Neptune's Mother: She exists!

Being fair, there’s not a lot to go on here. We know Neptune’s mother is a lawyer (insert evil lawyer joke), that their family are famous swimmers, and that his brother caused his hydrophobia by tossing him into the water. It does paint a bit of a picture, though, of everyone having expectations for Neptune that he was not able to live up to. Pretty poor parenting, if it’s true.

7. Nora Valkyrie's Mom: Come get your girl!

Literally the only factoid we have about Mama Valkyrie is that she abandoned her to the Grimm. We don’t know when this was, and it’s feasible it’s a case of ‘Oh No I Lost Track Of My Daughter In The Panic!’ But given we see young Nora scavenging for scraps of food... I’m not optimistic on her parenting skills.

6. Raven Branwen: "I wasn’t part of your life, how could I ruin it?”

Raven is just not a good mom at all. And, surprisingly, she seems to know it. Or that’s one interpretation of her character. The thing about Raven is that she plays her cards close to chest. We still don’t know why she left her daughter, and we only have inklings about the reasoning behind her behavior once they reunited. In the end, though... she did concede to Yang, she did apologize for something, and there’s a very deliberate indication that a lot of her behavior is a mask to both others and herself. So, terrible mother, for the moment, but self-aware.

5. Salem's Father: Explicitly noted as cruel

We get a bit more about Salem’s father from ‘Fairy Tales Of Remnant’, how he became possessive of the last remnant of his wife and locked her away in a tower. From what we know of him, that’s all he did--lock her away and not let her go. Still makes him a terrible dad. And with this, we transition firmly into the most definitively abusive parent figures. Everyone before this might have the excuse of not realizing what was going on or having their own damage, but now we’ve got parents actively deciding to make their kids’ lives worse.

4. Jacques Gelé: HE DOES NOT GET TO BE CALLED SCHNEE!

His children are property, to be manipulated and traded for the benefit of the company he married into, and any defiance is to be quelled instantly. He is manipulative, scheming, abusive, and frankly the worst sort of scumbag to ever wear a white suit. He does have the single redeeming quality of only leaning into the punishment if it benefits him; nobody would ever accuse the man of being needlessly cruel. His name is Jacques, and you will hate him... especially on the rare occasions he actually has a point.

3. The Marigolds: There’s no peppy tagline, they’re just mean

There’s not a picture of these jerks on the wiki, so you’ll have to make do with the woman that is no longer their daughter. See all that empty space around her? That’s about as close as they ever got. May spells out how much they hated her for having a heart, and how little they cared about her as a person, in one epic line. And even if they have other redeeming qualities (unlikely) we can tell they’d probably still be terrible parents because of how sleazy May’s cousin is. Honestly, for once I’m glad some characters don’t get pictures. They don’t deserve to be remembered. They aren’t even the cool kind of evil, they’re just... gross.

2. Marcus Black: Look if you train your kid to be a killer...

...you’re going to have to expect them to kill you. I mean, you basically ripped apart Mercury’s legs, man. He had to get cyberlegs. Also, you used your semblance to steal his. Which, given that semblances come from aura, and that aura is a manifestation of the soul, is kinda... that’s a deeply personal and intimate violation. Sure, you got your assassin kid. And can we talk about the fact that Marcus was an assassin? It’s not a pretty job. I guess I can see all the abuse--physical and mental--as a good way to train up another assassin, but... geeze, if that’s your goal, why did you use your own kid?! Why not hire some angsty teenager?! Yeah, no, Markus Black stood high on my list of parental monsters... and was only toppled by the arrival of one other.

1. Madame of the Glass Unicorn: She only appeared in one episode and she rocketed to the top of this list, that should tell you something

Let’s be clear here: What Madame did to Cinder is bad enough. It was literally slavery. Enforced by a shock collar. And because the collar looked like a necklace, she pulled it off in front of I don’t know how many clients. Granted, said clients were racists, why else would they be customers at a ‘We Do Not Serve Faunus’ hotel, but keeping her torture just out of the public eye very clearly shows both that she knew what she was doing was illegal and that she was clever enough to avoid detection.

Oh... and then there are her birth daughters.

With Cinder, she was abusive to a dangerous degree. With her daughters, she was permissive, not only allowing but encouraging them to bully their adoptive sister. The whole point of parenthood is to teach your children how to become the best version of themselves, but Madame didn’t even bother to instill a semblance of morality in these girls. She used them as extensions of her will, and they obliviously played along because that was all they knew.

You’d think the biggest monster on the show would be the Grimm woman, but no--it’s some random lady with a hotel.

#RWBY #Analysis #Ranking #I had the urge to make this #Feel free to disagree #Some of this is opinion-based

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numbaoneflaya · 4 years ago

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Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

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thinkingaboutyoungroyals · 6 years ago

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Lost Boy (Chapter 4: The Past)

Summary: When his family moves from San Francisco to the town of Shadyside, T.J. thought his life would change. And it did. He just didn’t think it would come in the form of the ghost of a boy who haunted his new bedroom.

Prologue

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Tag list: @delicatesleeper,@ibroughtachallah,@frenchtohste,@alittletooliteralleah,@tyrusmagocious,@tjskipping, @mirrorslover, @opatrickr, @lesbianrelateddeath, @mirrorslover,@opatrickr, @justkimberley, @burning-hot-pan, @green-lemonboys, @anotherangelfromspace, @thebisexualweirdo,@likelightning-inabottle, @thedampjofangirl, @fizasdr, @awkward-bisexual-alien, @whipashwhipash

............

David Bowie’s “Changes” was playing loudly from the speakers. The Red Rooster wasn’t quite as crowded since it was a weekday, just a couple of adults examining the instruments and a few kids browsing through the stuff or playing with the instruments.

Bobbing his head along to the music, T.J. flipped through the records nonchalantly. On the opposite side of the rack, Andi was prattling on and on about Art Club and all her ideas to contribute. T.J. had to smile at her enthusiasm – the girl had a way of easing his tension.

Cyrus was right about her – she was a sweet one.

“So, how’s adjusting to Shadyside life?” she randomly asked. “Have you fully embraced our little town?”

T.J. hummed. “A small town has pros and cons.”

“What’s a pro?”

“Everyone knows everyone so we’ve had a new visitor almost everyday, welcoming us to the neighborhood and bringing food. Mom has taken a break from cooking.”

“That sounds nice! And a con?”

T.J. made a face. “Everyone knows everyone.”

Andi laughed, shaking her head. “You get used to it. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

She didn’t realize it but it was the opening T.J. needed. “So…you’ve probably grown up with almost everyone at Grant, then?”

“Pretty much.”

“So…who else do you hang out with? Aside from Libby and Walker.”

Libby and Walker were Andi’s art club friends – she introduced them to T.J. a few days ago. Libby was deaf but, like Andi, she could make headbands, jewelry, and clothing out of anything she could get her hands on. Meanwhile, Walker was a happy-go-lucky painter and caricaturist.

The three of them together were a walking art machine. So, it made T.J. wonder where Buffy and Cyrus fell in before the latter passed away.

“Jonah Beck and I hang out sometimes,” she casually stated.

T.J. knew him – he was in his English class. He was a pretty dude, but not really T.J.’s type.

“And…” she trailed off, her earlier beaming smile turning sad.

“And?” T.J. prodded, hoping he wasn’t being too annoying.

Andi cleared her throat. “And there’s my best friend Buffy.” She didn’t mention Cyrus, at all. “But we haven’t really hung out in a while. She’s been busy pursuing other things and so have I.”

“Oh, okay.” T.J. racked his brains for something else to say. “Oh yeah, tomorrow is basketball tryouts. Honestly, I’m kinda nervous.”

Andi flashed him an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll do great!”

“Uh… do you want to come and watch? For moral support? I could use it.”

Sure, he could always ask Amber but he needed Andi there. It was important.

Without missing a beat, Andi nodded. “Sure! I’ll be there!”

“Great! Thanks, Andi. That means a lot.”

“Anytime!” She looked down and grinned. Pulling out a Cyndi Lauper record, she covered her face with it. “Do I look like a girl who just wants to have fun?”

T.J. laughed. “Totally.”

…….

T.J. felt him before he heard him.

“Hey, Sixth Sense.”

Chuckling as he looked up from his homework. “I think you’re running out of nicknames, Ghost Boy.”

Cyrus beamed from where he sat, perched on T.J.’s desk, as always. Thus, the latter had chosen to do his homework on his bed, instead.

“So, how was your day?” the ghost asked.

“Pretty good. I hung out with your friend Andi after school. She’s fun.”

“Told ya!”

He answered the last question on his History homework before shutting his notebook and textbook and moving them to the side. He locked gazes with Cyrus.

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” T.J. asked, curiously.

“Oh. Just around.”

A simple and straightforward answer. But, it still left a lot of questions.

T.J. raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been living together for pretty much two weeks now. You can drop the whole mysterious act.”

“Maybe I wanna keep on being mysterious,” Cyrus replied, looking smug.

T.J. opened his mouth to answer but a knock on his door interrupted.

“It’s open!” he called out.

The door cracked a smidge and Amber poked her pretty blonde head in.

“Are you talking to someone in here?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

T.J. flashed a look at where Cyrus was before meeting his sister’s eyes.

She turned pale. “Oh.”

Even though he had already explained to her that Cyrus was a good ghost and had no intention of hurting her, she still wasn’t fond of the idea of there being a ghost in their house, at all. She rarely ever went to T.J.’s room because of this.

“Well… uh… Mom will probably be home soon and if she hears you talking to yourself, she’ll think you’ve gone nuts.”

T.J. hummed. “Pretty sure we’re past that.”

“T.J.,” Amber seethed. “She thought you were doing drugs when she saw you talking to yourself last year!”

“And I told her I’m clean now.”

“You never did drugs to begin with!”

T.J. spared a look in Cyrus’ direction just to see his eyes wide in rapt attention.

Great. He was definitely going to get questions now. Maybe he could distract him. The boy was easily distracted by one thing or another. He was probably the type who never held grudges when he was alive.

“Look, the walls here are not paper thin like the apartment,” T.J. explained. “So, there’s no way she’ll hear. And her room is on the other side of the house. I’ll be fine. And I’m careful.”

Amber still didn’t look convinced but nonetheless, she nodded. Taking one last nervous look around the room, she swallowed.

“Okay, I’m gonna go back to my room. And… make sure it doesn’t follow me?”

Cyrus laughed and shook his head. “Tell her I have no intention of doing so. I’m a gentleman.”

T.J.’s lips twitched. “He won’t follow you. Don’t worry.”

Amber nodded again before quickly pulling her head back and closing the door.

“Your sister is very… paranoid,” Cyrus stated.

T.J. sighed. “She doesn’t have the best experience with ghosts.”

Cyrus nodded, sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you mind me asking what happened?”

He was about to say “no” but paused, considering the idea.

No one else knew about the story – only him and Amber. He knew she still had nightmares about it. That memory would even make its way into his dreams and he would wake up sweating with his heart thumping so hard that it hurt. Always – for a brief moment – he would be back in that room in their apartment in San Francisco.

Cyrus was suddenly gone from the desk.

“I was raised by four psychologists,” his voice spoke right next to T.J.

The blonde almost jumped ten feet into the air. “Dude! You’ve got to stop doing that! Just walk towards me!”

Cyrus laughed. “Sorry! I haven’t considered that you might be startled by that. I’m just so used to doing it and no one really reacting. But, I’ll try to stop, I promise.”

T.J. huffed. “You better. What if I get a heart attack and drop dead right here? I’ll haunt you forever.”

“We’ll be ghost buddies, then! Together for all eternity!”

T.J.’s cheeks burned and his heart skipped a beat. That was not the answer he expected.

Cyrus’ laugh diminished to a soft smile. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, it might make you feel better. And, like I said, I was raised by four psychologists. Well, three psychologists and a life coach, but same deal. So, I’m a pretty good listener. I’m here if you need me.”

It was kind of funny how Cyrus could go from extremely comical to touchingly sweet, all in a span of ten seconds.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it.” T.J. scraped his nails against one jean-covered knee. “It’s just not the most pleasant memory. And only Amber and I really know about it. Mom…she doesn’t know everything that happened. She doesn’t know about my abilities, at all, and…”

“That’s why she thought you were doing drugs?”

T.J. let out a chuckle devoid of humor. “I should have been more vigilant.” He let out a deep breath. “Anyway… what happened… well… Remember when I told you I started seeing my grandma’s ghost when I was 6?”

Cyrus nodded.

“Well, she wasn’t the only ghost in our apartment.”

The image of a little girl, her hair in pigtails and wearing a long pink dress, floated in his mind.

“Her name was Emily. She was around 6 when she died. Probably why she latched on to me because we were the same age. I didn’t mind playing with her and all. And she was kinda fun.” He chuckled. “Mom thought I had an imaginary friend.”

He was silent for a moment, recalling every moment with Emily. Meeting her. Agreeing to be her friend. Playing with her. Being happy that he had a secret friend that no one else knew about.

“Amber is only a year older than me, so it’s normal for us to get into fights. We fought a lot when we were kids. And, Emily… she didn’t like that. She was really protective of me.”

“O-Oh…” Cyrus’ voice was shaky but he was paying close attention.

T.J. let out another breath.

“Well, one day, Amber and I were fighting. I don’t even remember what the fight was about but she was really mad. And when Amber was mad, she got physical. She pushed me and tried to pull all my hair out. After mom broke up the fight, she put us in different rooms. I was in the living room and Amber was in our bedroom.”

He swallowed as he tried to steady his shaking hands.

“I was watching T.V. when I heard Amber scream. At first, I thought she just saw a bug or something and I didn’t really bother to check for a while. Then… she called for me.”

“T.J.! T.J.! Help me!”

“I ran into the room and I saw her... dangling out the window. She said she fell but… I saw Emily next to the window, just watching her and...smiling”

“What did you do?!”

“She was mean to you!”

“She’s my sister! Amber!”

“I tried to pull her up but I was only 6. I thought she was going to fall.”

“Oh my god…” Cyrus whispered, looking horrified.

T.J. bit his lip.

“T.J.! Help me! Help me! T.J.!”

“Luckily, mom came back from the laundry room and saw us. She pulled Amber in. She wouldn’t stop crying. And Emily was angry that it didn’t go the way she wanted. That was the first time I saw her like that. So… sinister and malevolent.”

“So… you told Amber about Emily?” Cyrus asked.

“Not at first. I wanted to keep it to myself. But, she kept asking me who I was talking to, wouldn’t stop annoying me. She even threatened to throw my basketball out the window. So, I finally did. She didn’t believe me at first, called me a liar and everything. But, then, Emily started playing pranks on her. She would take Amber’s toys and move them. She would pull on Amber’s hair. Once she…” He swallowed. “She dunked her head under the water while Amber was taking a bath.”

“Oh my god,” Cyrus repeated.

“After the bathtub incident, Amber finally believed me. She refused to sleep in our room. It came to the point where she would cry and throw tantrums until Mom finally swapped rooms with us. And I was mad at Emily. Yelled at her until I cried. So…ever since, I was afraid of her and every ghost I saw. I pretended I didn’t see them and I started ignoring Emily and my grandma.”

His Nana wasn’t happy, he often caught her looking sad when he would ignore her. She had tried talking to him but he would leave the room or stick headphones in his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen.

“I only started helping ghosts when I turned 8,” T.J. continued. “My grandma…once I finally decided to start talking to her again… she told me it was an inherited ability. She had it and her mom and grandfather had it. It skips a generation now and then so mom didn’t inherit it. Neither did Amber. But…I did. Lucky me, I guess? And then… Nana disappeared. She had moved on. Her unfinished business was to tell me the truth. I just never gave her the chance until then.”

Meanwhile, the ghost girl, Emily… she was devastated that she had lost her only friend. She had tried to apologize but T.J. never really forgave her, especially when Amber started getting nightmares.

She never blamed him for what happened. But, T.J. did. That was why he resolved to protect his sister as much as he could.

Letting out a staggered breath, he tried holding back tears. “Sorry… that was a lot to dump on you.” He let out a humorless laugh. “But… you’re right… it kind of made me feel better.” He smiled, lightly. “Thanks.”

Cyrus returned the smile. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

Silence fell over them.

T.J. drummed his fingers against his knee. Amber didn’t want to be reminded of what happened so they pretended it never did. He thought he was over it. Maybe he truly wasn’t.

But, the heaviness in his chest had lifted a little. It felt good talking about it, a release he never knew he needed.

Cyrus’ hands were clasped together on his lap, biting his lip. He seemed to be contemplating something.

“Um…I just walk around town, visiting places I used to frequent. Sometimes, I go see my parents. They moved somewhere else but they’re still in town. I guess the house, this house and the other one, reminded them too much of me. I’m their only son, you see. So...my loss must have been too much for them.”

T.J. stared.

Cyrus shrugged. “You asked me earlier where I go when I’m not here. I figured since you shared something with me, I could share something with you. So, I guess we’re both a little less mysterious now. Too bad, I was going to look out the window and look distant.”

Laughter exploded out of T.J.’s mouth – a genuine laugh, this time. He felt lighter, somehow. Maybe Cyrus wasn’t a ghost. Maybe he was a magician or a wizard or something.

How did he manage to relieve T.J. of his burden for the last eight or so years of his life with just a few words?

Cyrus flashed him a weirded out look, his fuzzy eyebrows scrunched.

He looked like a cute puppy.

Clearing his throat, T.J. scooted a few inches away from Cyrus.

“So, I have a plan for your friends.”

The sudden change in subject appeared to confuse the ghost but he went along with it.

“I’m listening.”

“So, tomorrow is basketball tryouts, right? Well, turns out both the boys and girls teams are doing it together. And Buffy told me she was trying out. So, I asked Andi to come and watch. They are likely to run into each other and since they don’t know that I know the other, I’m bound to try and ‘introduce’ them, only for them to tell me they already know each other and then they’ll start talking again.”

Cyrus looked impressed. “Your plan is so simple yet it could actually work.”

T.J. beamed. “Right? I’m a genius!”

The other boy chuckled. “Thank you, T.J. You didn’t have to do this for me and yet you are. I’ll forever be in your debt.”

Feeling his cheeks redden, T.J. just waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s no big deal. This is nothing compared to what I’ve done for other ghosts. You just want your friends to get along again.”

“Yeah. They’re just… really important to me. And I don’t want to move on without them getting along again.”

Cyrus’ demeanor deflated a little. T.J. noticed that it happened often when they spoke about his friends. But, if they are Cyrus’ unfinished business, then there was no avoiding talking about it.

He really loved his friends. And based on Andi’s sadness when something seemed to remind her of Cyrus, it appeared that they must have loved him a lot, too.

And, then, T.J. wondered what it was like when Cyrus was alive. After getting to know him, T.J. knew that he was the type of person who didn’t deserve to die. He deserved to live and spread love and joy everywhere he went.

What if T.J.’s family had moved just a year earlier? What if he had met Cyrus and became his friend? What if he could have somehow helped prevent him from dying?

The last thought was a little far-fetched. He didn’t even know how Cyrus died. He wouldn’t tell T.J.

There were just some things in this world that could not be controlled, no matter how much you want to.

Still, T.J. couldn’t help but wonder.

“Do you ever think about…” he began.

He met Cyrus’ questioning eyes.

“You know…” he continued. He coughed a little and cleared his throat. “If you were alive, right now, do you think… we could have been friends, too?”

“Of course!” Cyrus beamed. “No doubt about it! I mean…” He chewed on his bottom lip, looking shy all of a sudden. “We’re friends now, right?”

Sparkling brown eyes peeked worriedly at him from under long lashes.

T.J.’s heart suddenly picked up pace as his throat went dry and his palms got all sweaty.

“Yeah… We’re friends,” he managed, his lips twitching.

Cyrus breathed in relief.

Getting to his feet, T.J. stretched. “So… do you wanna watch a movie or something? I have Netflix.”

“Don’t you have to finish your homework?”

He walked over to his desk where he left his laptop. “I can do it later.”

“T.J.” Cyrus’ tone was scolding.

“Cyrus,” T.J. retorted, teasingly.

The ghost boy looked torn, chewing on his lip as he looked from T.J.’s abandoned books and notebooks on the bed to the laptop and then back to the stuff on the bed.

“I promise to do it tonight. I’ll even let you check my answers, if you want.”

That seemed to set Cyrus’ mind. “Okay.”

Grinning that he got his way, T.J. picked up his laptop and went back to his bed. He settled against the headboard, pushing books, notebooks, and pens aside. He patted the space next to him and Cyrus disappeared and reappeared next to him (he was prepared this time so he didn’t even flinch).

He opened up Netflix and scrolled through the choices. “What do you want to watch?”

“Anything is fine. You pick.”

T.J. was in the mood for seeing animated and fun so he chose “Big Hero 6”. For the hour and a half or so, they were silent as they concentrated on the movie. Cyrus did cry a bit loudly at the beginning during the school fire scene (T.J. had wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his shoulder until the scene passed), but otherwise, neither of them spoke a word.

It was nice.

Back in San Francisco, T.J. never got to have a movie night with his friends. If you could even call them friends, that is. They were just people he hung out with at school but never really had a deep friendship with. He mostly stuck with Amber (to his sister’s chagrin) or spent his free time by himself. A few ghosts have tried to befriend him but, usually, they had ulterior motives.

After dinner, he fulfilled his promise to Cyrus by sitting at his desk and doing his homework.

The ghost entertained himself by playing with T.J.’s little plastic basketball, attempting to shoot at the net on the door from various angles.

It was adorable, really. And, kind of distracting.

“Need help with that?” T.J. asked, amused as the plastic ball bounced off the edge for the tenth time.

“No, I got this,” Cyrus replied, stubbornly. “You finish your homework.”

T.J. chuckled. “Yes, mom.”

The ghost childishly stuck his tongue out at him before returning to his little game.

T.J. turned his attention back on his homework.

The rest of the night was peaceful.

It was nice.

…………

T.J. was among ten other boys trying out for the boys’ basketball team.

As he warmed up with a few dribbles, he kept his gaze on the girls gathered on the opposite side of the gym, trying to spot a familiar head of curls.

“T.J.!”

His head spun around at the call.

Andi and Libby were standing by the bleachers, waving at him, both sporting matching grins. T.J. waved back and watched as the two girls made their way up to find seats. He went back to dribbling, still keeping his eye out for Buffy.

He didn’t have to wait long. The doors to the locker room opened and out she came, head held high with confidence. Beside her was a brunette boy, talking as he nudged her shoulder. Laughing, she nudged back at him.

T.J. watched fascinated as the two appeared to banter back and forth before they split – the boy heading towards the boys’ side and Buffy for the girls’.

The blonde looked up at the bleachers again to see if Andi had noticed Buffy. The pixie-haired girl was distractedly conversing with Libby.

Good. He could make this work, somehow. He just had to figure out how to get them to talk to each other.

A whistle blew and he pulled his attention away from the two girls. The coaches were calling everyone over.

It was showtime.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus lost boy

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imagine-winchesters-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Jack Kline x Jealous

Requested by; @aliaitee

Idea: The reader is jealous/grumpy about Harper.

Warning: Fluff, 14X06 SPOILERS!!! BASICALLY THE WHOLE BEGINNING OF THE EPISODE (If you read it and you’ve watched the episode you’ll know what I mean) - Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A/N: Sorry if it’s a bit long but enjoyy boo xx

You, your boyfriend Jack and Dean were in the bunker while Sam and Charlie was out on a hunt. You and Jack was in the study area of bunker looking for cases.“Hey babe, I think I found one” Jack said making you look up from your laptop to look at him, “Let me see” You said as he turned his laptop to face you. You read:

Police Looking for Clues into Local Man’s Mysterious Death.

The body of McCook resident, Winston Mathers, was found yesterday with what appear to be several bite marks all over his body. Given the bite marks, local authorities suspect that someone under the influence of drugs, possibly bath salts, may have attacked Mathers. The body has been turned over to the McCook Medical Examiner's Office, which will conduct an autopsy.

The autopsy claimed it to be human bite marks, officers are on the lookout for any suspects.

“Human bite marks?” You questioned and looked at him with confusion.

“Yeah, doesn't that sound like our kind of thing?” He asked you un-surly.

“Maybe, but it also sounds like a crazy person's thing as well, but go and ask Dean and see what he thinks about it.” You told him as he nodded and got up and took his laptop to Dean.

Jack sat in the kitchen waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom. Jack sat his laptop on the counter and made himself some coffee, he poured an excessive amount of sugar.

“Geez, What’s up with the sugar?” Dean said as he walked in the kitchen.

“Without my powers, everything tastes different, So I can’t get this how I like it.” Jack said as he put the sugar down and took a sip, he made a face of disgust. Dean sat down if front of Jack with his cup of coffee, “What did you call me in here to discuss?” he asked Jack.

“I called you in here because I want to hunt Dean, Sam says I can’t go alone but Y/N and I have been working cases” Jack said confidently.

“And she said you’ve been doing good on those” Jack smiled “No offense to your girlfriend, I love her like a little sister but Y/N is an insurance policy on these hunts. Sam’s just trying to keep you safe, okay?” Dean said to him.

“Okay look” Jack put the laptop in front of Dean, Dean looked and took a sip of coffee “Winston Mathers, Dead, which what appears to be human bite marks taken out of the corpse.” Jack sternly said.

“Human bite marks?” Dean questioned as he looked up at him with confusion.

“That’s exactly what I said” You said to the both of them as they both looked at you standing at the entrance of the kitchen.

“And other people have gone missing too.” Jack finished as Dean looked at you and Jack with confusion and made his way to fridge to look for something to eat.

“Well Sam’s not going to like it” Dean said

“Sam’s not here”

“Okay, you know what? You did good work, okay? Me and Y/N will go check it out.”

“No”

“Dean give him a chance” You butted in

“No Y/N, I’m not putting his life at risk.” Dean retorted.

“Dean, he’s prepared, all he does in this bunker is prepare for his first hunt, like I said give him a chance”

“Fine, Fine. I’ll call Sam and let him know and the both of you better be ready to go” Dean said as he pointed to both of you and left the kitchen. You turned to Jack to see him smiling hard, “Thanks for backing me up babe” he said as he kissed you.

“You’re….Welcome” You said in between kisses.

You and Jack grabbed some things and put on your “FBI” outfits and walked out the bunker. You guys made y'all way to “Ducks Red Rooster Diner.”

“So this is Winston favorite spot?” Dean asked you as you guys walked in the diner.

“His obituary said he loved having breakfast here every morning, which if you think about it, it’s sort of oddly specific.” You told Dean

“Well they tend to do that when they don’t know what to put on those things.” He said to you as you started walking to the lady behind the counter, they followed.

“Hi, there” You said to her.

“How many I help you guys today?” She asked you

“Yeah, Agent Prescott, FBI, these are my partners, Agent Berry and Agent Charles” Jack waved at her “Wondering if you can give us some details on a regular of yours, Winston Mathers?” You asked her.

“Sure hon, Um, detail number one, Winston’s dead. Detail number two, huh, that's all the details” She snarky said.

“Winston….Dead” Jack said as he wrote it down in a notepad, Dean put Jacks hands down signaling to stop writing.

“You know, you’re going to have to be a little more helpful than that,” Dean said to her.

“Listen, Flashing a badge might work on people who don’t have a working knowledge of the constitution but that ain’t me” She turned around “Now if you excuse me, I got to go make some money” she said.

“Or you can stay here and make some money” Dean said and pulled money out his pocket, You looked at Jack and he was looking at Dean with a confusion.

“He came in here like clockwork but you really want to ask Harper Sayles, Winston just started courting her before well, you know.” She said

“What’s ‘courting’?” Jack asked

“It’s what you do before you start dating.” You told him as he nodded his head.

“Anyways, Who is Harper Sayles?” Dean asked her.

“Harper is really a sweet girl, everyone in town knew her, She really had a sad life though, her boyfriend ran off on her after prom. She obviously didn't take it well but that’s when things started to go south, She lost men in her life roughly about 3 before Winston, all went missing. Basically all she cares about her books, romance novels, heroes blah blah blah, She got some pretty bad luck if you ask me.” She explained.

“Thank you, that’ll do” She nodded her head as he got up to go back to doing her job, “Well then, this is a definitely a case.” You said to the both of them.

“That mean we have to find Harper Sayles because that just too much bad luck for one person, But for right now, i’m hungry, let’s order some food.” Dean said and he grabbed a table.

All three of you sat at a table and ordered food, “Well, uh, Harper isn’t human” Jack implied.

“That’s what we got to find out love” You told Jack as you looked at him.

“But how?” He asked you.

“I have an idea” Dean took a sip of his coffee “But you’re not going to like it” Dean said to you.

You looked at him with confusion, “What you mean i’m going to like it.” You asked him.

“Have both of you read romance novels?” He asked both you and Jack.

“Yeah” Both of you answered at the same time.

“Okay since this chick is all about romance novels, I’ll go in and interrogate her about the death of Winston Mathers and little Jack here will pretend to be a regular customer and ask for a book and stop me from interrogating her, you know like some hero crap and she’ll eventually ‘fall in love’ with Jack, that way he’ll be able to get close to her and test her to see what she really is.” Dean explained and put the fork with pie on it in his mouth.

“And where will I be?” you asked.

“In the car, you know, as a lookout for anything.” He said

“No, Nope, not happening. I’m not staying in the car as a lookout while my boyfriend goes in thee flirting with another girl, have you lost your mind?” You angrily told Dean.

“Babe, it’s a good idea” Jack said softly.

“Seriously Jack?” You sighed

“Listen Y/N, I’ll be there and i’ll make sure nothing happens.” Dean said trying to convince you.

“Okay but if anything and I mean anything happens, I’m putting a bullet through her head my damn self.” You said as they looked at you like your crazy.

After you guys finished eating, y'all made your way to the library where Harper Sayles worked.

“Okay, I’ll go in there and ask her for details on Winston Mathers and when she refuses you go in there as a customer looking for a book, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, okay? And when you see me interrogating her again you back her up.” Dean told Jack.

“But what do I say?” He questioned Dean.

“Whatever you feel is right to say, the goal is make her like you. You know, pretend Harper is Y/N” Dean said with smirk.

Hearing that made your blood boil, “Don’t do that babe” You said.

Dean parked the car in front of the library so I can see what’s going on inside, He got out of the car and made is way into the library.

“Harper Sayles?” Dean said as he walked in.

“Hi! Um, how can I help you?” Harper said to him,

“FBI, I got some questions about Winston Mathers.”

“Oh, I already spoke to the police”

“Well, I’m not the police.”

“I don’t - I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“I’m gonna need you to talk about it”

“Hello, sorry to interrupt, I’m looking for the best book you have on the area’s history” Jack said as he walked in the library.

“Excuse me, I was talking with her.” Dean said acting like he doesn’t know him.

“Really? Because it looks like she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Listen, I’m uh-”

“FBI, Yeah, I heard, but, see, I haven’t done anything wrong, so you can’t do anything to me. And if she doesn’t want to talk to you, you can’t make her, not without arresting her, but you’re FBI, so you probably knew that already.” Jack said to him and from Deans face he was in shock.

“Okay, why don’t you back off, kid?”

“No, you back off, old man”

“Uh- old man?”

“Yeah, that’s right”

“Okay, alright, This isn’t over” Dean said and walked out of the library and he went back to the car. You can see the bitch giving Jack the googly eyes and you wanted to go in there and stop her but you can’t because you didn’t want to ruin the plan.

You heard Dean tapping on the window so you can unlock the doors, “Can you believe that Jack called me an old man” he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror “Old man, my ass” she said as he was touching his face.

“Shh, look they’re leaving...together?” You said with confusion while looking out the window.

“Harper? Are you leaving?” Another man asked her.

“Miles, this is Jack, he’s visiting and i’m getting him my favorite book about the town, It’s just down at my apartment, but….” She said but you didn’t care to listen to them anymore because she was taking your boyfriend to her apartment.

“Her apartment?!?” You basically screamed at Dean “That wasn’t the plan!” You added, by this point you was furious.

“Relax Y/N, nothing will happen, trust me, this is perfect actually he can check the house and test her all in one shot.” Dean said “Wait, are you jealous?” He added with a little chuckle.

“Pssst, No, I’m just simply implying that I’m not comfortable with my boyfriend flirting with another women let alone going to her apartment.” You said trying not to show that you’re obviously jealous.

“Okay, whatever you say” Dean said as he let out a laugh.

“They’re leaving” You said as you rolled your eyes.

“Alright, where are we headed” He said as he started the car and followed them.

You and Dean was staking out in front of her apartment building, Jack and Harper was taking way too long, You trust Jack but you felt uncomfortable with this plan.

“They’re taking way too long” you sighed

“Give him some time” Dean said

“It’s been almost 30 minutes.”

“Relax, damn you really are jealous.” He said with a smile.

You rolled your eyes and you saw Jack come out of the building with a book in his hand.

“Finally” You said as he came in the car.

“So?” Dean asked Jack.

“The holy water and the silver didn’t work so she’s not a demon, She’s just normal.” He said

“So what now” You asked Dean.

“You and Jack stay here while I go and check the building” Dean said as he got out the car “By the way Jack, She was jealous” He added and left us in the car.

“You were jealous?” Jack asked you.

“No…” You said softly as you looked down at your feet.

“Don’t lie to me baby” Jack said as he looked into your eyes.

“Okay, maybe.”

“Why would you be jealous? It was just part of the plan.”

“I know but seeing you flirting with another girl, it made me feel uncomfortable.”

“But I love you and only you, I would never talk or flirt with another girl knowing that it’ll hurt you and that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“I know, I was overreacting and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, I would be jealous if you had to flirt with another guy” he said as he let out a giggle.

“I love you Jack” You said to him.

“I love you more Y/N” He said as he leaned in to kiss you.

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nnumbskxull · 5 years ago

Photo

〘 freedom is the highest right 〙

⤿ hello there fabulous people!!! to those that know me, you shredded scrub daddies, just skip a few lines before I kick you in the throat and into the sUN. to those who don’t! my name’s stirling, I also play the italian kiddo here aka titus wu the macgyver, and today I have decided to bring you the russian™ (that I may or may not have based off hannibal lector : D just less cannibal promise). jump on down below the cut to find out more about my new child (psa; i....REALLY did write a lot but I p r o m i s e you kai is incredibly secretive and it will take time for his past to be uncovered by other muses because i’m like that™) MWUAH!!

oh also blah blah blah like this and i’ll show up in your dm’s or discord aYEET

( im jaebeom, male, he/him, 26. ) — i hear that KAI SOKOLOV has been living in seoul for around 8 YEARS and works as a/an CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGIST. rumor has it, they can be LEVEL-HEADED & KNOWLEDGEABLE but also VENGEFUL & MANIPULATIVE which is why a judge’s blood-soaked robes, ancient textbooks coated in dust, and bruised hand prints around one’s throat make me think of them.

⤹ ―――― ⤸

〘 ABOUT 〙

full name: kai sokolov

nickname(s): brainiac

age: 26

gender: male

birthdate: december 23, 1993

birthplace: moscow, russia

occupation: criminal psychologist

ethnicity: russian-korean

orientation: bisexual / biromantic

status: single

languages: russian, korean, near-fluent english

pets: n/a

〘 PHYSICAL 〙

faceclaim: im jaebeom

hair: black

eyes: dark brown

height: 6'2 (187 cm)

weight: 176 lb (79 kg)

body: muscular, slim

style: street-fashion is his best friend on a normal day, sleek suits that scream professional while on the job

defining features: two moles on his left eyelid

tattoos: n/a

scars: a few on his knees, elbows, a small one on his nape

〘 MENTAL 〙

horoscope: capricorn

zodiac: rooster

element: water

moral alignment: neutral

type: INFJ - the counselor

house: slytherin

religion: catholic

fears: n/a

chronic: n/a

positive: insightful, clever, reliable, articulate, charismatic, level-headed, hard-working, incisive, authoritative

neutral: determined, distinctive, passionate, complex

negative: cold, blunt, manipulative, crafty, vengeful, presumptuous,

⤹ ―――― ⤸

TW; Violence, Blood, Death, Cancer

Born the illegitimate child of a Russian government-working father and a Korean graphic designer mother, Kai grew up in the blankets of wealth his parents never had - the boy was grateful enough to realize the state of comparison to the families around him, and from an early age he develops a humble and high-minded personality. Thanks to his father’s well-paying job, Kai receives personal schooling and is able to indulge in as many side-activities as he chooses, although the prior solidifies a slight awkwardness in approach to other children his age due to him not being as active in their social circles. Still, Kai is avid in his hobbies - the boy seems to be able to pick up many talents with little effort, most especially being wood carving and singing. Kai takes an extreme liking to the latter, and upon his parents noticing, begins to receive vocal training that will benefit his future. The boy was as happy as happy could be, and never once did he find himself breaking out of the childlike innocence that holds him to the moment.

Innocence….a beautiful word. But innocence does not save Kai from the heartache to strike him at 11 years old. Too young to realize the exact intricacies of his father’s job, Kai moves on with his life while his father struggles to keep a scandal behind the scenes. Indeed the senior had made a mistake in some financial suites, resulting in the loss of a few tax funds that made anyone but pleased in the matter. His father was able to clean up the mess with no major issues, however, some people were still not satisfied.(edited)Their revenge was solidified when young Kai and his parents were out walking in a park late at night after viewing a recent showing of the boy’s favorite musical, The Nutcracker. Stopping briefly in the cold winter night to pick up a frosted-over flower, Kai was met with the sounds of screaming and bone cracking clattering against his eardrums as he watched on as a group of men surrounded his parents and beat them mercilessly with metal clubs and baseball bats.

And then it was over, just like that.

In less than 10 minutes, Kai’s entire life was ripped from his fingers, no inquiry given to why he was spared but only to the beaten and bloodied corpses of his mother and father. He never learned who carried out the act and who gave the orders, but as he watched on at their government state funeral decorated too lavishly for his own tastes, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, he swore he would find out.

Although inheriting all of his parent’s money, young Kai is unable to take on the mantle of responsibility due to the mental weight the incident left on him, and instead leaves Russia to live with his aunt in South Korea, his mother’s homeland. It is luckily for him that he ended up where he was and not in some random orphanage - most of his mother’s immediate family had renounced her for being with a foreigner and having a child before being married, all except for her sister whom had held steadfast in their family ties. After the murder of his parents, the last thing Kai would have wanted was to move thousands of miles away to a country he had never been to, yet he had little say in the matter as he said goodbye to the snow-topped buildings of Moscow and hello to the monstrous sun-lit skyscrapers of Seoul.

He grows fast, although he never forgets the incident. The once outgoing and playful boy becomes a shell of his former self, a silence filling him as he takes on an icy approach. Kai is grateful for the kindness shown to him by his mother’s sister, and despite meeting her at such a disastrous time, grows fond of the woman and becomes attached to her. She teaches him Korean and English, languages he manages to pick up easily due to his mixed heritage, and he in return teaches her Russian for when she might want to visit his mother’s grave. The two grow to have a nearly inseparable bond, and although he will always hold a place in his heart and mind for his parents, Kai begins to slowly move on and finally heal. However, even at 19 years old, it seems fate is not yet done in sharing with him some of its tragedy.

It happens quickly - one day she is as bustling and happy and ever, and the next Kai is standing over her body in a hospital bed as a doctor pulls the plug. Pancreatic Cancer, he hears them say, and almost in the blink of an eye he is back in a full circle of grief and mistrust as his heart is shattered before him. The simple pleasantries he has access to thanks to his wealth become insubordinate in comparison to the depression that sets upon him, and if not for an opportunity to present itself to him, Kai thinks he would have let himself rot away without meaning.

From the flames of promise he had made to his dead parents in finding the perpetrators, so did rise a need to make clear of it. If not at that moment, then at some point would he make sure their heads hung from aged ropes in the winter wind. For the time being, though, his focus switched to something else; the mind. A bullet could get the job done, but Kai more so found himself wanting to understand and bring justice in other ways. Methodical and closed off from the rest of the world, he entered university for psychology and swept through with flying colors, hardly concerned with what other people dwelled on, there were hardly any distractions he allowed to take time away from his work. In the end, Kai graduated valedictorian and was immediately employed by the city’s law force as a criminal psychologist on the side of his own practice, unaware that the very man they were having understand delinquent’s minds was one himself with guarded secrets. Analyzing subjects before court cases, deeming insanity, attempting to extract information....Kai did it all, yet to him no crime was too great, and in every one he saw one of the masked men who had beaten his parents into the ground. This twisted mentality earned, in his eyes, swift punishment ― and with a silver tongue, intrusive methods, and hidden intents, he easily convinced many to initiate their own deaths or sent them to fates worse than death.

Because to him, no price was too great, and no crime too small.

#ooc #kumiho.intro

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anastasiaskarsgard · 6 years ago

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Link to my masterlist for earlier chapters or other stuff I've written

His Queen

Part 3

Bri ripped open the letter, amazed it was handwritten and in cursive! Knowing Roman, he had an assistant write it, but she felt a warmth in her chest knowing he’d truly loved her all along.

To My Queen, Briana Godfrey,

(Admit it! That sounds way better than Tucker, have the lawyers change it.)

Oh, and before I get into it, I wrote this myself. No assistants, so fuck you for thinking it.

Bri smiled a sad smile at how they still knew how the other thought.

I have to start off by saying thank you for reading this letter. That means you're at the white tower. I don't deserve you. I've turned into everything I never wanted to become. Everything you made me believe I could escape. You are the light to my darkness and I'm so sorry I disappointed you. I don’t have a lot of time, but I needed a plan in case I fail. You’re the only person I trust with my company, my money, my daughter, my legacy, my heart, all of it. I am an absolute crack head level blood addict, and I couldn’t trust myself when we got overly emotional to keep my head. Because I love you so much, you can make me so upset, and That last fight we got into, I scared myself. I don’t blame you for slapping me, but to hold back from returning the blow, I literally broke my own hand... but this is not what this letter is about.

Peter and my sick half-sister Annie have stolen my daughter. Peter is hell-bent on destroying me because he killed Destiny's trash fiance, and lied about it, so she blamed me and attacked me and I hurt her bad enough to foresee issues with peter, so I broke her neck to avoid problems figuring it was showing her some mercy since she was heartbroken. Annie was there and when I refused to carry on an incestuous relationship with her, she turned on me and told Peter about Destiny. So he came after me and fucking shot me, we fought and I won, but didn't cut his head off so I knew he’d be fine. Well, he calls me and has my kid and won't turn her over, and says he's going to kill me so even though I doubt it, Nadia needs someone to raise her, and if I'm killed it's not my whore of a sister Annie. I need you to find Nadia and take her home and raise her as she deserves. She’s such a sweet baby and she adores you.

Find Shelley and she can help you maybe. She’s in love with this weird old poet and chooses to live at the old steel mill. Calls it Rooster Poop. Can’t make this shit up.

The entire security team is trying to find Nadia, so contact them and see where they’re at with it.

you are the love of my life and I refused to ever say so, even though we both knew it was true. I would bullshit and say it’s cuz I was saving you from myself, but I’m not that fucking noble. You scared me more than anything ever scared me in my life. God, it's great to admit I love you. Like I need to make up a new word for how I feel for you cuz love isn’t strong enough.

there’s a pretty poem I saw that reminded me of you;

I’d still choose you.

In a hundred lifetimes,

in a hundred worlds,

in any version of reality,

I’d find you and I’d choose you.

Even though I knew you were going to break my heart again and again.

I’d still choose you.

It’s crazy how happy I am writing you a letter, even with every aspect of my life in shambles, you’re my light.

You get everything. Fuck all of them. You were right about everything. If I survive this shit, I am winning you back if it takes 100 years and I have to spend every cent. This is literally a reset.

I tried to forget your baby girl but I never could. No amount of drugs, money, blood, or bullshit could ever distract me from the constant ache in my heart for only you. You’re the only pussy I ever wanna see again. I ran thru a fantastic amount of pussy after you left and none of them made me forget you for even a moment. I pictured you or I could not get off. It was pathetic. I hope I get to see you again and rip up this fucking letter.

I looked back over this and there’s a reason I have other people write shit up for me. A few requests to seriously consider:

-->Blitzky should take over for Pryce. Not only is he a genius, he's a good guy. He's a bit soft, so you may have to be the bad guy.

-->Get a new nanny. The current one looks good on paper but she's an idiot.

--> Live in the white tower. It's secure and safe and you can make as many floors as you like home.

--> if an animal killed me, it's Peter and he's still a wolf. He’ll be white. Kill him, cut off his head and burn him up in the incinerator.

--> if Annie comes around at all, kill her. She's very manupulative and acts religious and nice. She's crazy and not to be trusted.

-->try and convince Shelley to live in the mansion and have her little homeless community there. She doesn't care about money but she cares about people, so offer it as a safe haven. Make sure it stays stocked in necessities like toilet paper, soap, cleaning materials, etc and write it all off as a charity contribution. Make the whole endeavor a big tax write off, but don't tell Shelley that part. Just tell her it was my dying wish she had a home.

--> the loser she's with has legal problems. Have the legal department solve them so he's got no reason to desert her.

-->if Peters mom comes sniffing around, don't tell her a damn thing. I doubt she will tho, she's a wanted fugitive.

--> don't trust any gypsies.

--> Nadia is very intelligent. She can read minds, influence dreams, and kill anyone or anything just by looking at them. She's dangerous and shouldn't be allowed around animals or people until she can understand the concept of death and consequences. There's no way to control her, I have found.

--> I promised a homeless man I ate that id pay for his sons school. Anonymously pay for Mathew Shandwicks classes, books and dorm at Penn State for all 4 years. His father traded his life without a single complaint so it's imperative you keep my word.

-->make sure Nadia isn't a spoiled brat like me. Teach her about her mother and her father and all the good things about us. Leave out we were related if you can swing it. Just say we were young and loved each other very much. I enclosed a pack of photos of me and Letha for her.

I wonder what you’re wearing... That reminds me; if I’m really dead, you have to be in mourning at least two years. That means all black suits and dresses that cover you up, black nails, big black hats like you just left a Catalina Yacht Mixer or you’re going to a royal wedding. I even got you black lab coats just in case.Don’t half ass this. It’s important.

Also I want “Fuck you” by the Archives played at my funeral, if it comes to that.

Hopefully, you never see this letter because I got everything fixed here, and went and found you and you ran into my arms and we lived happily ever after, and I have a whole lifetime with you... But just in case...

All my love,

Roman Godfrey

P.s. - since you're a genius, hopefully you can fix me or bring me back. I hope you still love me even 10% as much as I love you, because then nothing can stop us.

Brianna stared at the page as her tears fell on it swirling the ink in designs and spirals. She knew he’d always loved her, but it was bittersweet seeing him finally admit it. She took the photos out of the envelope and looked through them.

Looking through the pictures was heart-wrenching. There had to be a way to fix all this! She tried to remember everything she’d learned about Upirs from that dreadful Russian women and Pryce. Luckily they’d been a bit of an obsession for her that she delved into when Roman pulled his shit. Being obsessed with Upirs had distracted her from obsessing over the real issue.

Just as she started to wonder when Mueller and Edwards would be back, as if by magic, the elevator doors opened. They had brought Dr. Blitzkey with them as well.

“Oh my gosh! You’re alive! I’m so happy to see you’re ok and still here!” Bri said as she ran up and embraced Blitzky. “Where is Roman? I need to see him.”

Blitzky looked at the ground nervously before meeting your eyes. “It’s not fixable.”

“No matter. I just NEED to see him. Please?” She begged.

“Okay. He has several severe traumatic injuries so please prepare yourself for that.”

“What happened to him?”

“Some Type of animal attacked him in the old mansion and pushed him out the upper story window, fracturing his spine and neck which most likely left him paralyzed and vulnerable. His throat and heart were then ripped out.”

“Peter.” Bri said darkly. He was going to pay for his betrayal. She would make sure of that.

“I mean that’s the most logical conclusion but after all Roman did for that little degenerate, ” Blitzky muttered.

Bri nodded solemnly.

“Hate to interrupt your happy little party but we have several forms that need immediate attention, to get this shit show back on the road,” Edwards interjected.

“They’ll have to wait till after I see Roman. You lead the way Blitzkey, you two stay here.” She said firmly stepping into the elevator with the doctor. Both lawyers looked furious but did as they were told since they were honestly intimidated by this young woman that had all this piled on her, and seemed unfazed.

As soon as the doors closed she sank to her knees and screamed. The tears came flooding out of her eyes as her body was wracked by sobs. It’s like she’d been hit by a truck. The realization that Roman was really gone finally sinking in.

Blitzky didn’t know what he should do. He was a genius, but completely clueless when it came to social and interpersonal skills. He hesitantly patted Bri on the head like a golden retriever, unsure how long was comforting so he just kept doing it. “You’re strong.”

Bri glanced up at Blitzky through her foggy tears and couldn't help but agree. She WAS strong.

The elevator opened to their floor as she looked down at the floor.

“Well” Blitzkey peeped, unsure of what to do, “this is it.”

“We have to fix him Blitzkey. There’s got to be a way.” she said rising to her feet, as if the little display he just witnessed never happened.

“You’re the boss.” Blitzky said as cheerful as he could muster.

“I’m giving you Pryce’s position. I trust you.”

“Thank you! I wasn't sure if maybe you'd want to take charge.... What will you do? Take over for Roman?”

“Until I can bring him back, I guess I’ll have to. I will bring him back Blitzkey.... If I have to make a deal with the Devil himself.” Bri stated adamantly before setting off down the hall like a woman possessed.

#my writing

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feelingfredly · 6 years ago

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The Fox Guards the Wolf

Part Three

The Rooster and the Hen House

The dojo was humming with activity, and Ichigo breathed in the familiar scents of sweat, leather mats, and incense, pulling his focus tightly in upon himself, and letting all of his stress melt away.

The first Saturday of every month was for officially refereed matches, and he’d faced three different opponents over the course of the morning, but none of them had beaten him so far. Now he had one more round, and he was done for the day.

He bowed to the referee, and then to his opponent, sending his best friend a challenging smirk.

“Hajime!”

The two were evenly matched. They’d been training together for four years, but this was the first chance they’d had to face off against each other recently due to Renji’s crazy study schedule. Not many of the students at the dojo had as much experience as they did, and it was nice to be able to stretch his skills without being afraid he was going to accidentally hurt someone.

Ichigo raised his hands and lunged, thrusting one leg out and hooking it behind Renji’s foot as he trapped their hands high between their chests.

Grappling was Renji’s bread and butter. He was taller, and a little heavier, and if he could get a good grip Ichigo would be in trouble. Today Ichigo was faster, though, and getting a good foothold off the bat gave him all the edge he needed. He twisted, pulling Renji’s body closer, and then threw him over with all his strength, slamming the taller man onto his back.

“Ippon! Soremade.” The referee’s voice cut through the background noise. Match over. Three for three.

The friends stood, faced each other, and bowed again.

“Shit, Kurosaki,” Renji said, once they cleared the mat, “You were really in the zone today. I haven’t seen you move that fast since Inoue-san tried to get you to eat her chocolate-wasabi onigiri.” He laughed but Ichigo remembered that day. He had moved pretty fast. With Inoue’s food you had to—it was run or die. “Three ippons in a row! You could have at least given me a chance. You had me on my back faster than a fūzoku.”

Ichigo shook his head and tried to ignore the trace of red the teasing brought to his face. Renji was shameless. Luckily, he’d taught Ichigo to give as good as he got.

“Just didn’t want to tease you too much, Abarai. I know how hot and bothered you get thinking about pinning me like that. You’d never have been able to spar with a hard-on.”

As freshmen the two had met in the dojo. Ichigo had taken judo lessons since he turned twelve, and had been expected to keep training by his father, but Renji used judo as an outlet for some of his less socially acceptable impulses. He loved the physicality of it, and said more than once that it was the only thing that kept him from getting kicked out of school. It had only taken a few weeks for the two sparring partners to become friends, and after that first semester they found an apartment close to their classes and moved in together.

They’d fought off and on that first year. Renji went out drinking every weekend and slept through half the undergraduate population—male and female—and didn’t understand why Ichigo spent all his time studying. After a while, though, the newness of freedom wore off and he settled down into a more reasonable routine. He had an ambitious streak that pushed him, and he strove to be the best in every class, but it never turned him into an asshole. He was still the charming, outgoing goofball he’d been from the beginning, and he only occasionally teased Ichigo about his volumes of Shakespeare by the bathtub, and the medical journals he left on the kitchen counter.

His dad hadn’t been thrilled when he said he wanted to move off campus, but after a few meetings he and Renji had hit it off. Both Renji’s parents had died when he was small and he’d been raised in foster care, and while Kurosaki Isshin would never admit it, the redhead had become almost a second son. When Renji had been accepted to law school, he was just as proud as he’d been of Ichigo’s MCAT scores, and he’d bragged about them to anyone who would listen.

Hopefully, he’d never realize what his sons had gotten up to over the years.

“You working at the clinic tonight?” Renji asked. “I didn’t check the schedule this morning.”

“Not tonight.” Ichigo said. “I swapped with Yamazaki-san, so he could attend his little sister’s graduation ceremony last week, so I have an unexpected evening off.”

“Hot date?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Only if you count my laptop.”

Renji snorted. “Sadly, that might sound better if I knew you had a porn addiction, but no. You’re going to find some dusty corner and commune with your muse again aren’t you?”

They hit the lockers and Ichigo pulled his clothes out, focusing on getting dressed so he didn’t have to answer.

Renji was more supportive than most about his writing. He agreed that spending a year working on getting his novel finished and finding an agent was important, but he didn’t understand Ichigo’s choice to stop dating until he’d made a final decision about med school. For him, getting laid was a priority—like breathing—and he was convinced Ichigo was crazy to try to deny himself.

It wasn’t like Ichigo had completely given up on sex. He’d had a few dates where he’d ended up in someone’s bed, but they’d been one night with no strings attached, and he never ended up in the same bed twice. There just wasn’t enough attraction with any of them to make it worth the effort.

“My muse, as you put it, is better company than anyone I’ve been out with recently.” He tugged his shirt over his head and pulled it down. “Anyway, you know how I feel. Until I get things settled it isn’t fair to ask someone to put up with my shit. Hell, I don’t want to put up with my shit.”

Renji came around the corner, dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked, and Ichigo sighed. It wasn’t fair. The man was hot as hell, with his chest tatted up, and his muscles rippling subtly under smooth skin. At one time Ichigo thought he’d found his perfect match, but it wasn’t meant to be. They’d slept together a few times, and the redhead was as enthusiastic a lover as he was a sparring partner, but there was something missing and they both knew it.

“Don’t sell yourself short, man.” Long fingers made short work of his buttons. “There are lots of people out there who have less of an idea of what they’re doing with their lives than you. You’ve got a job, you’re writing a novel, you’re smart, you’re good looking,” he looked down at him and grinned, “and you have the hottest roommate in the history of cohabitation.”

Renji cocked his head to one side, looked at something over Ichigo’s shoulder, and stage whispered. “Someone’s taken notice at least. Although he seems a little on the shy side.”

Ichigo turned to see what he was talking about. “What? Who?” All he could see were a few other judo students.

Renji shook his head, and looked a little dismayed. “Dude was just standing by the door. I noticed him watching the matches earlier. Good looking guy. I guess he saw me watching him, uh, watching, and ducked out.”

Ichigo slid his feet into his shoes and grabbed his bag, the weight of the laptop heavy as he slung it over his shoulder.

“You sure he was watching me?” He looked at his friend. “Of the two of us, you’re the one who gathers groupies.”

Renji lost his smart-ass grin and shook his head. “No way. I gave him a good long look—you know I like the ones that look like they could do a little damage, and this guy looked like he could hold his own—but he didn’t notice me at all. He was all about you.”

Ichigo felt his heart speed up a little. “What did he look like? Kind of tall? Shoulders? Blond hair?”

Renji shook his head again, but looked questioningly down at him. “No. Your height. Dark. Black hair, dark eyes, mid-twenties? Moved like a fighter.”

Sounded like another not-Yakuza, but this one had found him. Shit.

He shut his locker door a little too hard and tried to tamp down the disappointment he felt that it hadn’t been the geta wearing man from the day before. It wasn’t like there was any reason to expect to see him again. He hadn’t even told Ichigo his name.

Even if he had said he’d see him again.

Renji stared at him a minute, and Ichigo could hear the wheels grinding away in his head as he put two and two together and as usual, ended up with five. “What’s going on, Kurosaki? Are you in some kind of trouble? Is this blond you mentioned giving you grief?”

See? Five.

Still. While Renji could be as over-protective as Isshin, it was hard to mind. One of the things they’d first connected over was a hardcore desire to avoid the local gangs, and it was still a hot-button topic for his roommate. Renji had more than his share of run-ins with tough guys in the foster care system and he’d considered it his job to protect the kids who were weaker or smaller than him, whether it was from lousy foster parents, or predatory thugs looking to recruit cannon fodder for their turf wars. For a lawyer, it was an excellent skill set. He could usually smell gang members a mile away, and it helped keep him out of trouble. So, if this guy didn’t set off Renji’s sensors, maybe he wasn’t a bad guy.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“Something strange happened yesterday at Como’s. I was getting ready to head in for my shift at the clinic when these two guys showed up with neon signs over their heads screaming We’re Bad Guys. Before I knew it, I was running a little interference in the middle of some sort of throw-down. No one got hurt.” He thought about that and changed it. “Well, one of the guys with guns got hurt, but he was kind of asking for it.”

Renji stopped dead in the middle of buckling his belt, his eyebrows halfway to his hairline. “Guns? Why am I only hearing about this now? Did you call your old man and tell him?”

This was so not a conversation Ichigo wanted to be having.

“I’m telling you now. I didn’t tell you yesterday because you were balls deep in the flavor of the week when I got home last night and I didn’t feel like ruining the mood. And no, I didn’t call my dad because there was nothing he could have done about it. He’s retired. Anyway, the man who was at the center of the whole thing seemed to have everything well in hand. He was so smooth you’d think that sort of thing happened to him every day.”

Renji made a strangled noise. “Competence isn’t a good thing in these situations. You have to take this seriously. If you got in the middle of some turf war…”

Ichigo scrubbed his hand over his face. “It wasn’t like that. These guys were more like high-end kidnappers than gangbangers.”

Oddly enough, that didn’t improve things. Renji looked like he was going to have a stroke. His face was almost as red as his hair.

“Kidnappers.” He glared. “Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds? And you didn’t let your dad, the retired police lieutenant, know? What the fuck, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo ignored the questions and walked out into the dojo with Renji struggling along behind him, still trying to get his shoes on.

“You know how Goat-face gets. The minute he heard he’d start freaking out and acting like I was fourteen and being brought home from getting my ass kicked, again. I’m twenty-three, Abarai. I have a black belt in judo and a brown belt in karate. I can handle myself. I don’t need to run to my dad for help every time something happens.”

He didn’t mention that it would terrify his sisters, or that it would throw the entire Kurosaki household into turmoil, forcing his dad to relive the nightmare of his wife’s death. His father had many skills. Moving on wasn’t one of them.

“Kurosaki-san!”

The voice came from one of the younger instructors trying to flag him down as he headed for the exit.

“Someone left this for you at the desk.” Ichigo took the message with a respectful bow and murmured thanks, and continued out the door.

After the dojo the street was oddly quiet, the background buzz dropping to just faint traffic noise, and the two friends stopped and stood against the wall, looking down at the card in Ichigo’s hand.

It was a white card with a small red embossed inkan in the corner, the writing clean and precise, and it was clearly addressed to Kurosaki Ichigo.

“What’s that?” Renji asked, peering over his shoulder. “Love letter from a secret admirer? Maybe he was too shy to stay and ask you out in person. Or maybe it’s a ransom demand from your friendly neighborhood kidnappers. It’s even odds.”

Ichigo made a fed up sound. “Drop it, Abarai. Remember, I know where you sleep.”

Renji waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “As if I could forget. I keep my door open in case you ever want me to comfort you after a bad dream.”

Ichigo stared at his friend. It was like living with an overgrown puppy with ADHD and a sex addiction. How the man managed to survive in law school was a mystery.

Maybe he fucked all his professors. It would explain a lot.

“Who is Tsukabishi Tessai?” Renji asked, switching his focus back to the note and Ichigo groaned at the mental whiplash. Definitely ADHD.

“I met him yesterday at the coffee house.”

Ichigo thought back and tried to remember all the details about the man that he could. He was tall, even taller than Renji, with dark skin and tiny braids running along his scalp. The most powerful feeling Ichigo had been left with about him, though, was one of almost preternatural calm. It was as if nothing short of a bomb going off could unsettle the man. A good trait for someone faced with armed bad guys, he supposed.

“He was not one of the kidnappers I’m presuming?”

Ichigo sighed but didn’t feed the troll.

He re-read the note wondering if it was some sort of trick, but it hadn’t changed. “No. He showed up after everything started to go to hell. He was driving, but he didn’t act like any chauffeur I’ve ever heard of. Instead of freaking out over someone trying to grab his boss, or over the fact that we basically beat the crap out of two guys in the middle of the sidewalk, he just apologized for being late, took their guns and tossed the men into the back seat of his car.”

Renji looked like he wanted to start yelling again, but he restrained himself. Barely.

“And this is… what? A thank you note? A threat? He wants to make sure you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell the authorities?”

Ichigo shook his head again, and gave up trying to make sense of it all, and handed the card over for Renji to read for himself.

“He’s offering me a job.”

12 notes · View notes

pengychan · 6 years ago

Text

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 2

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: Things Ernesto can do: charm people. Things Ernesto cannot do: say mass in Latin. But hey seize your moment, who needs a plan when you go charisma, am I right.

***

Chicharrón had been Santa Cecilia’s gravedigger for as long as Héctor could remember.

He seemed to have hardly aged since the days when Héctor had been just a little boy running wild in the streets along with other orphans, but not because he’d aged well: it was more that he’d always looked old, and a decade or two made hardly any difference. He was perpetually in a bad mood, always scowling unless he was well in his cups, telling somebody how he’d lost his leg – and slamming his wooden leg on the closest table for emphasis – or playing his guitar.

It had been the guitar that had first lured Héctor to the old hut he lived in. Like most children, he’d been scared of him; getting close to him before darting off had been a common game to prove their courage. But one evening, when Héctor had been hanging in the cemetery to avoid an older kid who’d promised to rough him up - Héctor had really wished he had an older, bigger friend to help him out at times like that - there had been music.

Later on he wouldn’t quite remember the words, but the sound alone, and the melancholy in Cheech’s voice, had drawn him closer. Playing with his eyes shut, Chicharrón hadn’t noticed he was there at all until he’d stepped over a freshly-dug grave – for el señor Delgado to be buried in the next day, Cheech had explained later – and fallen in it with a cry. The music had stopped, and Héctor had climbed out to see Cheech glaring down at him, a stick in his hand.

“Well, look at that. It lives. And you don’t belong here if you’re alive, muchacho,” the gravedigger had scoffed, and lifted the stick. “Now get out of here, before I change that and bury you--”

“Can you do that again?” Héctor had blurted out, catching the man by surprise. He’d blinked down at him, clearly confused.

“What?”

“Play the guitar,” Héctor had said, brushing some dirt off his clothes, still looking up at Cheech in stunned fascination. “It was good.”

That had definitely caught old Chicharrón by surprise. “Are you pulling my leg now?” he’d asked, and Héctor’s eyes had shifted to the man’s wooden leg. Cheech had followed his gaze and, suddenly, laughed. Coming from him, it felt almost as alien as singing. “Hah! You know what I mean. Are you mocking me, kid? Because if you are--”

“I want to hear that song again!” Héctor had insisted, and grinned up at him, giving him the kind of endearing look that usually gained him a smile from passerby and, if lucky, even an apple or a tangerine. Cheech was definitely not going to give him either, but at least he didn’t smack the look off his face. “Por favor? I didn’t know you could sing.”

Cheech hadn’t been that easy to convince, but in the end he’d given up, and played a couple of songs for him before telling him to get lost. The same had happened when Héctor had returned the next day, and the next and the next.

A week later Héctor had asked him to teach him how to play, no longer content with just listening. Chicharrón had mumbled, huffed, grumbled and complained… and then he’d taught him all he knew about music. Well, almost: Héctor already could sing, kinda, because the sisters at the orphanage had him and some other kids singing in a chorus at church from time to time, and on special occasions. But it had been Cheech to teach him how to coax melodies out of a guitar’s strings and how to read a music sheet.

A few months later, he’d written his first song. It had been about the dead coming out of their graves for Día de los Muertos and then getting confused over which grave was whose, forcing the gravedigger to herd them back and forth across the cemetery and into the right grave before sunrise, beating them up with his wooden leg if they got too stubborn.

It would have horrified Padre Edmundo and the sisters at the orphanage, and it had made old Cheech laugh so hard he’d almost spat out a lung, or so he’d claimed. Héctor hadn’t been sure if spitting out a lung was actually possible, but getting even a chuckle out of the gravedigger was an accomplishment.

“Hah! Now this is what I call poetry. You’ve got a gift there, muchacho,” he’d said, and had ruffled Héctor’s already messy hair with a calloused hand. For all the gentle words the sister always had for him, for all the kindness Padre Edmundo had always shown him, somehow Héctor hadn’t been prepared for that… and Cheech clearly hadn’t been prepared to see the boy in front of him burst in tears.

“Oye, oye, what’s that? Are you loco? I don’t get you, kid,” he’d said, his voice gruff as ever, but he’d crouched down before the sniffling boy and given him an awkward pat on the shoulder. Héctor had wiped his eyes and wished he’d ruffle his hair again, but he hadn’t. “Stop wailing. You’re here to sing, no? Very well, let’s sing. See if you can give a grito as loud as your wailing...”

They had, and it had been fun, but Héctor had left feeling embarrassed of his outburst – so embarrassed that he hadn’t visited for a few days afterwards. And when he had, Cheech hadn’t mentioned the incident: he’d just handed him a guitar all of his own.

“I found it among my old junk. Was about to throw it out, but maybe you could put it to some use,” he’d muttered. It looked like it had been built out of the remains of a broken guitar and a few more scraps, and Héctor - while really struggling not to cry again - had pretended not to have noticed the cuts and splinters on Chicharrón’s hands… but he’d never forgotten, and he still had that guitar.

“You should throw away that piece of junk and get you a new one.”

Héctor held back a grin at Cheech’s grumble. “It serves me just fine,” he said, strumming the guitar. “Whoever made it knew what he was doing.”

“Hmph,” Cheech muttered, and suddenly seemed very focused on the old spade he was getting some rust out of. Next to him, his equally foul-tempered pet rooster - Juanita, he called it, and no amount of telling him the rooster was male had seemed to matter at all - was glancing around like a guard dog, head bobbing.

Only a few steps away, next to the shack Cheech lived in, there was a coop with several chickens and plenty of chicks in it, peeping incessantly. The old gravedigger kept a lot of chicks, claiming to be waiting for them to grow and fatten before eating them, but Héctor had yet to see him butcher a single one; he grew attached, the old grump, just like he’d grown attached to him.

Not that Chicharrón would admit as much if he had a gun pointed at his face.

“I didn’t get you then and I still don’t get you,” he was saying now, still not looking up from the spade, obviously unsatisfied with the results his effort to get rid of the rust were yielding. “Especially with this priesthood nonsense.”

“Heh! You mentioned only a dozen times, or a hundred. Aren’t you happy to see me on the straight and narrow path to the pearly gates if heaven?”

“Pah! Straight, narrow, twisty, a goddamn maze, whatever. Any path leads to nothing but that,” Cheech had muttered, tilting his head towards the graves. “And you’re not priest material. I’d like to have words with the nuns who put that idea in your head.”

Hector shrugged. “Well, to be fair I can’t think of much else I could do. No family, no properties, no nothing. They did keep me from dying on the steps of the church, fed and clothed me. This is how I can repay the favor, I guess. I rather like being alive, you know?”

“Not letting a baby die is basic decency, idiota, not some feat to celebrate or reward. I wouldn’t have let you starve or run around naked, either. That’s one low bar,” Cheech muttered, causing Héctor to laugh again.

“I think I’ll be fine. I like it here, and I like helping people out. Someone’s got to look after all those kids. Got to make sure they don’t get in too much trouble. Like me,” he added, and strummed his guitar again before looking around. “Any idea where Miguel is, by the way?”

“Not the foggiest, and you’re not the first to ask,” Chicharrón grumbled. “Those two troublemakers came looking for him, too. Almost hit one of them with the spade, and Juanita gave the other a good peck on the shin. What do they think they’re doing, slinking around like that? They’ll send me to an early grave and if so I’ll make them dig it first.”

“Those two-- You mean Óscar and Felipe?”

“Sí, sí. The brothers of that novice, Imelda. That’s another one I don’t get. God knows if her becoming a nun would be a waste,” he added, and thankfully seemed to entirely miss the way Héctor bit his lower lip. “Anyway, haven’t seen Miguel. A bit odd. He’s usually here to annoy the hell out of us both. Just like you when you were his age, that kid. Hope he won’t get roped into the church, too.”

That was a bit off, Héctor had to admit. Where was he off to? Had he gotten in trouble with the sisters and found himself grounded? Maybe it would be best if he went to check, just for his peace of mind… and possibly to put in a good word for his early release, if need be.

As it turned out, it wasn’t needed.

“Héctor! Cheech!” Miguel’s voice rang out through the cemetery, causing both to turn. The boy was running up to them and skidded to a halt a few feet away, panting a bit but grinning from ear to ear.

“What is it, chamaco? Did you find Sister Marilena’s secret stash of chocolate?” he asked, and Miguel laughed, shaking his head. His hair was sticking out in all direction, and suspiciously damp.

“No, still looking for that. But that’s not-- the new priest is here,” he said, and his grin widened. “And he’s the best priest.”

***

“So, that’s the new parish priest?”

“The one talking with the Cordero widow?”

“Do you see anyone else dressed like a priest?”

“He’s… young.”

“And handsome, unless the beard is deceiving.”

“Sister Sofía.”

“I’m saying it how it is, Imelda. I’m saying it how it is.”

“You should be calling me Sister Gabriela,” Imelda pointed out, but she already knew it was pointless. Hardly anyone but the Mother Superior and a few of their older Sisters ever bothered; Sofía kept saying that she’d only use it when - and if, she’d add with a wink - Imelda actually took the vows.

There were a few moments of silence as they watched the new priest - he was quite young, yes, in his mid-twenties at most, and Imelda imagined most would describe him as good looking - laugh at something the old Cordero widow was saying, showing pearly-white teeth that seemed all the more blinding in the middle of that black beard. That didn’t escape any of them, either.

“... He is very handsome.”

“Nice laugh, too.”

“Almost a waste, for that one to have taken the vows.”

“Et tu, Sister Antonia? I thought your interest lay in the fairer sex.”

“What? I just so happen to have working eyes.”

“So does the old widow.”

“Are we quite done? It wouldn’t look good, you know, if he spotted four nuns--”

“Three nuns and a novice. You’re still on time to change your--”

“Do not finish that sentence. It still wouldn’t look good if he turned and saw the four of us--”

“Ogling?”

“... I was about to say ‘staring at him while chattering like old crones’, but I suppose ‘ogling’ describes it best. Three nuns ogling at a priest as the novice tries to be the voice of reason.”

“Well, we do have eyes to admire the wonders of God’s creations,” Sister Sofía said lightly.

“Never seen you looking at a sunset like that,” Imelda muttered, but precisely none of them seemed to hear her. She was about to add something a bit more scathing, but she spotted a movement out of her eye… and she wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, there’s novice Héctor!”

“Talking about waste.”

“Padre Edmundo did women everywhere a disservice by leading him to priesthood. But it’s not too late yet, Imel--”

“I am not hearing any of this from the mouths of brides of Christ,” Imelda said, rolling her eyes, but her lips did quirk upwards for just a moment as the nuns chuckled. Still, she made a point to turn away without another look towards the new priest… or Héctor. “Since you’re all so busy, it seems someone should go back and tell Madre Gregoria that our parish finally has a new priest.”

“Oh, good idea. I’m certain she’ll be happy to meet him.”

“She’s old enough to be his-- oh, I’ve had it with you,” Imelda huffed, and left with quick steps, doing her best to ignore the resulting, barely muffled laughter.

***

Seeing the new priest standing on the steps of the church, where he’d seen Padre Edmundo greeting his parishioners for so many years, felt… not quite wrong, but not right either. For the lack of a better word, it felt jarring.

Padre Edmundo had been old, with a back that had begun bending under the weight of his years, very little white hair still stubbornly clinging to a leathery bald head, and a few missing teeth. This Padre Ernesto was much younger - maybe only a handful of years older than Héctor himself - with a full head of thick black hair, back straight as a rod, and all teeth still in place. They were showing just now, she he smiled at the old Cordero window and waved her off before she walked down the steps of the church, clearly looking to tell more people about the arrival.

It wasn’t hard to see why Miguel, who was right at his heels, had been so impressed with him… and yet Héctor had to keep chasing away the unfair thought that no matter how good he may turn out to be, he simply could not replace Padre Edmundo.

“He has a horse, too,” Miguel was saying. “His name is Dante and he’s so big! Barely fits in the old stable where we used to keep the donkey. Padre Ernesto let me ride with him, you should have seen Óscar and Felipe’s faces when they saw us!”

Héctor hadn’t seen their faces then, but he definitely could see the expressions of plenty of bystanders who were beginning to gather around the church, clearly eager to take a look at their new parish priest. It was easy to tell Héctor wasn’t the only one who had been expecting someone… different.

Still, maybe a priest so young would be good for their parish, and Héctor had a duty to help him for as long as he could. Then he would take his vows, and he would be sent… wherever the Church saw it fitting to send him, he supposed.

I still think you should be our new priest, Miguel had said a couple of days ago, and Héctor had laughed it off, but the truth was that he’d hoped he could be just that, someday; that once he took his vows, he may be allowed to serve at the parish of Santa Cecilia after Padre Edmundo grew too old or passed away. He loved his town, loved its people, and had no wish to leave - but Padre Edmundo had died, his novitiate had yet to end, and the town needed a someone to lead the parish. They couldn’t just wait for him to be ready.

As he walked up to the church’s step, barely listening to Miguel’s words and pretending not to have noticed Imelda walking away just as he approached, he told himself it was probably for the best. Maybe some time away without-- Imelda -- distractions would do him good. Maybe he’d even get to travel, and have a wealth of stories to tell when he returned. Miguel would be sorry to see him go-- maybe so would Imelda -- but he’d be happy to hear what he’d been up to when he got a chance to visit, or at least so Héctor hoped.

But he’d worry about that later. He was still a novice, and he had work to do there.

Héctor was only a few steps away from Padre Ernesto and had already opened his mouth to introduce himself when someone passed him by quickly, almost making him fall down the stairs when he shouldered him. Héctor regained his balance just on time, and Miguel gave an angry yell.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, pendejo!” he exclaimed. It would have normally gained him a threat of getting his mouth washed with soap, a scathing retort on how much worse nuns had gotten at teaching proper manners to street urchins, plus a comment on bad role models while glancing meaningfully at Héctor - but this time Gustavo didn’t seem to notice either of them: he was already in front of Padre Ernesto, talking and gesturing, nearly oozing slime.

“… Truly blessed to welcome you here,” he was saying. “After Padre Edmundo’s unfortunate passing, Santa Cecilia has gone too long without a proper priest,” he was saying, and Héctor had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Oh yes, he had noticed him there all right. Jabs like that were typical of Gustavo: the parish sexton had enjoyed poking fun at Héctor since they were both boys, and had only grown more ill-spirited as years passed, to become worse than ever since Héctor had decided to take the vows. Héctor had learned to ignore him most of the time… but sometimes he wished he didn’t wear the cloth he did so that he could sock him in the jaw without consequences. Not that he would ever admit that aloud, especially in front of Miguel, who was still bristling.

“… A tiring journey, but uneventful, thankfully. I mean, thank God,” Padre Ernesto was saying. He had a pleasant, warm voice. He crossed himself, and Gustavo did the same.

“Thank God,” he echoed. “Is there anything you require, Padre?”

“I would be grateful if you could see to my horse. Some food and water for myself as well, if you please. Oh, and a razor,” he added with a laugh, reaching up to rub his beard-covered cheeks. “The sooner I can get this thorn bush off my face, the sooner I’ll feel like a human being again.”

“Of course, Padre, leave it to me. Out of curiosity, which order do you belo--” he began, only to trail off when Padre Ernesto abruptly glanced behind him and his gaze found Miguel. He smiled broadly.

“Ah, here’s my little guide!” he exclaimed, winking, and stepped past Gustavo. He reached to ruffle Miguel’s hair before looking at Héctor. “And you’re Hé-- Brother Héctor, I suppose? I heard a lot about you before we even made it to the church.”

Héctor smiled, glancing sideways at Miguel. “Good things, I hope.”

“For the most part,” Padre Ernesto chuckled, and Héctor decided that yes, he liked him already. He could see why Miguel did, too.

Behind Padre Ernesto, Gustavo was rolling his eyes. Miguel noticed and spoke, all sweetness and light. “Why don’t you go tend to the horse like Padre Ernesto said, Gustavo? Poor Dante must be so tired after the long journey.”

That earned him a glare to which he answered with a grin, but there was nothing he could retort right there and then, and in the end he did as asked, mumbling something Héctor didn’t quite grasp. Not that he cared to, with Padre Ernesto clapping a hand on his shoulder and speaking again - or trying to. By then a small crowd had formed outside the church, and people were beginning to approach in small groups, speaking all at once.

“Padre! Welcome to Santa Cecilia!”

“I need your blessing, Padre.”

“I need to confess, it’s been two months since my last confession!”

“Confess-- oh. Oh! Of course!” The slightly hesitant expression that had crossed Padre Ernesto’s face faded within moments, so quickly that Héctor wondered if he’d imagined it. He smiled, and gestured towards the church. “I’ll be happy to confess and absolve all of you, uh, later. I first need to rest, lest I pass out in the confessional booth, and that would do good to precisely no one, no?” he added, and his smile widened.

Héctor didn’t think he’d ever seen some of those old battle axes even smile before that moment, and yet there was a collective chuckle.

Well, look at that. And here I thought an outsider would have trouble winning them over.

A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and Padre Ernesto somehow managed to make even la Madre Superiora smile when she arrived, an old woman who was tough as leather and heavy-handed as they come with misbehaving children and adults alike. It was no accident that Miguel had vanished as soon as she’d come up the steps.

“We do look forward to hear Mass from you,” Madre Gregoria was saying. Padre Ernesto’s smile seemed to waver for only a moment, a hand clenching on the crucifix hanging from his neck, and Héctor supposed it may be nervousness; he looked young enough to have never served as a parish priest before. Then the moment passed, and the smile was back.

“I look forward to it as well,” he said. As they spoke a few more nuns - Sister Sofía, Antonia, Luciana and María Fernanda; no Imelda - approached to greet him. Knowing Sofía as well as he did - though not as well and others, really, which was to say not biblically - Héctor wasn’t surprised to see she was looking at the breadth of his shoulders rather than heeding his words. When her gaze wandered to him, Héctor raised an eyebrow.

En serio?

Sister Sofía’s lips quirked. Héctor tried not to roll his eyes and turned his attention back on Padre Ernesto, who was talking about his journey to Santa Cecilia and how good the Lord had been to keep him from harm, no hint of nervousness left in his voice despite being the center of all attention and curiosity, with such a responsibility to the town on his shoulders.

Héctor wished he could be half as confident.

***

“I’m fucked. I am fucked. I am so fucked.”

Flipping frantically through a Bible entirely in Latin, Ernesto allowed himself a few decidedly unpriestly curses that may or may not have called the integrity of Virgin Mary into question. Not sermon material, he knew at least that much, but he suspected knowing what not to say wasn’t a good enough basis to hold mass.

Nor were his vague memories of attending mass, which went back to… about a decade earlier, actually, for his Confirmation. Even up to then, he’d mostly snoozed through them; the only exceptions had been the times he’d sung in the choir, which meant he was too impatient to get singing to pay attention to anything said.

He rather wished he had now but, as his current predicament showed, foresight was not among the many gifts of Ernesto de la Cruz, only son of a miner and a seamstress from slightly left of the middle of nowhere, Mexico. He hadn’t even realized he would be expected to say mass, in Latin, until he’d found himself trying to recall exactly what a priest is supposed to say to give absolution after a confession.

Well, this is it, he thought. He’d originally planned – bit of a strong word, that – to keep the act up for maybe a couple of weeks, as long as it took for the army to hopefully move up north, and then leave again… possibly at night and possibly with some food as well as money for his trouble, courtesy of the parish’s box of offerings. After all it was money meant for the poor and, at the moment, Ernesto owned little other than the clothes on his back, a pistol, a handful of bullets, and his horse. If that didn’t count as poor, he couldn’t imagine what would.

Now it looked like the ‘take the money and run’ part of the plan would need to be enacted much sooner than that. The thought of telling the truth crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quicky; the vast majority of people, probably including those of Santa Cecilia, hated the Huerta government, and he’d been fighting and killing for it until just the previous week. Perhaps they’d welcome him for deserting the Federal army - he’d been drafted against his will, like so many others, maybe they’d understand - or perhaps they’d hang him for having ever been one of them. He wasn’t going to risk it.

He’d keep up the charade and stay a couple of days, Ernesto decided, enough for him and Dante to eat and rest. His horse was hungry and exhausted and so was he; he was desperate to sleep in a proper bed, and have a decent meal - or two or three - after eating hardly anything but strips of salt beef for three days and then nothing for the past two, aside from one stupid bird he’d managed to shoot down.

He could avoid saying mass until then, Ernesto thought, tossing the Bible on the bed. He’d pretend to be sick, maybe fake a splitting headache; after traveling all the way there under that sun, no one would be surprised.

Sun’s packing a good punch today, eh, Nesto?, Alberto had muttered only a few days earlier, riding slightly ahead of him as they scouted well ahead of their unit as instructed, to ensure no revolutionaries were in wait among the rocky outcrops. They found no one; no revolutionaries, no soldiers… no witnesses.

Beats harder than my old man, Ernesto had agreed, his face blank as he pulled out his pistol and took aim.

One shot at the back of the head had cut off the other man’s laugh, and granted him a way out of the army. It had been nothing personal: he’d even liked Alberto, who had joined the army the same day Ernesto had been drafted and often asked him to sing to pass time. But he’d been a supporter of the government, would have never agreed to run off or keep silent if he did and, in that moment, he’d been the one thing between him and freedom – so he had to go. Ernesto had been handed a way out, and seized his moment when he had to. He’d keep doing so until he was safe from that stupid war, and the damn army.

They don’t get to complain. They put a gun in hand, taught me to use it, made me use it, made me a murderer. I’m trying to survive. Nothing more.

Reassured that he still had the situation firmly under control, Ernesto went to the basin of water on the small table at the far end of the room, where Gustavo had left a towel, soap and a razor as requested. He threw some water on his face, and looked up into the small mirror to see his reflection for the first time in days.

Maybe it was the thick beard or the dark shadows under his eyes, or the tired look now that he had no jovial act to keep up, but he found himself thinking he looked at least a decade older than he was. But it was all right: the beard would go now, to make him less recognizable in case soldiers just happened to come to Santa Cecilia, and a good night of sleep and a meal - whatever priests were allowed to eat during la Cuaresma would seem like a king’s dinner compared to what he’d been living on - would take care of the rest.

Humming to himself, Ernesto lathered his face with soap and began to shave, careful to leave a mustache so that his face wouldn’t look too naked. By the time he was done and smiled at his reflection in the mirror, he felt a lot better. He could charm those idiots for a couple of days, and that was all he needed. After all, Miguel had described Santa Cecilia as an utter bore of a town.

What could possibly change in two days?

***

“Oye, Imelda. May I come in?”

“... You already let yourself in, so I guess.”

“Thanks. Chocolate?”

“We are supposed to be fasting and giving up on luxuries throughout la Cuaresma.”

“We are also supposed to be committed to lifelong chastity.”

“I am.”

“That’s why I brought you chocolate,” Sister Sofía said lightly, placing the dish with bits of dark chocolate on Imelda’s desk. She rolled her eyes, but then her stomach grumbled and she reached to take one. They weren’t fasting in the sense they ate nothing, of course, but their portions were smaller and, well, she was hungry.

“Isn’t Sister Antonia available to entertain you tonight?”

“Guess what she gave up.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I’ll find something to distract myself. I’ve been picked to help out at the parish, since Gustavo won’t bother to touch the laundry, dust or make meals,” she added, looking entirely too pleased with herself, and popped some chocolate in her mouth. Imelda sighed.

“And I suppose this isn’t due to a newfound passion for laundry, cooking and cleaning.”

“It’s due to curiosity, mostly. We already do all that at the orphanage, anyway.”

“I have serious concerns as to what you’re curious about,” Imelda said drily. “And what made Mother Gregoria pick you of all people? She’s not so stupid she cannot guess--”

“She reaaally wants that donation my papá promised.”

“... Of course,” Imelda muttered. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Sofía’s family’s wasn’t precisely rich, but they owned land and were significantly more well-off than most others. “They came to visit you last week, didn’t they?”

“With a list if potential husbands, and someone ready to write to the Vatican to free me from the loving clutches of the Catholic Church.”

“And none interested you?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. Her own family had been questioning her choice, arguing that it wasn’t a matter of religious calling but rather her ‘womanly stubborness’ to be picky over her marriage perspectives.

Which was, truth be told, absolutely correct, but Imelda would eat a live scorpion before admitting as much. There was absolutely no one-- no one available -- in Santa Cecila whom she could imagine herself married to.

She could have simply stayed unmarried, but the prodding would have never ended; her brothers seemed to be the only ones who didn’t care whether she married or not. Eventually, she’d figured taking the veil would shut them up. It hadn’t quite silenced them yet, but that should change once the novitiate was over and she took her vows.

And then, perhaps - once the Revolution was over - she could sign up to go on missions, to travel, to see places. She would like that. It had been one of the perspectives that had convinced her to take the veil, along with that of a better education. She would have loved to stay at home, in Santa Cecilia… but not at their terms.

“I have standards, Imelda,” Sofía was saying, unaware of her thoughts. “Admittedly low ones, but I have them. Let alone if it’s about something I’d need to endure for more than a night, or however long it takes me to get my hands on arsenic.”

That caused Imelda’s lips to quirk. “Thou shall not kill.”

“A nice suggestion. Are the rifles and bullets in the basement meant to water flower beds?”

Imelda’s smirk faded within a moment. “Not so loud,” she hissed, giving a quick glance towards the closed door of her cell. She turned back to Sofía with a scowl. “I told you, it’s only for a week. They will send for someone to take them soon.”

“I sure hope one of those bullets finds its way into Huerta’s heart, for all the trouble they are,” Sofía muttered, but she did lower her voice. “I’m amazed you haven’t joined the fight, really.”

“I’ll be of better use to the Revolution here,” Imelda replied, and it was true. She could hide weapons, pass on messages, occasionally find a hiding place for someone, and smuggle them in the infirmary if wounded. “They need as many friends in the clergy as possible. Padre Edmundo turned in a blind eye--”

“No, he just really didn’t realize a thing. Trust me.”

“... But we don’t know where this Padre Ernesto stands,” she added, and a sudden thought hit her. She turned to Sister Sofía to see she was grinning. “Oh. So this is what you’re looking to find out by serving at the parish.”

Her grin widened. “Among other things, yes. I’ll report my findings. All of them.”

“Stick to the ones relevant for the cause, if you don’t mind,” Imelda muttered, causing Sofía to chortle before she gave her an oddly serious look.

“Perhaps it is time we involve brother Héctor. He may not be the parish priest, but--”

No, Imelda thought. No. Too dangerous. “Sofía,” she said slowly. “Look at me in the eye and tell me you really think he could keep a secret without it showing on his face clear as day.”

“Oh, I think he’s a better actor than you give him credit for. It’s only his helpless love for you that he cannot hide,” Sofía added, the grin back, and Imelda regretted even replying to her.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she muttered pointedly, and focused on the book in her hands. Not religious reading, but the Lord could forgive her, or mind His own business for once. “I’d like to be left along with my thoughts,” she added, and to her relief Sofía did not insist.

“All right. I’ll leave some chocolate for you here,” was all she said before taking the dish and walking out, leaving Imelda alone with a novel she now couldn’t possibly hope to focus on.

***

“Madre de Dios, Padre, are you really that desperate to meet the Lord early? You need rest. I will let you have a room for another night.”

“If He wills it, I shall gladly meet Him. I must be on my way.”

“It’s a long road to Santa Cecilia. What are you seeking so urgently?”

“Salvation, if I may have the presumption to ask for it. Is this enough for the churro?”

“Qué?”

“The… the burro, I apologize. My Spanish is not… is it enough for the donkey?”

“Sí. You, uh. You may want to take my hat, Padre. The sun beats hard these days, and you’re very... well…” Pablo paused, not quite sure of what he should say. Very white, he’d been about to say, but that wouldn’t be quite correct at the moment, given that the gringo’s face was decidedly reddened by the sun already. “... Sunburnt,” he finally said.

Father John Johnson - what an exotic name, Pablo had thought when he’d introduced himself - turned away from the satchel he’d been trying to the donkey’s saddle, and smiled.

He was already sweating, ridiculously light blond hair plastered to his forehead. He looked young, with a scraggly blond beard along his jaw, but there was something in the thin line of his mouth and the somber expression in the watery blue eyes - a bit unnerving, those - that made him seem strangely old, too.

Then he smiled, and he suddenly didn’t look a day past thirty.

“That would be very kind of you, Paul,” he said. “You truly are a good Samaritan.”

“Pablo. That’s my christian name,” Pablo pointed out, unable to keep some annoyance out of his voice; he had done that before, and kept referring to his son Eduardo as Edward. But he’d caused no trouble and blessed his home as well as paying for his stay without trying to haggle for a lower price, and it was more that could be said of some people. He took off his hat to hand it to that crazy, crazy gringo.

He had to be crazy to be there at all. Mexico wasn’t a good place to be those days, with Huerta’s iron fist on them all and revolutionaries fighting it with all they had, and it could be especially dangerous for an American, depending on who he met on his way. There was no love lost between Huerta and that country, who refused to recognize his regime as legitimate… and as a whole, truth be told, not many people liked gringos for a host of excellent reasons, the theft of their land up north still too fresh in their memories.

Had it not been a priest, and had he not been a God-fearing man, Pablo wouldn’t have let him in his inn - much less give him directions to Santa Cecilia and sell him a donkey, no matter how much money he offered.

“I wish you a safe journey, then,” Pablo said as the priest climbed up on the donkey, a bit clumsily. Not that Pablo had expected him to hop on effortlessly: he was a bit on the pudgy side. The previous night, his wife had quipped that his face looked like a ball of raw dough.

“Thank you,” Father John said, reaching into a satchel as though to check for something. He pulled out a worn-out copy of the Bible, and opened it briefly; Pablo got a glimpse of a piece of paper tucked between the pages, as worn as the Bible itself, like it had been handled and read many times over. The man’s features twisted as if in pain for a moment before he closed the Bible and put it back in the satchel. He nodded at him.

“God bless you, Paul.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. With a sigh and no small amount of effort, Pablo decided to ignore it. “May I ask what you plan on doing in Santa Cecilia, Padre?”

The smile faded a little, and John looked suddenly older again. “The Lord’s work, if He finds me deserving,” he said gravely, and got the donkey moving. “The Lord’s work.”

***

A/N: a note about the OCs: I fully take the blame for Sofía, but it should be known that John is pretty much a collective creation of the Coco Locos server. I only take about 25% of the blame for his pompous ass.

***

[Back to Part 1]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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linkljdf · 2 years ago

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dfroza · 6 years ago

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the True nature of the Scriptures are a conversation

of words inspired by the Spirit speaking to the heart to reveal our Creator and the Source of grace.

A point made in Today’s chapter of the New Testament from the ancient book of Acts when Paul was in Athens:

[Athens]

The longer Paul waited in Athens for Silas and Timothy, the angrier he got—all those idols! The city was a junkyard of idols.

He discussed it with the Jews and other like-minded people at their meeting place. And every day he went out on the streets and talked with anyone who happened along. He got to know some of the Epicurean and Stoic intellectuals pretty well through these conversations. Some of them dismissed him with sarcasm: “What an airhead!” But others, listening to him go on about Jesus and the resurrection, were intrigued: “That’s a new slant on the gods. Tell us more.”

These people got together and asked him to make a public presentation over at the Areopagus, where things were a little quieter. They said, “This is a new one on us. We’ve never heard anything quite like it. Where did you come up with this anyway? Explain it so we can understand.” Downtown Athens was a great place for gossip. There were always people hanging around, natives and tourists alike, waiting for the latest tidbit on most anything.

So Paul took his stand in the open space at the Areopagus and laid it out for them. “It is plain to see that you Athenians take your religion seriously. When I arrived here the other day, I was fascinated with all the shrines I came across. And then I found one inscribed, to the god nobody knows. I’m here to introduce you to this God so you can worship intelligently, know who you’re dealing with.

“The God who made the world and everything in it, this Master of sky and land, doesn’t live in custom-made shrines or need the human race to run errands for him, as if he couldn’t take care of himself. He makes the creatures; the creatures don’t make him. Starting from scratch, he made the entire human race and made the earth hospitable, with plenty of time and space for living so we could seek after God, and not just grope around in the dark but actually find him. He doesn’t play hide-and-seek with us. He’s not remote; he’s near. We live and move in him, can’t get away from him! One of your poets said it well: ‘We’re the God-created.’ Well, if we are the God-created, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to think we could hire a sculptor to chisel a god out of stone for us, does it?

“God overlooks it as long as you don’t know any better—but that time is past. The unknown is now known, and he’s calling for a radical life-change. He has set a day when the entire human race will be judged and everything set right. And he has already appointed the judge, confirming him before everyone by raising him from the dead.”

At the phrase “raising him from the dead,” the listeners split: Some laughed at him and walked off making jokes; others said, “Let’s do this again. We want to hear more.” But that was it for the day, and Paul left. There were still others, it turned out, who were convinced then and there, and stuck with Paul—among them Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 17:16-34 (The Message)

to be accompanied by its paired chapter in the book of Job when God directly addressed him:

God Confronts Job

[Have You Gotten to the Bottom of Things?]

“Why do you confuse the issue?

Why do you talk without knowing what you’re talking about?

Pull yourself together, Job!

Up on your feet! Stand tall!

I have some questions for you,

and I want some straight answers.

Where were you when I created the earth?

Tell me, since you know so much!

Who decided on its size? Certainly you’ll know that!

Who came up with the blueprints and measurements?

How was its foundation poured,

and who set the cornerstone,

While the morning stars sang in chorus

and all the angels shouted praise?

And who took charge of the ocean

when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb?

That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds,

and tucked it in safely at night.

Then I made a playpen for it,

a strong playpen so it couldn’t run loose,

And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place.

Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.’

“And have you ever ordered Morning, ‘Get up!’

told Dawn, ‘Get to work!’

So you could seize Earth like a blanket

and shake out the wicked like cockroaches?

As the sun brings everything to light,

brings out all the colors and shapes,

The cover of darkness is snatched from the wicked—

they’re caught in the very act!

“Have you ever gotten to the true bottom of things,

explored the labyrinthine caves of deep ocean?

Do you know the first thing about death?

Do you have one clue regarding death’s dark mysteries?

And do you have any idea how large this earth is?

Speak up if you have even the beginning of an answer.

“Do you know where Light comes from

and where Darkness lives

So you can take them by the hand

and lead them home when they get lost?

Why, of course you know that.

You’ve known them all your life,

grown up in the same neighborhood with them!

“Have you ever traveled to where snow is made,

seen the vault where hail is stockpiled,

The arsenals of hail and snow that I keep in readiness

for times of trouble and battle and war?

Can you find your way to where lightning is launched,

or to the place from which the wind blows?

Who do you suppose carves canyons

for the downpours of rain, and charts

the route of thunderstorms

That bring water to unvisited fields,

deserts no one ever lays eyes on,

Drenching the useless wastelands

so they’re carpeted with wildflowers and grass?

And who do you think is the father of rain and dew,

the mother of ice and frost?

You don’t for a minute imagine

these marvels of weather just happen, do you?

“Can you catch the eye of the beautiful Pleiades sisters,

or distract Orion from his hunt?

Can you get Venus to look your way,

or get the Great Bear and her cubs to come out and play?

Do you know the first thing about the sky’s constellations

and how they affect things on Earth?

“Can you get the attention of the clouds,

and commission a shower of rain?

Can you take charge of the lightning bolts

and have them report to you for orders?

[What Do You Have to Say for Yourself?]

“Who do you think gave weather-wisdom to the ibis,

and storm-savvy to the rooster?

Does anyone know enough to number all the clouds

or tip over the rain barrels of heaven

When the earth is cracked and dry,

the ground baked hard as a brick?

“Can you teach the lioness to stalk her prey

and satisfy the appetite of her cubs

As they crouch in their den,

waiting hungrily in their cave?

And who sets out food for the ravens

when their young cry to God,

fluttering about because they have no food?”

The Book of Job, Chapter 38 (The Message)

and a few lines from Psalm 40 for the 40th day of Spring:

[A David Psalm]

I waited and waited and waited for God.

At last he looked; finally he listened.

He lifted me out of the ditch,

pulled me from deep mud.

He stood me up on a solid rock

to make sure I wouldn’t slip.

He taught me how to sing the latest God-song,

a praise-song to our God.

More and more people are seeing this:

they enter the mystery,

abandoning themselves to God.

Blessed are you who give yourselves over to God,

turn your backs on the world’s “sure thing,”

ignore what the world worships;

The world’s a huge stockpile

of God-wonders and God-thoughts.

Nothing and no one

comes close to you!

I start talking about you, telling what I know,

and quickly run out of words.

Neither numbers nor words

account for you.

Doing something for you, bringing something to you—

that’s not what you’re after.

Being religious, acting pious—

that’s not what you’re asking for.

You’ve opened my ears

so I can listen.

So I answered, “I’m coming.

I read in your letter what you wrote about me,

And I’m coming to the party

you’re throwing for me.”

That’s when God’s Word entered my life,

became part of my very being.

I’ve preached you to the whole congregation,

I’ve kept back nothing, God—you know that.

I didn’t keep the news of your ways

a secret, didn’t keep it to myself.

I told it all, how dependable you are, how thorough.

I didn’t hold back pieces of love and truth

For myself alone. I told it all,

let the congregation know the whole story.

The Book of Psalms, Song 40:1-10 (The Message)

my reading from the Scriptures for Sunday, April 28, day 40 of Spring and day 118 of the year

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