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agent-cupcake · 3 years

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So happy you but up the headcanons! All of them are gems and I love them so much. Rereading the Dimitri and Felix rivalry hc made me want to ask for claude and yuri rivalry, but dark of course because both of these boys are sane and logical and would move on if they both caught feelings for you and weren't attached to you by a dark obession lol.

Sorry, I know you asked for love rivalry but I simply could not help myself and got a little carried away with seeing the so-called rivalry to his inevitable conclusion :3c

~Not that it’s probably necessary, but I had to consider the timeline for this. A rivalry between them wouldn’t fit in the events of the game because of Claude’s ambition, but he leaves the country in most endings. My solutions would be to have Claude split his time between Fódlan and Almyra as a politically active prince such as in his solo ending or to propose that Yuri would spend a lot of time in Almyra. Reasons for this could be that he went in aid of his good friend and military commander Balthus (Yuri would make for an awfully good royally sanctioned spy) or that he’s abusing the newfound system of open-market international trade for his criminal enterprise. Either way, Claude is powerful Almyran royalty and Yuri is a shady figure of the underworld. Not too unlike a story I’ve written, but this is separate from that. None of this really matters, ultimately, but whatever I like to think of how this would work out.

~Both men are powerful and ambitious. Both of them are emotionally isolated despite (or because of) their positions. They’re friends, or at least on friendly terms so there’d be a lot of overlap in social circles. And, really, they are quite similar so it’s plausible that they’d go for the same type.

~I’ve since changed my stance on reasons why Claude might develop a fixation on someone. He is concerned with the intrinsic value of a person. He values the thoughts, feelings, and especially the perception of people he is close with. Claude is also a loner, a fundamentally lonesome person who wishes to be seen and loved on his own merits despite the guard he puts up and the social games he plays. Not to say I entirely retcon my previous opinion, but I focused too hard on the idea that he would need to dehumanize you by zeroing in on utilitarian usefulness rather than be driven to darker feelings by his fear of being alone and need to find a connection.

~This all goes for Yuri too, although it’s easier for me to imagine Yuri getting his authentic feelings twisted up and dark. Yuri’s circumstances were somewhat similar to Claude’s, except that he was shown genuine affection by his mother and the old man. Therefore, he knows what it is to lose that. He learned early on what it is to have people die because of him, to shoulder the burden of guilt that comes with such profound loss. Yuri’s scarred by a brutal, painful upbringing where “love” was a commodity to be traded in for favors (even by his mother) and genuine, honest relationships became nearly impossible to comprehend. If he met you and developed those true, affectionate feelings, if he found a so-called light in the darkness, maybe it’d make sense that he’d do everything he could to keep it from losing it.

~Their similarities in this instance would work out for this scenario. Somebody useful to them, somebody authentic enough to appeal to their deeply ingrained sense of loneliness, somebody clever or interesting or fun… There’s a lot of reasons they could develop unhealthy feelings for you born out of an innocently platonic friendship.

~And it would have to be platonic on both counts. Yuri and Claude are too self-aware for them to make a move if you made a choice early on. Or, I don’t think it’d become as big of a production because they wouldn’t have emotionally invested so much in you. Leading them both on unintentionally just by having a normal human friendship is kinda sad but also kinda funny.

~They’d know that you were close with the other. Of course they would. Maybe it would hurt, but neither would express that feeling to you. Claude would ask pointed (but not direct) questions about your feelings and dazzle you with grand overtures. Yuri would work the seductive and sweet angle, trying to win your heart the old fashioned way. But, you know, with more uncomfortable subtext and innuendo.

~Something that has not changed is my opinion that Claude would be obsessive about his darker feelings. Not on a consistent, all the time basis, but more like a hobby. A puzzle he couldn’t solve, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He’d search for all of the pieces of you in the hopes that the final picture would allow him to understand his increasingly dangerous feelings. Claude’s not stupid, he’s really self aware. Enough to feel guilt, enough to recognize that what he’s doing isn’t right, and enough to justify himself out of the responsibility of doing amoral things for the right reasons.

~Yuri, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so… aggressive about it. He’d want you to come to him, to return to him again and again to prove to himself that what he feels isn’t wrong, to ingratiate himself into your life in a way that validated everything he felt for you and put you on more equal footing. He’d internalize everything a lot more, feel a lot of guilt about the intensity of his feelings, but he’d find ways to keep you close. Or, for you to keep him close.

~Don’t get me wrong, though, you wouldn’t get so much of a glimpse of this weaker, more vulnerable Yuri. He’d go the opposite direction of his guilt or doubt, wearing an impenetrable smiling, sarcastic, playful mask. My main point is that I see him as being more emotionally wrecked by having these dark feelings due to his self hatred. I also think Yuri would be more generally sensitive to unhealthy romance dynamics, especially if it became physical at all.

~In an interestingly twisted way, Yuri hypocritically recognizing Claude’s behavior as being dangerous would encourage him to be more proactive about his own feelings and feel less guilty about doing so. Being the protective type rather than the obsessive really just fits Yuri so much better, although I see it as one ultimately leading to the other.

~It’s not about winning. They’d be competing, clearly battling against each other for you in a way that would not only be creepily objectifying, but also emotionally strenuous, but they’d keep on insisting that it wouldn’t be about winning. They’d just want you to be happy, to be safe. They both would just want what’s best for you. And what is best for you? Just ask them.

~Claude’s argument: Yuri’s lifestyle is dangerous. He’s a good guy, Claude really does trust him, buuuuut he’s not exactly the type of man you’d be safe with, you know?

~Yuri’s argument: Claude’s not treating you right. He’s obviously manipulating you, how could you possibly miss that? You deserve better, don’t you agree?

~But in the same breath they’d both insist that if you didn’t want to be with them romantically, that would be fine. They both, truly and unselfishly, would just want you to be happy. Just want to stay close with you. Veeeeeery unselfishly.

~Their interactions with each other would be amazingly fake and aloof. Making small talk and smiling all the while vying for your attention in a nearly juvenile tug-of-war. Still, I don’t think, even through all of this, that they’d dislike each other. It’s not about winning, right? It’s not a game, right?

~Okay, so, I know the whole thing with scenarios like this is an inability to face rejection, but if you were to chose Yuri over Claude or vice versa, that’s where it would end. Committing yourself to one of them still wouldn’t work out super well because that’s the nature of giving into such dark and unhealthy feelings, but it would no longer be a rivalry.

~Let me propose, then, that you would eventually reject both of them. At first, the whole thing would have been so fun and so nice. Getting all of this attention from two powerful and attractive guys would be exciting. You’d feel so lucky, they’re both charming and friendly and kind. But then things would have gotten more intense and there’s this weird love triangle that is incredibly trite and uncomfortable and you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt either of them so it’s better to just leave it, right?

~Yuri would be more likely to use his personal feelings as a tactic of manipulation, I think. Worse, he probably wouldn’t see it that way. He knows, he truly knows, how dangerous and terrible the world could be and he’d do anything to shield you from it and his feelings would reflect that. Granted, if he felt you weren’t getting it, I don’t think Yuri would exactly be above veiled threats or bludgeoning you with fear tactics and even a dash of shame for how you’d played with both their hearts.

~Claude would do his best to convince you that you didn’t actually want to go. You didn’t have to chose either of them, but you couldn’t leave, either. That was way too dramatic. Besides… wasn’t it a little selfish? This was where you were needed, he relied on you. He trusted you. Sure, Claude’s a visionary, but what does that vision matter if the one who he shares his dreams with is gone?

~Maybe that wouldn’t work, though. Long term, it probably wouldn’t. I mentioned before that they wouldn’t hate each other, so if it came down to actually losing you, why not work together?

~Love triangles are for chumps, invest in a horribly unhealthy three person dynamic with possible kidnap and very overt tones of mental and emotional manipulation.

~That would solve all the the problems, wouldn’t it? Why would you try and leave them after they made so many compromises for you? Really, would you be that ungrateful and callous? They would both care about you so much, love you, even. Yuri and Claude would be trying to make it work despite the fact that it came down to essentially a tie in this bizarre game, why couldn’t you do your part? Landing such attractive and powerful guys, having them lay their hearts at your feet, you’d have to be a really terrible and selfish person to reject that. Not that you’d be given a lot of choice, but the devils in the details and if you fought them on this, it probably wouldn’t end up very pretty for you.

~Not saying either of them would hurt you. Physically, I mean. Probably.

~In some ways, the compromise would make the guilt easier for them to bear. The fact that they were also being forced to deal with something they wouldn’t necessarily want to would be a leveling ground for them to justify any of your unhappiness with the situation. Like, it was all an equal amount of compromise to make things work for all three of you.

~Claude would know how much Yuri meant to you and feel like the fact that he hadn’t taken that away from you absolved him of a lot of the responsibility of the other things he’d taken from you. Plus, Claude’s a distracted guy who’d lose track of things sometimes, always getting caught up in whatever project he was working on at the time, so he’d know that you wouldn’t be lonely during those times.

~Yuri would see Claude as being, in many ways, a better person than him. More out of a horrible sense of self perception than fact. So Yuri could have his piece of you with the recognition that Claude was there to balance the worst parts of himself and make you happy in ways this dark, twisty version of Yuri might not think he could.

~I don’t think that either Yuri or Claude would ever truly get along because of how similar they are and the fact that they both kinda lost to the other but I also don’t think that would be a huge issue. Their verbal sparring would be entertaining, honestly.

#claude von riegan #fe claude #yuri leclerc #fe yuri #yandere #yandere headcanons #claude von riegan headcanons #yuri leclerc headcanons #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #headcanons #i am trash garbage :)#yuri is so emo i hope it makes sense why

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blushing-starker · 3 years

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Insanity brings me truth and you

can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?

It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.

He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.

Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.

An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.

The doctor is paying attention to him.

"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.

His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.

Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.

Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.

Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.

Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.

He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.

Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.

"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."

He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.

"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)

(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)

The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.

(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)

Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.

There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.

Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.

He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.

As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.

Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.

"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.

Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"

Why help me escape?

"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.

You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.

"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.

(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)

"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."

" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.

"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."

Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.

#starker #dark!starker #insane!peter #insane!tony #patient!peter #doctor!tony #peter parker x tony stark #i mean sorta dark #arsonist!peter #demisexual!peter #legit a harley/joker version where theres no manipulation #theyre insane and in love yall #sophie writes

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vortexbeyondthestars · 3 years

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so a while back before i had tumblr i had a BIG zelda phase and with it came all sorts of fun things.

like making a crackhead zelda theory. and since i have no one else to share it with you all get it <3 how lucky

demise’s counterpart (+ history of lorule i guess)

yall i just came up with a crackhead zelda theory bc that’s how i do.

ANYWAY, what if majora is actually the lorule version of demise??? all we know abt majora is that it was created by some ancient tribe that used it for hexing rituals.

so what if that ancient tribe was in the original version of lorule, inhabited by the original people of lorule (as in, not the loruleans in albw), and the ancient tribe created majora’s mask, based on a god they worshipped, the god of chaos?

they used it for their hexing rituals, and powerful people such as the leaders of the tribe would get to wear it. however, when they wore the mask, they would become possessed by their god’s spirit, so the others could worship it. the mask gave its wearers great and strange powers that made them the most feared and respected person while they wore it.

however, after taking the mask off, the leaders would noticeably be crazier and less morally sane than before. the tribe still continued to use it, despite its effects, and the god grew more and more comfortable with the tribe and started to ask them for things like sacrifices and whatever else.

the tribe listened. it went fine for a long, long time, but then there was a breaking point when someone who wore had worn the mask had gone mad and slaughtered half of the tribe before they were stopped.

the tribe realized their mistake, and so they tried to hide away the mask.

the mask caused so many problems that “they locked it away,” according to the happy mask salesman. what if the golden goddesses and hylia noticed what was going on in lorule, so they created a twin for hylia to watch over lorule, who would be much like her but not exactly the same?

that twin would be loria, whom would eventually become hilda. loria chose her hero much like hylia, except loria’s was a man name ravio. ravio and loria sealed away majora for the ancient tribe. the goddess then breathed new life into the world, the loruleans were created, and the ancient tribe was allowed to stay in lorule as well for their part in helping seal majora away. (the ancient tribe eventually faded away and derailed into what we see as the monster cult, but that’s for later.)

but the seal was not perfect. loria knew this would happen, that majora would break free, so like hylia, she sent out herself as an incarnation.

like in skyward sword, the first hilda is taken to purify herself, while her counterpart ravio is trained to defeat majora. he has the counterpart of the master sword and the spirit, mi.

so ravio defeats majora, and it’s sealed away again inside the mask and not the sword like demise is, proving the be the first mistake the loruleans made. the only thing keeping majora inside the mask was the power of the master sword, which in turn was powered by the triforce and the golden goddesses.

however, majora gave one last final hurrah and spat a curse on ravio and hilda: they would be plagued for the rest of their incarnations of its chaos and hatred. this curse causes, you guessed it, yuga!

the mask was watched over for ages, while various incarnations were born, until eventually, one of the hildas destroyed the triforce. when the triforce was destroyed, so was the sword, and thus the seal on majora’s mask. so majora broke free and took control of its own prison, with nothing to contain it. this happens around the same area in the timeline as right before the child timeline in hyrule.

there were still yugas, though majora had broken free, its curse still reigned strong. this majora was not the same as the god anyway, it was a twisted version of it, driven mad in the time it was stuck in the mask.

majora became even more chaotic and demented than it was before its imprisonment. it no longer wanted to conquer- it wanted to destroy, and it wanted to destroy anything it could set its sights on.

however, majora realized that without most of its powers, it would be practically useless to try and destroy lorule, even without the triforce. so it wanders.

unfortunately for everyone, the first person who finds the mask is someone who isn’t exactly sane. this person put on the mask, and though they managed to take it off, they were driven mad. they stumbled around, wandering wherever their crazy mind told them to, the mask still trying to leech its mind. though majora had broken free, its powers were nearly gone, and so all it could do was try and nudge the person sometimes.

the person eventually runs into the happy mask salesman, who is traveling from hyrule in his attempt to find majora’s mask. luckily for him, the unfortunate person stumbles upon him. the happy mask salesman offers to take the mask from them, and so he finally succeeds in his goal.

the happy mask salesman was actually one of the last members of the ancient tribe. his ancestors managed to travel from lorule to termina to hyrule, and so the happy mask salesman grew up with the knowledge. he also grew up with the tales of majora’s mask and wanted to have the mask of his ancestors back in his hands, and he wanted to have its powers, too.

and majora recognized his aura from even far away, so he influenced its poor host to move towards where he was. majora knew that the happy mask salesman was a descendent of one of its creators, and so it wanted to find him.

and the happy mask salesman wanted to find the mask, too. he managed to get majora some of its magic back with his ancient magic.

side note: this is why all of the moon children appear like the happy mask salesman. majora remembered its original creators, but only barely. it modeled the moon children after the happy mask salesman because that was the only member of the ancient tribe it remembered.

anyway, many of majora’s powers are restored, except for the invulnerability to everything except for the lorulean master sword. since the sword is gone, so is its hold on majora, and in turn, so is majora’s hold on it. majora can be damaged by anything now, which is how link manages to defeat it.

skull kid steals the mask from the happy mask salesman, yada yada yada. then majora’s mask (the game) happens. the reason majora is so vindictive against link is not only because link “interrupted its game,” but also because link reminded him of the man who had sealed had it inside the mask in the first place… which makes sense considering that link is hyrule’s ravio!

anyway, majora is killed, and instead of being sealed in the mask like last time, it is released into the world, spreading like dust in the wind, since link was unaware of its true nature. it manages to return to its lorule, where it bides its time until it can strike again…

ok so there’s my background for majora n stuff, but now i wanna explain why i think this is a cool theory.

demise’s personality is quite the opposite of majora’s. demise seems to be calculating, having whole plans and grand schemes. majora is a psychopath. “lorule versions are just like their hylian counterparts in this version, though,” you must be wondering. i actually have an explanation for that!

when the triforce and master sword were destroyed, so was the hero’s courage, the princess’ wisdom, the incarnations’ incredible power and coldness. and the god’s sanity and calculating plans. ravio became cowardly. hilda became unwise. yuga became weak and reliant on ganon for power. majora become demented and psychotic.

essentially, it became the opposite of demise, just like ravio is the opposite of link, hilda is the opposite of zelda, and yuga is the opposite of ganondorf.

plus not only is majora’s mask in link’s home in albw, but there’s the mask cult in lorule. like i mentioned above, the ancient tribe eventually degraded into that masked monster cult, as all of their old customs got flanderized into what we see in the game. the only thing that remained the same was the heavy reliance on masks. they didn’t even remember their god, majora, but they would later…

yeah this became a LOT longer than i wanted it to be lol. i might add more later.

#loz #legend of zelda #lorule #linked between worlds #majora #majora's mask #zelda headcanon #zelda theory #this is also rlly important to my linked through time au so theres that lmao #albw #mm #my post #my writing

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snowdice · 4 years

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Having a Ball (Dice Roll 14)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, Remus/Virgil

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Virgil, Remus, Roman

Summary:

Yet, he was not to be alone for much longer, as just as he turned his head back to the crowd, the doors to the ballroom opened, admitting another guest. Logan found himself unable to look away as the man entered the room with no fanfare. Most of the other guests did not even notice him, but Logan did. He was pushing through the crowds a moment later.

Logan dances with a man at a ball.

Universe: Royalty

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Cinderella AUish, Sexual innuendo

This is part of my Roll the Dice Event which is where I do random ships, universes, and genres for the Sanders Sides fandom. For more details see this post. I posted a few days ago my results from this dice roll here. You can read the last one of these fics here.

Balls had always been the bane of Logan’s existence. His father had once told him that he’d grow to enjoy them, but even at the age of 50, he still thought the things were nonsense. At least, for the most part. He could barely tolerate the drivel that passed for conversation with most of the guests, and just attempting to cross the room was often hindered by bodies dancing and moving about. Unlike his younger brothers, Roman and Remus, he did not have the ability to flow with the crowds. The fact that he’d never even thought to attempt to learn was inconsequential. Just like this event itself. He didn’t even know the occasion for this one.

Roman was already off and about enjoying the attention he garnered from the crowds. Truly, he was the main reason Logan still permitted these balls. He would approve them every time with the condition that Roman would be the one to plan everything, and Logan would only consent to show up on the actual day. Roman was more than pleased by this arrangement and Logan couldn’t say he resented the younger man’s enjoyment of the task.

Remus also enjoyed the balls, but for a different reason. He was currently off doing… lord knew what, but it was probably something Logan should care to prevent. He did not care to prevent it, however, as he knew the moment Remus was done sowing mischief, he’d sweep away the only other sane person currently at this event, leaving Logan alone.

“What even is the theme of this one supposed to be?” Virgil asked from beside him. Logan’s brother-in-law was the only person in the room not wearing a mask, though he had one in his hand.

Logan squinted out at the crowds. “Green?”

Virgil snorted. “I doubt Princey would be so uncreative. It’s probably something like Woodland Fairy Summer Solstice in a Meadow After a Rainstorm.”

“No, no,” Logan said, suppressing a smile. “I do believe that was three times ago.”

“Ugh. No offence to you, but I’m divorcing your brother, so I don’t have to deal with your bloodline’s antics anymore.”

There was a faux wounded gasp from behind Virgil. “What is this I hear?” Remus asked, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s waist from behind. Despite Remus’s feigned discontent, he pressed his lips to his husband’s neck. “Am I being betrayed by my love?” he breathed into his ear.

“No, stop,” Virgil hissed, trying to squirm away. “We are in public and in front of your brother!”

“Oh,” Remus said. “If only there was a way to keep you anonymous so you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed.” He plucked the mask out of Virgil’s hand and basically slapped his face with it.

“Everyone knows who I am anyway,” Virgil groused, but he did reach up to secure it to his face. “I’m the only one Roman can never force to wear his outfit designs. I stick out.”

“And whose fault is that?” Logan asked amused.

“Roman’s for having such shitty taste.”

“Well, no argument’s here,” Remus replied with a chuckle. Then he hummed, releasing Virgil briefly, only to grab both of his hands. “I guess the only avenue open to us it to go make out in a dark corner.”

Virgil sputtered, face turning crimson behind his mask as he glanced nervously at Logan. Logan just raised an eyebrow. It was ridiculous that he still grew embarrassed about Remus saying such things even after over two decades of marriage. Logan himself had long ago grown numb to it. Remus shot Logan a wink and Logan return it with a droll look. The next moment, Virgil was being pulled away, leaving Logan well and truly alone. Logan mourned his loss.

He bumped shoulders with a few of his guests but could not muster any regret. He mumbled a few courtesy apologies without even glancing at the recipient. No one dared protest as, even with the mask, they could almost certainly identify him as the king.

The man had just made it to the bottom of the staircase by the time Logan shoved past the last of the crowd. He looked up at Logan as he approached and though Logan could only see his eyes through the mask he wore, he could still without a doubt say he was stunning.

He’d obeyed Roman’s theme for the most part but tweaked the color scheme just enough to stand out from the crowd. The outfit was somewhere between a suit and a dress, the top being a suit jacket over a waistcoat, but the bottom flaring out into a long skirt. Logan could not tell if it was one or two pieces. It was green as instructed by the invitations Roman had sent out, but with a touch of blue here and there and the accents edged further toward gold than the suggested brown. Logan could not see his mouth as it was covered by the bluish-green mask, but he could tell by his eyes that he smiled when Logan stopped in front of him. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Logan said.

“Hi,” he replied.

Without missing a beat, Logan offered his arm. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Amusement pooled in his eyes. “That’s rather forward of you, Mr. Stranger,” he said, yet he still took the offered arm, “but, yes.”

With his permission, Logan pulled him towards the dance floor just as another song began. Something about the man made the movements of the dance easier for Logan. He was always pinpoint accurate with his steps, but he’d been criticized as too stiff his entire life. Yet, Logan could feel himself loosen up with the man in his arms. His mind drifted from the order of the steps to focus almost completely on him, on the way his eyes sparkled with glee and the way his hand gripped at Logan’s shoulder. They were inappropriately close, but Logan didn’t care at all. In fact, he leaned his head in closer to listen to him speak and speak they did. They spoke about everything and nothing until Logan couldn’t even recall how many songs they’d danced too. Eventually, the conversation stalled to a comfortable silence.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” the man asked after a few minutes of them just dancing.

“I wasn’t,” Logan said simply.

The hand on Logan’s shoulder squeezed a bit at that. “But you are now?” he asked.

“Well, most of my discontent was due to the fact that I’d been lacking good company.”

Logan could imagine the smile under the mask with perfect clarity. “Well…” he said. “If the event itself isn’t fun for you, perhaps we could go somewhere else.”

Logan could love no idea more. He leaned in so his lips were near the man’s ear. “We will have to sneak away so my brother does not see.”

“Hmm,” the man contemplated, looking around. “We can pretend we are going to the balcony for some air and sneak off to the garden,” he suggested.

Logan glanced around the ballroom, locating Roman who was currently chatting with a small group of guests on the opposite side from the balcony. “That seems to be an adequate plan,” he agreed. His partner shifted the dance slightly putting them on a trajectory that led them towards the balcony. Logan kept his eyes on Roman every time they turned to make sure he wasn’t watching them. Eventually they made it to the balcony doors and stepped off the dancefloor together. They walked casually towards the balcony and then with one last glance back at Roman, they dashed out of sight towards the door that would lead down to the garden.

It was guarded as guests were not allowed in the garden, but the guards stepped aside for Logan easily, and the two of them slipped out into the night air. The man giggled when the door closed behind them, assuring their freedom, and Logan could not help but laugh as well.

Then, they were off to walk into the garden. Of course, they had been dancing for so long that they were starting to get tired, so after only a few minutes, they found a bench hidden from any castle windows by a long row of bushes.

They settled onto it and sat there for a few minutes, just soaking in each other’s company. They did not need to speak but for a few words. Every so often the man would giggle breathlessly, probably still in reaction to their daring escape.

Finally, Logan turned to him with a tender smile on his face. “May I take off your mask?”

“You may,” he agreed easily. Logan reached up as soon as the words left his mouth to carefully remove the mask and reveal a very familiar face.

“Hello,” Logan said.

“Hi,” Patton replied, his face flushed, but happy. Logan leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, and he giggled. “You always find me, huh?”

“Always,” Logan promised. “Even when I have no idea who you are or what your face looks like. Even if all I have to go on is a stupid magic shoe made out of glass.”

“Aw honey, I love you too!” He leaned forward to kiss Logan, but before their lips could meet, a voice spoke up.

“Nope!” Virgil’s voice said. “Nope, they’re kissing. I can’t keep quiet anymore.”

Logan frowned and looked back to see Virgil’s head had popped out of the bush behind them. As unhappy as he had been when the man had left him earlier, he was even more unhappy to see him now. Logan glared down at him.

“Hello, Virgil,” Patton giggled.

“Do the two of you have to do this every goddammed time?” Virgil groused. “We get it. You broke a curse with a magic shoe and stubbornness.”

“And love,” Patton reminded.

“Ugh.”

“Aw, let them have their kinky roll play,” Remus’s voice said from within the bushes.

Virgil grimaced. “Ew.”

“Says the man currently hiding in the bushes,” Logan shot back.

“I’ll have you know this was a completely nonsexual romp through the bushes,” Virgil claimed, but then his eyes widened as he jumped and yelped. “Remus!”

“Tell them to go away. We were here first,” Remus whined.

“I was born first,” Logan groused.

“Well, I already have my pants off.”

Virgil looked down quickly, face going red at what he saw. “When did you take your pants off?!”

“You’re lucky you still have your pants on,” Remus said.

“We are not screwing in a bush, Remus,” Virgil said. Then, “Hey!”

Remus laughed lowly and Logan looked back at Patton. “Perhaps we should just leave them to it.”

“That’s probably for the best, knowing them” he agreed, standing up. “We’ll be in the gazebo, boys,” Patton told them. He grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled, and well, Logan would never not follow him.

#sander sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #dukexiety #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #adriana writes #not pieces fic #roll the dice #roll the dice 14 #cinderella au #royalty au #fluff

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ldwritesstuff · 3 years

Text

Tales From The SCP: Critical

I'm alive? nah, just posting an idea I had based on this thing (which you will need to read before this or nothing gonna make any sense). Might turn this into a series, we shall see, it depends on life, which is kicking my ass. Tip to ya: don't advertise your stuff at a convention because then you might be compelled to do something with it while all your other WIPs stare daggers at you. Anyways, there is the disclaimer: the only characters I own are Dr. Raven, Dr. Generic and Collins. SCP doesn't belong to me either, go check it out yourself if you want to get into in and find yourself down a huge rabbit hole. And obviously I don't own the Dream SMP or their characters.

Tales From the SCP: Critical

When it came to dealing with SCPs, Dr. Raven was no stranger to them. Having been stuck in this cat’s body and given a different life, he has been carted all around the earth, from one site to another, dealing with his new specialty against reality benders. But this was a new one he didn’t expect to be dealing with. One Dr. Generic had experience with and even worked with. Apparently things have changed and now the situation of the Keter Class SCP has become critical. In this case, the SCP the doctor is working with has changed, or rather, an instance has suddenly been released from the SCP itself. Dr. Raven is here to merely observe and act as a deterrent from the reality bending SCP during the interview. The cat with black fur covered by a white lab coat and wearing a blue collar with an ID card with his name and rank dangling from it continued down the halls. A Mobile Task Force operative assigned to make sure he stays safe follows behind as they make their way to the interview room.

“Collins, what do you think?” Dr. Raven asked, his voice cold and neutral as always.

“I’m not too sure sir, I'm not a researcher,” Collins shrugged.

“And that’s why you are only an MTF member,” Dr. Raven grumbled.

Collins didn’t respond to that, opting to just adjust his body armor. Dr. Raven just rolled his blue eyes and came to a stop in front of a door. Collins opened the door and the two of them stepped inside the dark observation deck. Another researcher greeted the pair with a nod. Collins stayed by the door while Dr. Raven sprang up on the desk and looked through the one way window down to the interview room below. Harsh fluorescent illuminated the room, showing a single table with two people on the opposite ends sitting in plain, metal padded chairs. One sat Dr. Generic, a simple man with short, dirty blond hair, sunglasses he is normally seen with set on the table and a black face mask. But on the other side sat a woman, somewhere in her 20s, looking scared and confused. Her light blue eyes continuously scanning the room. Her long, blond hair disheveled and in need of a good cleanup. That is how they found her, in an abandoned looking house, in a dusty room with a book with furious scribbles inside and a glitching PC with the game known as Minecraft on it, the main menu screen putting on a light show with the glitching. Reports of activity in the house and her disappearance from the SCP prompted action, with MTF apprehending her and bringing her to the Foundation. This surprised Dr. Generic, the one who wrote the file on the SCP and swore to study it and figure out everything about it. And yet another mystery is thrown at them and more questions needing to be answered. Then again, the Foundation is all too used to such curve balls being thrown, which is why continuous study and testing is needed. And in this case, an interview with an instance or a victim of the SCP, depending on how you feel about such things. Dr. Raven looked to the other doctor and nodded. Then the interview began. A speaker was switched on in the observation room to hear their conversation and record the whole thing.

“Hello, I would like to ask you some questions,” Dr. Generic began.

“Where am I?” the instance asked, her eyes continuously darting around.

“You are in a safe interview room. Now then, can I ask about your experience with the Dream SMP?” Dr. Generic asked gently.

“How--How did I get out? It’s impossible,” the instance’s voice laced with panic.

Dr. Raven’s ears twitched, he had a funny feeling about this whole thing but couldn’t shake it. Everything seemed fine, nothing registering on any instruments. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched from somewhere. But he continued to focus on what was ahead of him, in this case, instance SCP-6969SMP-5 getting more and more agitated. He has a psychology PHD after all, he can tell the signs of anyone in great distress. But that didn’t matter to him in the long run. As a level 4 researcher, he had the power to shut down this whole interview, but he didn’t. He needed answers right then and there. So he let Dr. Generic continue.

“Care to elaborate?” the doctor asked.

“No . . . I shouldn't be here. I can’t remember . . . . this isn’t right,” the instance was becoming more and more distressed.

The instance suddenly jumped to their feet, eyes wide with fear, her breathing becoming more and more erratic. The chair she had been sitting in fell backwards, slamming on the ground with a clang. Nobody in that room flinched.

“STOP, I can’t be here, I can’t be out here. None of this makes sense, I'll get pulled back. The others, oh my god the others. No, you have to help them, they hardly know. Sometimes they know, but it makes us forget. YOU HAVE TO HELP!” the instance screeched, her movements all over the place, even slamming the table with her fists a few times to empathize her point.

Dr. Generic stood up slowly as well, holding his hands up in submission. A member of MTF entered the room in case things got hostile. Dr. Raven leaned forward, interested in her response.

“Please, you have to calm down,” Dr. Generic pleaded with her calmly, the MTF gripping their gun tightly.

“No, no, you don’t get it. They were sucked in, the whole thing is a lie, it’s all a lie. You have to help them, anyone who goes in there--you have to help them!” she cried out, running her fingers through her hair and even tearing at it. Tears had begun to pour down the side of her face, shrieking a bunch of nonsense in the process.

“Stop the interview,” the observer ordered through the microphone.

“What? No, continue the interview, we could get vital information,” Dr. Raven hissed.

“Doctor, with all due respect, even you can see that it would be futile to try and press with the instance in this state,” the observer said.

Dr. Raven looked down to see as she pressed herself in a corner while Dr. Generic tried everything to console her. The MTF had a few more enter the room to escort her to a humanoid containment cell until they can get her to calm down and do another interview. Dr. Raven’s tail twitched in annoyance but he wasn’t stupid. Once a person had gone down this route, their emotions all over the place, no good could come of it. He looked over his shoulder at Collins who nodded in agreement. Dr. Raven sighed and relented. The observer then ordered the MTF to take the instance to her assigned cell and wait for further instructions. Dr. Generic waved them off and the instance went along, sobbing in her hands, still muttering about others. Dr. Raven leapt off the table and Collins opened the door for him to exist. The observer would be in charge of the recording they got, uploading it to the file. The pair of them would meet up with Dr. Generic to discuss what they have learned. The feeling Dr. Raven had gotten before faded away for the time being, but he was suspicious of a potential return of whatever. That’s a common occurrence in this dangerous line of work after all. Dr. Generic did catch up with them and the three of them began their walk to the nearest break room for a quick drink and a short debrief.

“Her name is Alyssa, or username ItsAlyssa,” Dr. Generic informed them as they walked.

“Why does that matter? 6969SMP-5 is just that,” Dr. Raven replied coldly.

“Doctor, they are victims, pulled into the SCP, as the file reads. Though I didn't think the thing was too keen on spitting any of its victims out,” Dr. Generic huffed.

“Yes, and that is why we need to press for another interview as soon as possible,” Dr. Raven said.

Dr. Generic shrugged. The three of them entered the break room where maybe a few other personnel sitting around. They took a table in the corner while Collins got them drinks and even took the opportunity to take off his helmet and body armor. They sat around for a moment, Dr. Generic sipping on some coffee, Collins with some tea and Dr. Raven with some plain water. Oh how Dr. Raven missed coffee, the only thing that kept him sane. But ever since the incident with 239 that turned him into this cat form and even left him with a few extra abilities, he had no choice but to give up the delicious bean water. Apparently the stuff is deadly to cats and him having a cat body, there were a lot of things he had to avoid now. So he lapped up some water while the three of them took a breath for a moment. But then Dr. Generic’s phone rang a few times. He pulled it out and looked at the alert.

“Well, what timing, a couple of instances have gone live on Twitch,” Dr. Generic hummed.

The doctor in turn set up his phone to show a twitch stream of what could be ordinary Minecraft players on a server, playing the unsuspecting block game. But if you knew the truth like the Foundation did, this was the SCP at work again. Knowing those were real people inside this Minecraft Server, putting on a performance for millions who had no clue, it would make anyone’s stomach churn. But to the Foundation, this is just a regular Tuesday. They did flip through a few streams and something caught their attention soon into the stream.

“They don’t even notice Alyssa is gone,” Dr. Generic said, stunned.

“It seems the SCP has made them forget after 6969SMP-5 escaped, interesting,” Dr. Raven hummed.

“Complete control over the environment it created, damn reality benders,” Dr. Generic fumed.

“So what now?” Collins asked as he finished his tea.

“Simply put, what we normally do, continue to observe and study,” Dr. Generic shrugged.

And Dr. Raven watched, that feeling came back. The three of them leaned closer to the screen. It glitched for some reason, causing the three of them to lean in even closer. Suddenly, words began to form on the screen in the Minecraft chat text font.

‘I can see you,’ it read.

Immediately, Dr. Generic whipped out his camera and took a picture and started to record the stream itself. Nobody from the looks of things had seen what they had just seen. The Twitch chat continued as if nothing happened, spamming ‘E’ again. Even Dr. Raven was flustered, his fur bristling a little on his back and tail. He didn’t see that coming and even if he did, he figured this reality bending SCP fell into that 20% that he couldn’t use his ability on fully. That being, deterring reality benders from doing just that, reality bending. The SCP was mocking the Foundation, clearly. The writing disappeared, followed by an ‘:)’ flashing on the screen for a brief second and then the whole stream returned to normal. The room seemed to turn cold, folks noticing it but not really making a move. All eyes turned to the three practically squishing their faces onto a tiny screen. This simple block game had produced a dangerous SCP and now it was up to the Foundation to contain the thing. But that was the issue, containing something like this would be difficult. And throwing it into the sun wasn’t an option, they didn’t need another incident where they did that to 682, what a disaster.

“So, it's aware of us,” Collins muttered angrily, leaning back in his chair.

“That actually might work in our benefit of making contact and learning more,” Dr. Generic huffed, folding his arms and drumming his fingers on them.

“Right, I suppose the next step is to increase efforts of contact through private direct messages and even donations,” Dr. Raven added.

“Right,” Dr. Generic nodded.

#yes the title is a play on the title Tales From the SMP #Anyways here's some word vomit for you #Might do more if i feel like it but let's see how this does first #itsalyssa #dsmp #dream smp #scp foundation #scp #LD Writes

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pinkiepiebones · 3 years

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What have Special and Copia been doing to keep sane in this long period of quarantine and no touring? Is Copia's new status changing anything for them?

It’s been weird. Special had been privy to the promotion and it was the most difficult task he ever had to keep his trap shut about it sonit would be a surprise to the fans. Originally, Nihil was simply to finish his sax solo and bask in the applause, have that final moment of limelight, then, with the help of his staff, kneel to and declare Copia the new Papa, despite not being his son. It was supposed to be a touching moment, and then a tour would commence in the fall to tout the new Papa. Special had helped Copia go through fabric swatches and designer concepts for his papal garb. Then that idiot Nihil had to go and die! Copia seemed flippant on stage but he was in a state of shock and got overwhelmed with that sense of ‘the show must go on.’

Then... yeah.

Copia’s been in and out of the old barn-turned-recording studio on the Ghost grounds, writing and re-writing and un-writing (his own personal creative process by which he furiously tears up lyric sheets and then picks pieces off the floor and assembles nonsense sentences in an attempt to free up his creative juices, or so he says), recording and listening and coming up with more and more elaborate stage ideas. Special usually enlists his siblings to physically remove Copia from the barn and deposit him into their room and Special will threaten to do something like “tie you to the bed, but not in a sexy way” to get Copia to relax and sleep. Copia does sleep, usually about a day or so, and he cuddles with the rats and with Spesh. His anxiety’s been through the roof, which is understandable- he had plans and goals and felt like his life was starting to go in the right direction, then his surrogate father dies and a plague hits. Copia’s new status hasn’t affected Special... not in any way he would openly admit. For ghouls, the Papas, the heads of the church, are essentially their bosses. A ghoul is a very low tier demon summoned from Hell for free labour and simple tasks. A Papa is the head of the church that exalts Satan. They’re at opposite ends of the power spectrum, essentially. And part of Spesh occasionally raises this in the back of his mind- “Copia’s Papa now, he’s bot going to have time or love for you any more. He’ll probably send you home one day without even looking at you. Just a dismissive wave, there’s a good ghoul, your tasks are complete, run along now.”

Special’s siblings (and Copia, of course) reassure Special that this are the stupid thoughts of an idiot brain. Copia loves Special, and he’d love him even if Copia was a peasant farmer and Special was a land baron or something. Copia’s never considered his occupation to be any sort of barrier or detrement to their very long relationship. Hell, Copia wants Special to be in his official church portrait, much to the annoyance of Bishop Necropolitus (he just doesn’t like painting ghouls, he thinks their shapeshifting somehow cheapens his art).

And this wasn’t asked but I got to thinking about quarantine in the church. Ghouls have no nervous, respritory, adrenal, circulatory... they don’t have bodies like us. They’re, at their core, animated hell plasmas with some elemental charge. Sure, they can get “sick,” but only if they’ve come into contact with iron or pure silver or have been out of Hell for too long. The point is, they don’t catch, carry, or transit germs, so the church is remarkably safe in that respect. The human paritioners of the church pray for an end to the virus, but they still wear their masks and sit distanced from one another and such because they aren’t idiots! Prayer can only do so much, but until prayers are answered, action is required. The only real, maddening impact has been the pause on ritual orgies. Ritual self-management has been greatly encouraged, but it just doesn’t do the job an orgy does, you know, in terms of sealing covenants and such. Everyone’s doing their best though.

#ghost bc #spooky ideas #papa emeritus iv #special ghoul

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reluctantly-plus-ultra · 4 years

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So....I'm literally in love with your rei&lov stuff and wanted to ask if you're still taking scenario suggestions? In case you do; how about dabihawks, in which dabi figures out/always knew that hawks is actually a spy but convinces hawks to actually become a villain? Or literally any hawks&shouto interaction in which they talk for some reason(internship?) And bc of that hawks figures out that dabi=touya and endevour=horrible and has kinda a breakdown? (Bonus points of shouto already knew) Thx

First of all, thank you so much! I’m definitely still taking requests- sorry this one took a while to post, but I’ve been in finals this past week and things have been hectic. Second, I’m going to have to apologize in advance because I saw all of your awesome suggestions here and instead of tackling this like any sane person would by choosing one thing to write about, I decided to write all of them in one request… So in other words, this sucker is LONG. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the piece!

[REQUESTED] DABIHAWKS: DARK SIDE

- All it takes is one boy being saved for everything to go absolutely batshit crazy.

- Keigo “Hawks” Takami is a cunning man, ruthless when it comes to intelligence, speed, determination. He’s been trained- raised his whole life to be the personification of the perfect working hero: instinctive, quick, capable of wearing as many masks as it takes to get the job done and hiding all of that deadly capability behind a warm, smiling face that keeps him the darling of the public eye.

- And yet, despite his wit, despite his impeccable skill for analysis, despite every sign that should have given him a few warning bells about this situation, Hawks had stumbled in completely blind. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

- It had started off as nothing more than a basic street brawl. Hawks had taken the day to patrol with Enji and Shouto, the young man having returned to his father’s agency for his internship. In fact, it was mostly because of Shouto that Hawks had decided to head out with Endeavor in the first place- he was curious about the youngest Todoroki. The boy already had a pretty impressive reputation regardless of the fact that he hadn’t yet gone pro, and Hawks was curious to see whether or not he would hold up in person.

- So when they’d gotten the call that there was a robbery four blocks away and that a fight had broken out in the square, he hadn’t given two thoughts about it, really. Hell, the kid had faced off against the League shortly after entering his first year and come out without a scratch. He could take a couple amateur thugs no problem.

- And at first, things actually go really well. Shouto’s got some serious skill, and it doesn’t take long for them to get the situation sorted out-

- That is, at least, until a few familiar faces show up.

- Hawks swears he’s going to kick Dabi’s ass into next week when he, Toga, Compress and Twice all round the corner and straight into the whole mess. Like, it’s bad enough that now he’s going to have to put up a fight with them, but for fuck’s sake the last thing he needs is to be gearing up to face them while also trying to put on a nonchalant expression as Toga starts laughing her ass off at the sight of him being there.

- So of course shit goes sideways and a second fight breaks out. Hawks has never been more thankful of Twice, because the man just keeps sending clone after clone his way and it’s keeping him busy enough that he doesn’t have to throw punches at any of the others. After all, the League had just started warming up to him, and he really doesn’t want to be sending anybody home packing black eyes on his account.

- But that also leaves three villains against two Todorokis, and while that still shouldn’t be a problem, it turns out to be.

- In hindsight knowing what he’d come to learn much later, maybe it was the way Endeavor barked the boy’s name. Maybe it was how he’d whipped around so suddenly the flames on his body guttered and flared. Maybe it was even just the simple matter of having his arm raised when he turned.

- Either way, whatever he’d been going to tell his youngest child goes unsaid, be it advice or otherwise.

- All Hawks knows is that it takes a full two seconds for Endeavour to shout his son’s name, to wheel around to face him, arm still rigid above his head from the last burst of flame he’d sent at Compress, hand exploding into a raging blaze once more- and then Dabi is fucking sprinting.

- And at first, Hawks almost goes after him because it seems like the fire-user is about to take out Shouto and quite frankly, it didn’t matter who you are: going after a child is a low blow, plain and simple.

- So when he dispatches Twice’s next clone in a messy hurry and moves to follow, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by a display he never thought he’d witness: the patchwork villain yelling “Sho!” so loudly his voice cracks before quite literally hauling the young hero behind him and bracing his free arm in front of them both in a gesture that is so inherently and naturally defensive it makes Hawks pause.

- Half a second later, there’s an explosion of blue fire so fierce and bright that it’s damn near blinding. It takes a few moments for the winged hero to blink the light from his eyes, but when he manages to do so, it is only to take in the sight of three faces equally painted in horror.

- And here’s the thing; Hawks expects some kind of reaction from Shouto, so the fact that he’s still stunned and unmoving behind this villain isn’t exactly a surprise. Hell, he expects a reaction from Dabi too, because that degree of defensiveness, that scale of fire, the sheer desperation in his movements seconds before the explosive blast- it’s so unlike him, especially over some hero’s son?

- But it’s when Enji Todoroki blanches just as pale as the other two, eyes wide as Shouto’s, hands shaking like Dabi’s, that Hawks feels an uncomfortable clench in his gut. That feeling persists, too, as the fighting stops around them, and everything falls into silence, ashes falling down around them like snow. It’s the first time that Hawks has noticed that the walls of the surrounding buildings have been scorched black from the heat, smoke still rising in the air.

- There’s blood leaking down Dabi’s face, his arms, past his burnt jacket sleeves and the collar of his shirt. He’s in pain, Hawks can tell, even from where he’s standing. That move took a lot out of him-

- But there’s also no way he wouldn’t have known that before doing it, and that raises more than a few questions.

- All three men look like they’re reliving some kind of flashback, some kind of memory or unanimous nightmare. It’s Shouto who speaks first, voice wavering, and even then it’s only one word, indistinguishable from their current distance- but it’s enough to snap Dabi out of whatever reverie he’s in and cause him to snarl and bolt.

- Nobody goes after him, not even Endeavor, and in seconds the patchwork man is gone, lost to the shadows and alleys. Being realistic, it would take Hawks less than a minute to soar up above the buildings and scout him down, demand some answers, but Twice is quicker to the punch.

“Let us handle this for now- you can take of him later, I’m not handling his broody side.”

- The rest of the League is in the process of disappearing as well as Hawks makes his way up to the pair of still shell-shocked heroes, quirking an eyebrow and tugging at a few feathers that got bent in his fight.

- “You want to tell me what that was all about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

- The hard glint in Enji’s eye as he glances at him and then spins around on his heel without a word, walking in the opposite direction is all the confirmation he needs to know that maybe they have.

- Days pass. It had been hard enough not asking questions for the rest of their patrol but when, four days later, Endeavor still won’t give him the time of day and Dabi won’t respond to any of his texts and calls, Hawks has had about enough.

- Aizawa’s not exactly thrilled about the Number Two hero calling in to ask if he can take part of the morning to talk to Todoroki about some of the events of their last patrol, but he presses that it’s important, and Aizawa eventually gives in on the grounds that it’s safer for them to talk at the school about mission work than anywhere else, really.

- And that’s how he and the dual-quirked boy end up facing one another over cold coffee in the otherwise vacant teacher’s lounge, Shouto guarded as ever, and Hawks feeling a bit nervous despite the circumstances. Truth being told, he isn’t sure what he’s looking to find here, exactly, but the whole situation has been burning a hole in his stomach for half a week, and something about it really isn’t sitting right.

- “…This is about the whole… Incident with him, isn’t it?” Todoroki asks eventually, tone flat, and Hawks has to admit that he’s chosen some interesting phrasing.

- “Pretty much, yeah,” Hawks scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure where to even start. The whole thing seems pretty absurd. The youngest Todoroki hums and sips at his cold coffee, the light rippling of the liquid being the only thing betraying the slight tremour of his hands.

- “If you have questions, why not ask him instead?” Hawks immediately wrinkles his nose at that.

- “Who, Endeavor? Something tells me he wouldn’t be the most willing audie-”

- “Not Endeavor.” Shouto fixes his cup back on its saucer before turning curious but carefully blank eyes on him, “Dabi. You two seem close enough for it.”

- Well, fuck.

- Hawks’ brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how Shouto managed to put two and two together. There’s no way he’d figured it out from that patrol day- they hadn’t even interacted at all, and Hawks had been careful not to mention the patchwork villain around any of the other heroes so as to not raise suspicion with his mission, or to have anyone go snooping too deeply into something that could also get him in a huge deal of shit.

- Not really knowing how else to play his cards but to try and save face, Hawks squints and shakes his head at the boy in confusion, hoping the “dumb-bird” act will save his ass. Underneath the surface, though, he can feel the pinpricks of an impending anxiety attack, the boy’s blunt and unexpected words having shredded every assumption of caution that he thought he’d put up. Hell, if Shouto has figured things out this far, has he also figured out Hawks’ connection to the League? Has he told anyone else? The Commission is going to skin him alive when they found out-

- “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawks tries, grimacing at the end of the statement for effect, “Unless you’re meaning because I didn’t intervene when everything went down and help you guys out- sorry about that by the way, but I figured you two would have everything under control, and when all the fighting stopped, I just froze.” He shrugs, trying his best to look sheepish, “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes when the shock is great enough I’m more of a natural freezer than a reactor. Probably some kind of weird bird thing.”

- Shouto regards him for a solid second, unblinking, before cracking a small smile.

- “You’re a good liar.” He says simply, before sipping his coffee again. “But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

- Those pinpricks return again, and Hawks’ wings flutter somewhat nervously on their own accord. He resists the urge to let them expand just to give himself a bit more of a size advantage, and instead tries playing it off again. Shouto’s eyebrows raise at the attempt, and it’s with almost exaggerated disbelief that he sets his cup down for the second time and announces, in that odd, cool way of his, “So you just let any villain wear your feathers, then?”

- Hawks chokes on his coffee.

- This time, he legitimately does not know what the hell Todoroki’s talking about, but it turns out that the observant teen had caught sight of a long stretch of cord that had shifted somewhat out from under the other man’s loose shirt when he spun around to run.

- And there’s nothing weird about that in itself. Dabi’s kinda a jewelry guy, and Heaven knows he’s got enough piercings to prove it. But when Todoroki gets to mentioning that there was a small red feather on the end of the rope, Hawks can’t help but flush pink just a little bit because he’d left that feather as a calling card to tell the other man he’d broken into his apartment two weeks ago and he’d gone and strung it on a necklace what an absolute fucking dork-

- “I don’t think Endeavor saw,” Todoroki continues absently, “So it’s just me that knows, and I don’t want any of the details,” He looks at Hawks solemnly again, this time his voice growing quieter, “I’ll keep your secret, but forgive me for using it to make sure you keep mine.”

- Hawks examines him for a slow moment, fully aware that neither of them are moving, and the air is growing tense. This boy could bring his career crashing down around his ears with a few words muttered in the right direction, and yet Hawks is inclined to believe him when he says he’ll keep a secret. With a sigh, the winged hero extends a hand.

- “Deal.” He agrees, shivering at the contact of ice on his palm, Todoroki apologizing for the slip under his breath. “Now, what’s this secret, then?”

- Shouto chews his lip for a moment before sitting back in his seat, hands clenched into fists.

- “I need to tell you a story.”

______________________________________________________

- An hour later, the entire fucking world has been turned on its head, and nothing is ever going to be the same.

- Shouto Todoroki sits quietly for a moment, before calmly reaching out for his coffee cup again, more for the simple grounding action of holding it than anything else. The silence in the room is stifling, especially after the burrage of information Hawks has had dumped on him in the last sixty minutes, and his brain is still sluggishly trying to process most of it.

- “He’s… He’s your brother?” The hero manages eventually, mouth feeling dry, stomach churning. That panging ache in his stomach that he’d felt before has returned tenfold, and it takes everything in Hawks’ apparent willpower to not run for a garbage bin and puke from all the nausea.

- Todoroki won’t meet his eye, and Hawks doesn’t blame him- after everything that’s been revealed at this coffee table, he’s not sure he could look the younger man dead in the face without breaking down in some way. Seeing his scar, mentally comparing it to Dabi’s many, brain running lists of all their similarities and those lists coming up remarkably long.

- The worst of it is the carpet that got all but torn out from under his feet as Shouto had explained what his father had put them all through, his involvement at home, how they had assumed for so long that their oldest sibling had died, and that it had been their father’s fault, no different than Rei’s hospitalization and, by extension, Shouto’s burned eye. It’s this news that curdles his stomach more than anything, makes his blood freeze in his veins.

- He can already tell that when he allows that news to settle, it’s going to hit like a bombshell, but he can’t do that in front of Shouto, so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now until he can handle it later and instead tries to focus on the subjects that he thinks can be safely discussed.

- Todoroki just nods, seemingly spent on this whole ordeal as well, and also not really knowing what to do with it.

- “I’d had some suspicions,” He admits softly, fiddling with his hands, “But I didn’t want to think on them too closely or get my hopes up- he was dead, or supposed to be anyway. And then that patrol happened, and… I don’t remember much of him, really. The memories are all hazy. I was so young- but he used to call me Sho as a nickname when we were kids. When he ran out in front of me though, I…”

- “You remembered it wasn’t the first time.” Hawks concludes, and Shouto nods again, his shoulders slumping.

- “It was exactly the same,” He murmurs softly, “And it just… Triggered memories of all of these things I’d forgotten, but now they’re all coming back, and I don’t-” He sighs in frustration, taking a deep breath to rein in his thoughts, “I don’t know what to do because he’s not dead anymore, but at the same time, I’m not sure that he’s really alive either. That part of him that I knew might be gone entirely- I’m willing to believe that his actions during our patrol were out of memory reflex more than anything.”

- But Hawks is already thinking about all of those times that Dabi has helped Toga arrange her hair into buns when it’s being too stubborn, and the almost-petty sibling banter he slings back and forth with Shigaraki sometimes just to get a rise out of him. There are other habits too, just little things here and there, but the more Hawks imagines Dabi being a former sibling, the more connections he sees.

- They clean up their dishes quietly, dirty laundry aired, secrets hanging heavy. Before they leave, though, Hawks turns back to Todoroki one last time.

- “You know I can’t bring him back, right?”

- It’s a harsh reality, but a very real one. Quite frankly, Hawks suspects that there’s a lot of the person Todoroki remembers in this new Dabi figure, but no matter how much of that remains, no matter how many different and surprising and kind, soft, gentle, loyal angles Dabi has, it doesn’t change the fact that he is first and foremost a villain. That takes precedence over anything, and there’s really no turning back from it, not now, and not after the extent he’s gone to. Shouto nods, hair falling in his face, though Hawks can see through the fringe that his eyes are clear. There’s no judgement, no upset. He’s more than aware, and something in Hawks’ chest twinges again at how quickly this child had to grow up, seeing the world with such adult eyes.

- There’s something else still tickling the back of his mind, and at first he hesitates to ask it. Shouto’s been through enough today as it is, and he doesn’t want to push too far, but at the same time, he’s dying to know. There’s this sense in him that it’s probably important, and Hawks has long ago learned better than to ignore his gut.

- “One more thing- what did you say to him that day? Right before he ran?”

- Shouto’s hand freezes on the doorknob, literally freezes on the doorknob, ice crawling over his fingers. For a second, Hawks is considering apologizing and moving on, afraid that he’s overstepped a boundary. But then Shouto’s grip on the handle eases, and the ice crackles and falls away from his hand, falling to melt in the fibres of the carpet underfoot.

- “Touya. I called him Touya.”

- They leave the room and don’t look back.

_______________________________________________

- Hawks walks Shouto back to class, only to pull Eraserhead outside for a moment and explain nothing more into the situation than that the youngest Todoroki experienced some stressful things during their last patrol, and that after their discussion that morning, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have him take the rest of the day off just to recuperate a little.

- And with any of the other teachers, he might have been hit with a hardass no, but this is Shouta Aizawa, and if there’s anything that man cares more about than cats, coffee, and the occasional witty remark, it’s rest and his students. As much as he likes to deny it, he keeps a better eye on those kids than they know, and he’s caught Todoroki acting a bit more reserved than normal, less concentrated. He nods slowly, dismisses Hawks with a casual comment about wasting his time, and goes to fetch Shouto from the classroom again.

- The winged hero leaves to the sound of Aizawa telling Shouto that he’ll get a notes package done up for him for the day, and to go rest. There’s some muffled arguing before the older man makes some statement about mental health that effectively shuts Shouto up and sends him back in the direction of the dorms, Hawks grinning to himself the whole way down the hall, until he can no longer hear the two. Shouto Todoroki has had one hell of a life, that much is certain, but nobody can deny that he’s in good hands now and that itself is a relief beyond words.

- That being said, it takes all of ten seconds upon returning home to his apartment and getting the door shut behind him, before Keigo Takami all but collapses on the hardwood and begins to sob. Once the tears start flowing they just won’t stop, and there’s this kind of warm, gentle light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling-windows that seems to just encourage the outpour even more.

- Were anyone to see him at that exact moment, they’d probably think it made an interesting picture, the Number Two hero weeping on his knees, wings spread about him like some kind of devastated creature of God, light pouring down his shoulders and face as though his halo had melted and dripped like tear stains over his skin. There’s this burning, raw sensation inside him that just won’t ease, and as he lies there, a crumbled statue of a once proud Icarus, he lets the truth rage over him like wildfire, lets the heat of it all melt the wax and burn the feathers, and feels it pull him into a drop he’s not sure how to recover from, or if he ever will.

- There’s this war raging inside him on how to feel, a million emotions crushing his chest all at once. The first that hits him is disgust, disgust for this man that he had looked up to for so long, who had been a hero to him even when he’d had nothing, nobody, not even a dream. He had put so much faith in him, had defended him at every turn, had stood by him as a colleague, watched his back, taken wounds to keep him safe. This was the man he’d bled for, if he deserved to be called a man at all.

- But the emotions that follow after this are so rapid-fire, they’re almost impossible to keep track of, aside from the pain- the pain lingers and grows, makes itself known in every damned crevice of his being. There’s betrayal, both to the person he is now, and to the young child who’d cheered the fire hero on, who he’d wanted to impress so badly. There’s sadness for the world he thought he knew, for the person he thought he knew, and all of that being stripped away to reveal something so much more grim and ugly. Grief for the loss, mourning for the death of something he’d seen as a foundation to his person, the pain so strong throughout.

- One of the worst, though, is the anger. When the anger arrives, it isn’t in a gradual wave like the other feelings had been, full of upset and still-numb disbelief. When the anger arrives, it is as a battering ram of rage that burns so fiercely in his core, he wants to scream. Rage for Shouto Todoroki, rage for Rei Todoroki, rage for Fuyumi and Natsuo, and damn it all, blistering, agonizing rage for Touya Todoroki and the unjust cards he was dealt. When the anger arrives, it’s with the passion of a man who has longed for family his whole life, and can’t imagine how an individual could so carelessly ruin what another would die for.

- When the anger arrives it stays, and it leaves Hawks trembling on the floor long after the tears have stopped rolling, after the damp spots on his cheeks have dried, after the pain has stopped clawing at his throat, and taken up permanent residence in his heart instead.

- And that’s how Dabi finds him three hours later as night starts setting in, and the light from the windows has faded, the warmth in the floorboards gone. Hawks is so out of it, so physically and emotionally exhausted, that he doesn’t even hear him come in, only notices him when the tall man crouches down in his line of vision, concernedly snapping his fingers in his face.

- Somehow the sight of him just manages to drive the knife in deeper, and he has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. Dabi’s eyebrows are drawn together in worry at the scene, hands beginning to rapidly check him all over for wounds of some kind before Hawks weakly bats his hands away, protesting. The cremation villain sits back on his heels, unimpressed, and flicks the other man’s forehead.

- “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon- why weren’t you picking up your phone, dumbass? I thought something must have happened.”

- The irritation in his voice thinly covers his relief, and Hawks can only manage to blink up at him once or twice before clenching his eyes shut altogether. He doesn’t mention that Dabi hasn’t responded to any of his messages until today either, figures a fight isn’t what either of them need right now.

- “I talked to Shouto today,” He says quietly, voice so hoarse from crying, it’s almost hard to listen to. Dabi stiffens, but doesn’t turn away or make a sound, so Hawks continues, “He told me… Everything. Everything that happened, everything that that bastard did,” Hawks takes another steadying breath, choosing not to look Dabi in the eye for this part, “He knows who you are- I know about that part too. And that’s fine, really, it is; I won’t call you by that name or anything if you don’t want me to. I just… I can’t believe that I looked up to him so long, and he was doing all of this and nobody knew-

- And suddenly it’s all spilling out all over again, and there are more tears, but much less than last time, a slow and steady trickle compared to the earlier downpour. Dabi doesn’t do anything but listen as the minutes pass, as the sky grows steadily darker and they’re left in the kitchen with no lights on, almost silhouettes in the room. Somehow, it feels comforting- Dabi has a way of making shadows feel less like threats and more like hiding places, and Hawks has never felt it more strongly than now.

- But it isn’t until he’s done his tirade that he realizes his most crucial mistake- that in confessing all of this, he’s just botched his own story of being done with the hero world, the lies that he’d given Dabi when they first met. He’s just outed himself as a turncoat. And not only that, he’s just outed himself as a turncoat to a villain who is still kneeling over him in a dark room, and who would have literally nothing stopping him from crisping the winged hero right there, not even Hawks himself. Fast as he is, he doesn’t think his reflexes will save him quickly enough in this state, and all it will take for him to be completely defenseless would be Dabi moving his hands an inch or two forward to light his wings on fire, exposed as they currently are.

- He can feel the panic building in his chest as Dabi stays silent, breathing picking up a few notches before he’s suddenly scrambling to get into a less vulnerable position, trying to make out Dabi’s expression in the dark. Maybe if he can get out a window fast enough, he’ll be able to catch a draft and soar out of the way- it’s his best bet, but the kitchen island is against his back now because he scooted too far back, and there’s no way for him to get to a window without either getting through Dabi or-

- The panic attack that he was feeling earlier decides to kick in at this exact moment, and that’s when Hawks realizes that if Dabi wants him dead, he’s dying in this room. All of his instincts and nerves are shot, he has no sense of coordination, he can’t see, the dark no longer feels safe-

- The lights come on, and Hawks glances up sharply from his position against the island to see Dabi with his hand still on the lightswitch, expression hard to read, but not the crazed, maniacal look Hawks would have expected to receive if the villain were planning to outright kill him. He watches as the other man slowly walks forward, gaze locked, until he kneels so closely on the floor in front of him that if Hawks so much as slid his knees a centimetre forward, they’d be hitting Dabi in the chest.

- His heart is hammering so fast, he’s sure he’ll either hyperventilate or pass out at any given second, body trembling, brain unable to focus. He manages to force his eyes closed as Dabi extends a hand out, certain that he’ll be feeling those blue flames crawling his skin the second they get close enough to burn. The flames never come.

- Dabi’s fingers trail across his temple, brushing back a few strands of sweaty hair, before going to cup his cheek entirely. The action is so uncharacteristically tender that it causes Hawks’ eyes to flash open again, the scarred man looking at him with intent eyes.

- “Take a few deep breaths, pretty bird.” He says calmly, not even flinching when Hawks’ hand comes up to clench hard on the patchwork man’s bicep.

- “You took all of that info rather well,” Hawks states, almost accusingly, through gritted teeth. His breathing is starting to slow, heartbeat becoming less erratic, though Dabi’s sudden smirk isn’t helping anything.

- “I’ve known that you weren’t legit from the first day,” He scoffs, looking a touch of smug, but also somewhat offended, “Give me more credit than that, sweetheart. This isn’t news.”

- The simple, familiar arrogance of it all forces a sharp laugh from Hawks’ throat, and against all odds he can feel the adrenaline draining from his system, beginning to relax again.

- “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” Said with a tired grin. ‘I’m relieved this one corner of my world isn’t crumbling down too.’

- “Only time you’ll catch me alive saying guilty as charged.” Said with a smile as crooked as a broken law. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

- They wait like that just a few minutes longer, listening to the hum of the overhead lights, nothing needing to be said for those moments at least. Then, once Hawks has calmed down enough to relocate, they move to the couch.

- “So,” Dabi is the one to begin this time, throwing his lanky form across the whole sofa and stretching out well enough across it that his head can rest on one of the arms, his ankles dangling off the other. “You know about my shitty childhood. I`d rather not talk about that any more tonight, honestly.”

- Hawks, appreciative that he seems to be willing to let to matter of the anxiety attack drop completely, chooses to take a seat on the middle cushion, leaning back against Dabi’s hip as a support and letting his wings fall over the back of the sofa and behind it. The longest feathers drag on the floor from this height, and Dabi watches for a second as Hawks flares them temporarily to adjust his wings in a better position before continuing. “And I know about you not being true to the League. Anything else you’d care to hash out while we’re in the sharing mood?”

- “Yeah, actually,” Hawks shoots him a look and raises an eyebrow, “If you knew I was lying, why the hell did you keep me around?”

- Dabi goes entirely still, one hand subconsciously draping across his chest, and Hawks remembers the comment Shouto made earlier about the necklace. He wonders if the villain is reaching for it now.

- “You don’t ease into anything, do you?” He asks eventually with a chuckle, Hawks’ answering grin speaking for itself. “Alright, it’s… I guess, you know when you’re in a deep body of water and your head goes under, and it kind of hits you that you could drown there? And the first thing you do when you see it is reach for the light?” Hawks nods even though he’s always had an aversion to swimming due to the weight of his wings and has never been close enough to drowning to truly know. “It’s… Fuck, I’m trashing the hell out of this, but it’s like that. I could tell I was sinking, and I didn’t give a shit. And then you showed up, and I knew right off the bat that you were lying to my face, but for once, there’s this light right in front of me, close enough to reach for. I never really meant for it to be more than that.” He paused for a second before adding, “But there was something about the fact that you were batshit crazy enough to walk into the wolves’ den for your cause, and you just kept coming back. You had to know we’d figure it out eventually, and when we did you’d be done, but you kept trying anyway.” Dabi grins slightly, fingers definitely closing around the necklace this time, “That’s real hero shit. I’d spent so long hating all of them that I’d forgotten they weren’t all like the one I grew up with. And I can’t ever be like you, I’m not hero material, but… Reaching for that light here and here, it makes me feel like maybe I can be more than this someday.”

- He didn’t expect this kind of response. He didn’t expect this kind of honesty, barbless and vulnerable and kind. He didn’t really expect to find himself moving to straddle Dabi’s waist so he could be in a better position to kiss him, either, but that happens as well.

- Wordlessly, Hawks tugs Dabi’s hands from his necklace, and settles them on his hips, the winged hero pressing his own palms to either side of the villain’s scarred face, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. He can feel Dabi’s breath against his mouth and cheeks as the other man lets out a soft exhale, his skin carrying that familiar slight chill that it always does, cooler still where his fingers rest on staples. He could stay in this forever, this moment, safe and sure and grounded. It isn’t until Dabi pulls away from him slightly to trace one hand down the curve of his wing and into his primary feathers that Hawks realizes that in his contentment he’s brought his wings up almost defensively, shielding them off from the rest of the world though there’s no one else around to see.

- “I used to hate the colour red.” Dabi murmurs, repeating the action once again, Hawks fluttering his wing against the fire-user’s calloused hand just to bring a smile to his face. That smile carries into the kiss Dabi pulls him in for an instant later. It isn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot, but there’s something more sweet and slow about this one, and it takes Hawks a second to realize that unlike the kisses they’ve shared in the past, this one isn’t laced with the premonition of an ending. Usually, there’s this sort of rushed tension in their more intimate moments, an unspoken understanding that whatever this thing they have is, it can only last so long. But that’s missing this time, the overlying pressure of awareness, of only whispering things that won’t break your heart later, of never knowing when each embrace might be the last and being prepared to cut your losses if it is. This time is different, sanguine, and Hawks suddenly gets the feeling that things are about to change.

- He isn’t wrong.

- “What if you joined us for real?” Dabi breathes, eyes hooded as they draw apart but still lingering close. Catching Hawks’ incredulous look, he runs his hands up the other man’s arms, taking on a more serious tone. “I mean it. We can get you out from under the Commission- they’d never be able to touch you again. You want a world where heroes have more spare time on their hands than they know what to do with? That’s never going to be a possibility the way things are now. Most of the groups and agencies are corrupt over the profitability of it all, and there’s a lot of heroes in the same boat. Believe me, birdie, they don’t want the crime rate going down- they just want it televised.”

- Hawks knows it’s true- Dabi isn’t just saying this to sway him. The winged hero has seen this firsthand. There are heroes out there who would sooner go into a situation after a disaster has already happened rather than stopping it before anyone can get hurt, because it’s flashier. It’s more likely to gain attention, even if it means innocents being injured or, hell, dying in the process. And there’s all the other stuff too- the notices they get at the beginning of each new year, informing them that if they save ‘x’ number of people from various minority groups, there will be a bonus payout for them by the end of the year, as diversity is good for their public image. Hawks always threw those papers away, but there were some who held onto them, kept a tally going. There are heroes who are only on the field for the money, who couldn’t care less about the people they’re saving so long as there’s a cheque at the end of it with their name on it. Hawks has even heard of a few cases where heroes staged or set up disasters and accidents to be noticed. There’s the Commission, literally grooming child soldiers and people like Endeavor who wear two faces to hide a darker truth from the public eye.

- For an organization made to help, the hero collective is a dog-eats-dog world, and it’s ruthless. Dabi’s right about Hawks’ dream being impossible- because as long as people are profiting off crime, they’ll never allow it to stop.

- Suddenly, all Hawks wants to do is sleep, cut the nightmare short and try to let himself catch up with the feeling of free-falling. He can’t go back to working beside Endeavor like nothing’s happened, he knows that. And to make matters worse, he told Shouto he wouldn’t tell anyone about this though he desperately knows he should, but at this rate he’s not sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good. There may be a time later in the future where the truth can be revealed without completely annihilating the small, fragile, bright world that the youngest Todoroki has been slowly building for himself, but to have the public come after him over something this big, demanding answers and surrounding him at all times… He can’t handle that yet, and Hawks can tell. Someday, but not yet.

- “And after you dismantle the system? What happens then?” Hawks asks quietly, noting the surprised flicker behind Dabi’s blue eyes. He hadn’t been expecting him to entertain this idea.

- “Hey, my job’s just to burn it to the ground,” Dabi snorts, nonchalant, but his hands stop moving up and down Hawks’ arms, and loosely circle his wrists, “I think I’ll leave the rebuilding to those of you who will do it right. Let the real heroes take care of the hero world, and maybe everything else will settle too. Maybe things can be better- and who knows,” He puts on a smirk, “Maybe the heroes will find they’ve got some spare time on their hands, just like you said.”

- Hawks considers this, nods once, makes up his mind and goes ‘fuck it’ while cutting his losses.

- “Fine.”

- Dabi freezes under him, confident look replaced by something much more comical.

- “What?”

- “Fine, I’m in.” Dabi goes to say something about considering options for more than three seconds, but Hawks cuts him off. “No, I’m serious. Things need to change, and that’s not going to happen with the way everything’s going now. I’m a hero because I want to help people, not because I have a license, and damn it there are more people I can help by fighting against the hero track than on it, which is really fucked up in itself. I’m in, and I’m saying that while I’m pissed off and bitter enough to go through with it because for fuck’s sake I can’t keep going back to that place and letting them wring me out until I’m dead. None of this is normal or okay, and I can’t keep pretending that it is. I need to do something.”

- The fire-user just stares at him awestruck throughout all this, and for a long while afterwards too, before eventually sitting up.

- “You’re certain?”

- “Yes.”

- “…Damn it, pigeon, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

- Hawks laughs at the weak pet name even as Dabi cups his face and pulls him in for another kiss, the blond’s laughter spilling out across their lips, fingers carding through Dabi’s hair. It’s a bright moment to end a dark day, something hopeful amid the tentative nature of something new.

- “We’re never rushing this again.” Hawks grins when they both need to take a breath, that warm embrace of security and peace having returned to him once more, settling in his chest and radiating so strongly he’s surprised he’s not glowing. Dabi hums in response, turquoise eyes mostly closed as he leans down to dust a kiss on the other’s collarbone, almost painfully slow as if to prove a point.

- “We won’t have to.” He promises, chuckling lowly at the slight gasp he receives for turning the kiss into a nip, “Welcome to the dark side, birdie.”

#BNHA Headcanons #bnha requests #dabihawks #dabihawks requests #dabihawks headcanons #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #mha requests

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ultramaga · 3 years

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Science vs Anti-science

I was thinking about the destruction of the scientific community. Journals like New Scientist and Scientific American are proudly branches of leftist political organisations. They do not give a shit about skepticism. But without skepticism, science is dead, and there is only The Consensus. The Consensus, we are told, is always right. It is all scientists thinking alike. This is the direct opposite of reality. This is what existed before science, when a religious/political group would decide what reality was, and if you disagreed, you should be punished. Science was about being wrong. Science was about having ideas, but assuming they aren’t true until they are tested, and even then, another test might invalidate them. This amazing idea - that the Consensus is Bollocks - totally revolutionised the world. Suddenly technological innovations exploded, because ideas exploded, and they could do that because people were allowed to be wrong and still could be heard, and even if they were wrong, perhaps they inspired people to find something more right than was accepted at the time. Before Newton, it was perfectly accepted that heavier things fell faster than light things. The idea that it might be air resistance making the difference never occurred to anyone. Newton came up with this crazy idea, presented it to a scientific community that was able to tolerate dissent, and eventually persuaded everyone, and thanks to that, technology leapt forward. But that hit a wall. Reality kept finding ways of not quite meeting the predictions of the model. Either the model was wrong, or the reality was, and the zealot picks reality and tells you to ignore it, but the scientist accepts that the cherished model might be wrong. You can get away with Newton’s equations for most everything you will encounter, but when dealing with space, they are just wrong in critical ways. Einstein had better ideas. Again, he was the heretic, but he made his case, and it was tested over and over. Science and technology moved forward. Until Quantum mechanics proved irreconcilable with Einstein’s Relativity. Two fantastic productive models of the universe, but there were areas where they contradicted, and circumstances where the mathematics showed the equivalent of an error message. If you ever hear of the term “singularity”, that is an example. The inside of a black hole should be infinitely dense in an infinitely small point, but quantum mechanics says that that is simply impossible. Decades of research have indicated that the two great approaches must both be wrong, even if they are right enough to be incredibly useful. But we have no idea how to replace them. Yet. So how does that relate to 2020, current year, year of The Consensus? Well, before 2020 there were a lot of studies on the efficacy of masks. The humble cloth mask was found to be useless at stopping the flu and colds. It was as effective as the hijab at stopping rape - and yes, that was the original reason the hijab was supposed to be worn for. The problem is that viruses are very very small compared to the holes in a cloth mask. Viruses are bigger than air molecules, but not by much, and the masks most people used might, at best, stop large dust particles or balls of mucus. So what happened in 2020 when the emergency powers were activated, and the science became Teh Science!(TM)?

Well, all the old papers were disappeared. Scientists recanted, then their work vanished. If you don’t have a copy in archive.is, I doubt you will find it, because even the Wayback Machine seems to have been edited. Dissent shall not be allowed in the Covid Crisis. Different ideas are heresy. Yet when I look at the Mask Science papers they all read like this: WE GUESS THAT CLOTH MASKS STOP BIG PARTICLES AND DON’T IN SUM SPREAD MORE DISEASES THAN THEY PREVENT. WE GUESS THAT COVID DOESN’T SPREAD LIKE THE COLD DOES - IN AEROSOL. WE AREN’T GOING TO TEST, OF COURSE. Papers that support mask wearing seem to be utter garbage, flooded with weasel words. Mask wearing MIGHT, MAYBE ... That’s not science. That’s just speculation with extra steps. I noticed that when the media etc wants to present Teh Science!, it will interview a scientist who agrees with them. They never speak to anyone who doesn’t. The stultification of Science into just another dogma has been occurring across the board, according to dissidents I have spoken to. You have to be very careful if you say something that used to be utterly mundane, like that humans have two sexes. Anti-science is taking control. Sabine Hossenfelder is a very ‘progressive’ person, who is astonished that her esoteric area of interest is being affected. To simply say that another supercollider would be a waste of money is now a political badthink. She has a number of disagreements with Teh Consensus on pretty abstract matters, and is astonished when she finds she can be harassed over things like Dark Energy. So when someone like her, so far removed from what sane people would find ‘problematic’, someone who sees themselves as a Leftist but who just isn’t Leftist enough; when they can be attacked, then no-one is safe. And that, I think, is the lesson we have to take from all of this. No-one is safe from the powers governments gain in crises, and the incentive then becomes to extend the crisis forever, and to silence anyone who says anything about it, and laws now exist in places to arrest anyone who so much as questions the wisdom of the authorities about this. Yet without questioning, there is no science. So why should we trust someone in a labcoat trotted out for the cameras? For those interested in Sabine, this is an example of her work. She is irrelevant to the mask argument except as an example of someone who has simply carried on doing science in her field, without any understanding of the political shifts occurring that have put science into stagnation. Physics is still in crisis

#covid-19

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fayekingstuff · 4 years

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Blog Post #1

Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden was a very exciting novel to read. As a First Nations person I found myself relating to the novel more than I thought I would. When Xavier narrates, he refers to the reader as “Auntie”, which I assumed is his aunt Niska. I feel he is almost writing to his auntie throughout the novel, explaining and telling his war memories. He was showing her that he used his teachings in the war, “remembering what you’d told me, Auntie” (pg 115, Boyden). When Aunt Niska narrates I feel she is telling Xavier about her life while he was gone to show that there was a quiet war growing between the Indigenous and “wemistikoshiw” (white people). She tells stories from as a child, to when she was living alone as a grown woman. She is strong, and hard working. As I read, I pictured Niska as a younger version of my late great aunt, Virginia. She reminded me of her because they both worked their entire life and never depended on anyone or thing. Xavier reminds me of my own father, quiet but a lot to say. A very good hunter and fisher, but won’t brag about it. I personally loved how the novel highlights how the white people depended on the Indigenous people to learn how to live in the land now known as Canada, “Wasn’t it the wemistikoshiw who were on our land? Was it not they who relied on us? My father ignored the news.” (pg 47, Boyden). The constant story telling reflects on the indigenous culture in the novel, storytelling is very common and being seen as a great story teller gives you great respect in my community. I feel it is to place the reader in the perspective of a younger child listening to their well-known elder telling and teaching the story. It is a very important part of the indigenous culture, that kept them sane throughout the winter and starvation. “It is the story of my childhood. Now I tell you, Xavier, to keep you alive.” (ph 35, Boyden).

Blog Post #2

In the novel, (Three Day Road, by Joseph Boyden) Xavier and Elijahs friendship reminded me of a show I watched before, Teen Wolf. The two main characters, Scott and Stiles, have a brotherly relationship, and are very close. Scott is the leader of their wolf pack, and makes all the big decisions about who dies or lives. Stiles is always by his side offering his advice and the right way to solve problems, he doesn’t get any credit for being a huge part in the action being done. In this way, I see Xavier’s character resemble Stiles, and Elijah resembling Scott. Elijah was taught all he knows about hunting by Xavier, but doesn’t tell the other soldiers how much he has contributed to Elijah's skills and knowledge of hunting. So, Xavier is left as Elijah's shadow, and doesn’t receive the credit he deserves, as Stiles does “The kill was mine after all, wasn’t it? My first as a sniper. Elijah can’t believe he didn’t get the shot. He told me himself he was more surprised than anyone.” (Boyden, pg 136). Niska is the motherly figure in the novel, she mentors Xavier and cares for him as he is home from war. When she is told that he has died, and that his friend, brother, Elijah is back from war, she undoubtedly goes to care for him Even though she was told her nephew was dead and not returning, “... and I made careful preparations to journey by canoe to that town where Elijah would arrive. I left early in the summer and paddled up the river. I am older now,” (Boyden, pg 5). Xavier is portrayed as the rebel, and hero. He is shown as a shy person who has a lot to say to what’s happening in the trenches. He has good morals and doesn’t seem to believe in the war happening around him. He feels for his kills, and tries to explore the type of person they might’ve been. Elijah relishes in his kills, brags about them, and uses his kills for popularity. He completely ignores his Cree heritage, and is able to speak so well in English because he went to residential schools growing up. Xavier tries to make him still a part of his culture, but Elijah refuses from fear of embarrassment, “Elijah’s reputation is growing, I know, and Elijah’s vanity being fed makes him content and happy. But the real job still lies ahead of us,” (Boyden, pg 119). The river Xavier and Niska travel on is like the storyline of the novel. With each stop they make, Niska opens up about her own life to tell Xavier, to relate to him. It seems as though she is almost reading the letter he may have sent her while he was away, and the river represents the peace and safety they are now in.

Blog Post #3

Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden is a novel set in the time of world war one. In Niska’s narrating, it represents how the wemistikoshiw (white men) came to the land they lived on and took advantage of their kindness. The Cree people welcomed them and their ways allowed them to build their life here. Using this theory, Boyden was intending to highlight the Cree people and their ways, and how they lived coherently. It doesn’t necessarily have too many white people characters, other than in the trenches and the few in Niska’s life. Elijah is greatly affected by the wemistikoshiw, all the way from when he was a child. As a child, Elijah was taken from his home and forced to attend the Residential School in his area, where he was forced to learn the english or french language. Along with learning their ways, I feel as if he was embarrassed to be Cree, “Eijah’s got his voices. He says he couldn’t speak in his old voice even if he wanted to now. It’s gone somewhere far away” (Boyden, pg 138). Once in the trenches he was very quick to forget his culture almost completely, other than the hunting skills he learned after getting out of residential school. One time he came home for a summer, and was more than excited to announce that he was now of age to no longer be forced to go back in the following fall, “Elijah was right. The only hint of your childhood was your ears that still stuck out a little from your head. ‘You must grow your hair out now too,’ you said, Nephew, looking at Elijah’s residential cut. ‘I like it this way,’ he said. ‘It is easy to take care of.’ But over the months of summer I watched it grow longer as he became a wild thing of the forest once again.” (Boyden, pg 292). Xavier on the other hand, he is basically the opposite of Elijah. He keeps his teachings and implies them to the war, he actually grew up hunting and fishing, whereas Elijah it was more of sport. Xavier doesn’t want to be influenced by the men in the trenches and forget his culture. Although, in the incident in which his leg was injured badly, he too gets addicted to morphine. He then feels as if he has lost his teachings and they are slipping further and further away, “I look around me and realize that I know very few of the men by name anymore. So many have come and gone that I’ve lost track. Amazingly, Elijah seems to know all of them, acts a if he has known them for years” (Boyden, pg 243).

Blog Post #4

All literary theories contributed to my knowledge and understanding of the novel, Three Day Road. Archetypal gave me insight into the characters and their personalities, allowing me to understand them more as a person. The post-colonial theory allowed me to gain knowledge of what may have been happening in the time of wars not only in the trenches, but also at the home of all those soldiers. Overall, I thought that reader response literary theory gave me the most insight into the novel, which is what I thought the author, Joseph Boyden, was trying to do. Boyden keeps the readers on their toes by constantly changing the perspective of the narrator, and keeps the reader anticipating for what would happen next at the end of a chapter, “ The air turning poison. Men wearing monstrous masks. Nephew running from something. All of them running from something. Turning to look. It is Elijah.” (Boyden, pg 363). In the following chapter he would change perspectives, “I am beside a fire with Auntie when I awake. I know my pain was so great that I crawled into the canoe to escape it.” (Boyden, pg 364). The first few chapters I was a little confused, but throughout the novel I understood what Boyden was intending. The meaning of “three day road” is revealed near the end of the novel, I believe it was meant to be almost as if you must have the will to live in order to be accepted and on the right path to peace, “This must be the three-day road, I think. I’m travelling still. Another man stares down at me. This one’s a mess, he whispers, turns away. There is no pain. I float on a warm river in sunlight. Still alive? another says. This one’s famous, a hero.” (Boyden, pg 371). From this you see that Xavier now in a completely different state of mind, from being so traumatized from acts he had to commit on a duty of his culture. Niska’s perspective serves as a purpose for Xavier, to attempt to calm him in this time of need, she sees. She opens herself to feel Xavier’s pain and trauma from the war and trenches, “I watch as green gas crawls around the ground, seeking out all the breathing things so that it might choke them to death. Pain. So much pain. But it is their fear that leaves me weak. The fear of crawling over the sandbags and running headlong into the enemy.” (Boyden, pg 379). Her whole body aches for him, and in a way relieving him from the pain, almost sharing it. Xavier and Niska have what seems to be a sweat lodge, which is what the Indigenous people use to cleanse their minds, souls, and to heal their broken spirit. Xavier is in great pain from having to endure it all again in order to move on, “I lean close to him and whisper directly in his ear. ‘Just one more round, Nephew. It will not feel as painful or as hot.’ I crawl back in first, then help him inside.” (Boyden, pg 381).

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sunsetcurve · 4 years

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Family Danger Chapter 6

It’s just that the chapter has some Thunderbolt in it… even though it’s the end of them in that way for the story. I intend to skip right on past the Dark Max segment of the story for you. If there’s some cute post-Dark Max things, I’ll send those as well.

Getting Away

Piper watched in awe as the guys put down multiple burgers at Happy Fun Burger, and playfully elbowed Charlotte, “How’d you manage to stay sane in a room full of this at work everyday for five years?”

“Oh, you know… Ingenuity, and earbuds,” Charlotte tried to joke around. She was obsessed with checking the Souldates app every few minutes, in between apology and begging texts from Max. She ignored him up until the point of: Your visit luggage is in my hotel room. “Oh, shoot!” She debated on whether she should make him bring it to Happy Fun Burger to drop it off, but knew that Max wasn’t above following her to where she was gonna be sleeping tonight. She could have him bring it to the hotel and have to face her while all of her friends were there giving him the stink eye. He didn’t particularly care what people thought about him, though. Can you bring it to the hotel that my guests are at? He started a phone call, instead of answering her text and she got up from the table and went to take the call.

“Does anybody care that Charlotte is most likely gonna get back with a guy who is sort of turning out to be kind of a creep?” Piper wondered.

“They haven’t broken up, so, I’m counting on a make up, personally,” Jasper said. “Charlotte’s got a lot of patience in her for certain people.”

“Not us,” Ray said and Henry and Jasper laughed about it. “No, definitely.” “Absolutely not.”

Henry reminded his sister, “What happened to he’s so hot and they kiss all of the time?”

“I saw Charlotte cry tonight. I didn’t even know that was something that Charlotte could do!” Piper yelled.

“Clearly, you’ve never seen Charlotte mess up a science project,” Jasper said.

“Charlotte’s never messed up a science project,” Henry quickly interjected, but added, to Piper, “But, her work is an area that she might shed tears about. I don’t think her crying was over the guy. I think it was over what he did to her work.”

“She’s married to her work,” Jasper said.

“Well,” Henry tilted his head, then nodded, “Yeah, she’s definitely Mrs. Charlotte Work…” She came back to the table and sat back down, and finished eating, not saying much.

…

The group rented two suites - one for Ray and Schwoz, and the other for Jasper and Henry, but since Piper had tagged along for the trip and Charlotte had left the event with them, Ray let the kids have both of those (begrudgingly) and he and Schwoz rented another.

Charlotte was in Jasper and Henry’s suite and all three were having themselves a spa night while Piper used her dad’s card for her own space, because she had enough of all of these guys. Jasper noticed Charlotte texting a lot and figured that she and Max were still hashing things out. Henry chose to try to ignore it and move on. “Yo… So, is it too soon for me to ask about Phoebe?”

“She’s not interested, Henry,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. Jasper was applying a gel skin mask onto Henry’s face. Charlotte already had a clay mask on hers and was “relaxing” in the hot tub, in her undies, because her things were still with Max. Somebody knocked and she quickly got out, Henry looked in the opposite direction to avoid seeing her body exposed, Jasper absentmindedly turned his head to do the opposite. “Dude!” Henry scolded.

“We’re like family, Henry. Grow up,” Jasper said, returning to the mask while Henry now couldn’t help but to sneak a peek himself.

She grabbed a bathrobe, slipped into complimentary slippers and went to the door to open it for Max.

Henry couldn’t see him, but heard his snivelling voice. “Hey, I brought your stuff… Can we please talk to each other? I want to make this right.”

“You can’t undo past actions, Max.” She was trying to keep her voice quiet so that her boys couldn’t hear.

“I know that I can’t, but am I not allowed to make a mistake, sometimes? Is this really about what I did earlier, or is it, like all of our problems, actually about your feelings for Henry?” She jumped with a start, grabbed his arm, glanced towards her two friends, and shoved Max outside of the door to talk to him in the hallway.

Henry and Jasper glanced at each other, then made a run for it, to eavesdrop. “We shouldn’t,” Jasper gave the compulsory warning, but they did, anyway.

Charlotte complained in a low voice, “I’ve already told you that Henry and I are friends. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Right, but you still wear his pajamas that you stole on Thanksgiving, even though they don’t fit you.”

“They’re comfortable! I gave him back four pairs that I intended to score on Christmas to avoid having to keep coming back to the pajama argument with you, and here we are again.”

Max was frustrated, even though he knew that this was petty, he strongly felt it was significant, “It’s an example, not an argument. Some of the stuff that you’ve complained to me about Henry, I wouldn’t even dream of doing to you and he gets to keep you as a best friend, but I do one thing wrong and you don’t even want to see my face, now?”

Charlotte now raised her voice, “I believed in this, you jerk! You altered my launch. You spent months supporting me and making me feel secure and confident in my work and this relationship, only to hijack the controls when it became official and set forth a motion that we can’t undo. Whatever complaints that I’ve had about Henry, he’s never in all of the years that I have known him, plotted behind my back, on my behalf or otherwise without telling me, (well, except for the time he got Bish arrested)… But, he’s NEVER purposefully interfered in my work or the success of it. He’d never have the mind to do that to me. He might hate listening to me speak about my extracurricular plans and science ideas but, I’m snappy at him at times, too. We reciprocate annoyance and we reciprocate friendship. This was something else. I was giving you my full trust, as my man. You told me I could fly, then you clipped my wings, and pulled me onto your back to fly for me. I just can't forgive this, Max. And, Henry had nothing to do with it. This time, our problem is all on you.”

Max stared at the ground and took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for it. I thought if we threw in some villains, gave supers a reason to check it out, they’d come for the initial curiosity and stay for everything that you’ve made available to them. It was really more like a massive text, but I should have spoken to you about it. I thought that if I made a big move, I could finally actually win you over, from him.”

“Oooh, he’s in trouble now,” Henry whispered to himself, shaking his head and smiling.

“Win me over?” Charlotte repeated. “Max, if Henry had me - that would be my choice. Series of decisions and actions from myself would be necessary for that possibility. I’m not a trophy that someone brought out to present because of your performance at an event!”

Max dropped to his knees and lowered his head, “You want me to beg? I’ll do anything. I’ll say anything. Whatever I need to do to make it right, Charls.” Henry scoffed at that nickname. Other guests walked by and saw a damp woman in a bathrobe, wearing a clay face mask and a satin scarf wrapped around her head and a guy in front of her, on his knees.

“Let’s go talk inside,” she told him. Henry and Jasper rushed from the door. Henry picked up a menu that he reviewed while standing in the middle of the room, and Jasper fell into the hottub, fully dressed. Charlotte paused, stared at them, knowing that they had been eavesdropping, but didn’t respond. “My room’s this way,” she told Max. He telekinetically lifted her bags and followed her, without saying a word.

Jasper got out of the hottub, casually waved at them, and put his hands on his hips. “She’s gonna forgive him.”

“She loves him,” Henry said and shrugged his shoulders. Char deserved to be able to explore her feelings and she hadn’t had chances when they were younger. He just had to accept that as her friend, he’d see her relationships, good or bad, and had to dedicate himself to being there for her when they didn’t work out, as he was sure that eventually this wouldn’t.

…

The next morning, Charlotte walked Max out, trying to part ways before anybody else woke up, but Jasper was already up, setting up the table for breakfast and he’d woken Henry up, too. “Morning, Lovebirds,” Henry said, yawning.

Max rolled his eyes and headed out. “Later, Max!” Jasper cheered. Max forced a single hand wave. He paused at the door, stared at Charlotte, reached out to touch her chin, to which she awkwardly smiled and casually leaned away, shut the door behind him and joined her friends at the table.

“The makeup sleepover sounded lively.”

“Shut up, Hen.”

Jasper had roses on the table as he served heart shaped pancakes, “Happy Valentines Day.”

“Can you believe all of that happened in one day?” Charlotte asked out loud. They started breakfast and talked. “So, Max and I will proceed with our plans for this weekend, as usual. Everything’s already paid for, but we’re going to be rethinking some things, I’m sure.”

“Rethinking last night’s makeup encounter?” Jasper genuinely asked, “Or the breakup fodder from the launch?”

“We didn’t makeup. We decided not to continue dating, but to try to remain friends.”

“No wonder he was in such a crappy mood. You let him stay over, grown up sleepover, and still broke up with him!” Henry laughed, “Savage.”

Charlotte waved her hands in front of her and shook her head, “No, no, no. It was mutual. Everything was mutual.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself. He was shattered when he left here.” Henry knew what a shattered dude looked like.

“He was just tired. We talked all night.”

Henry smirked, “Talked? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Look, a lot of talking happened, in between the other stuff, okay? Maybe we had some grownup moments of weakness throughout the course of the talking. Ultimately, we realized that if we let ourselves, we could keep doing this likely unhealthy dance for a long time, and decided that last night would be the last night for such weakness, and that we’d still be friends, if possible, and science bros, whenever needed.”

“That’s very mature of you, Charlotte,” Jasper said and passed around the strawberries.

“How did the two of you even meet?” Henry finally wondered.

Charlotte didn’t mind telling this story, “My first weekend in my new town, I wanted to explore the science community in the area, before school started, so that I could make my rounds and show my face before the first week of class stress settled in. I went to a few places, saw some exhibits and went to a few lectures. I saw him and I recognized him right away, at this inventions convention, and I tried to dodge him, but he wound up sitting by me for a panel, and the place was way too full for me to try to find another seat…”

Max stared at her for a moment while she casually, conspicuously tried to hide in her stars and moons hoodie. He waved a hand and telekinetically removed the hoodie from her head. “I thought that was you.”

“We… have never met,” she lied, poorly.

“I forget faces. I forget names. But, I don’t forget scandals. I met you when my sister worked on some errand with Captain Man, and I recognized you then, because you made a teleportation machine that was ultimately destroyed by Captain Man, but… You were working with Captain Man…”

She sighed, “I made a much less significant gizmo and the team thought they’d help me by bringing something else. They didn’t realize how popular that teleportatiob machine might be.”

“Are they complete idiots?”

“Yes. All of them. Even the genius,” she laughed. “Look… I’m just here to check out the science scene before my classes start at the science institution next week. So, I won’t start any trouble, if you don’t.”

“Why would I start trouble?”

“Maybe you forgot the scandal of the last time I saw you?”

“Oh! That. Yeah, I’m good, now.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s been a while, actually. Nothing to worry about from me, except for maybe me trying to buy you dinner.”

“I love dinner. Why would that be a worry? You know a place and I expect you to pay for it, since you invited me.”

“Yeah, You’d really let me take you? With like, no proof that I’ve changed?” Max wasn’t used to that. He had to prove himself to everyone, even his own twin.

“Well, I’ve never seen you in the news, so you can’t be a dangerous maniac. If you haven’t changed, I don’t see how me turning down a free dinner would benefit anybody.” Now, he laughed.

“You’re funny. Obviously smart, if you’re here and going to the institute and super cute. You’re either not single and don’t realize that I was asking you on date, or you’re inexplicably single and I can’t help but be curious about why.”

Charlotte looked shocked. She hadn't thought that she was being asked on a date, but now that she knew, she felt pretty exposed. She hadn’t even tried to be cute today. “Oh! Um, very single, didn’t catch on that dinner equaled to date, and I don’t know if I can. I mean I can- because my parents will allow it now that I’ve graduated, but I kinda like the thought of being friends and knowing people before I ever took the drastic date step.”

“That’s fair. Dinner as friends, then?”

“Potential friends, but still your treat.”

“A woman who knows what she wants.” “Most women know what they want. Some are just conditioned to answer the world a certain way…”

“He bought me dinner after the convention, he took me for coffee the next day, treated me to milkshakes the weekend after my classes started. He started bringing me takeout whenever I was getting bogged down with my work and forgot that I’m no longer working right next to an auto snacker. Then, when I wanted to go out for the internship, I needed a lab to work on my entry project and from there, we really started getting close…” She stared out into space.

“Wow, Char. You blew it. That dude sounds gooood,” Henry teased.

“He is good. Too good to wait around in a relationship with me that I’m not all in. I told you, I’ve got goals, plans, and a lot of accomplishments before I have a window of time to do… more serious relationship stuff.”

Jasper wondered, “So, are you two going to be friends who…” he cleared his throat, “talk?" Charlotte didn’t dignify that question with a response, and Henry laughed out loud But, mentally… Charlotte knew probably. Probably until one of them moved on or they had a bigger falling out. As long as she kept her focus on her goals and didn’t use him in the meantime. (And, being truthful, she wasn't going to forgive him for that launch stunt, no matter how many free meals she got). She just hoped that she wouldn’t forget this backbone when they spent the rest of the weekend together.

…

"How does a community full of superheros and friendlies get so toxic?” She wondered, having to remove certain reported posts and content flagged from the site. For a change, Henry was at her place. He had come early to snatch her up for their first spring break out of high school and he was going to be taking a vacation, finally from the Danger.

“Superheroes aren’t what you see in TV shows and movies, Charlotte. Those guys are real jerks,” Henry said. He shrugged his shoulders, “You never told me what you and bae did for Valentines’ Day after we left Metroburg. I mean, I know that you don’t care about the day, but you did have a huge release and you did unofficially take him back after his massive mess up.”

“What’d we do for what?” she asked, hardly paying attention to the question, as she was focused on removing SO MANY photos of superdudes’ junk. Didn’t know who wore the masks, but here she was seeing those things.

“Valentines’ Day. When people do the whole candy and cards bit? Romance? Love? You and Max went ahead and spent your time together and you never muttered a word about it.”

She looked like it just dawned on her what he was talking about, “I worked on the website I’d just launched and I think he cooked. He did flowers and steaks and had music playing and commented that everyone told him he needed to do something like that. He never actually said, "I was too caught up in my work to pay it attention. I had to try to fix some of the stuff his little plot affected, even made an announcement that it was a publicity stunt that the site creator wasn’t aware of, in case it comes back to bite me. Anyway, we weren’t back together. We just finished out the weekend as planned. We left our statuses unchanged for political purposes. I didn’t want people to put together that he was the publicity stunt person. It could hurt his hero rep, and he’s worked hard to shake off that villain stuff. Plus, I feel like breaking up in front of everyone right after launching a dating site could have been catastrophic for business.”

“Your relationship is a business ploy? How… Has this dude not dumped you yet?”

“Do you really want to know the answer?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Does it have to do with your grownup sleepovers?”

“You know it does.”

“No, thank you. I heard how that goes from across the suite. Nuff said.” He couldn’t help but be curious, though. Her love interest was a recovered villain, born superpowered, official superhero, who was smart enough to be an evil genius, but apparently down enough to cook for her and try to romance her… Oh, God. Charlotte has been speaking and now, she’s looking at you because you are supposed to be responding to something…

“You didn’t hear a thing I said, did ya?”

“Well… You didn’t realize that dude was trying to seduce you for the special day. Probably trying to undo your alleged mutual break up.”

“I was definitely seduced…”

“Let’s NOT!” Henry shoved his fingers into his ears. “Just, repeat whatever I missed when I zoned out!”

“I was saying that I might have to pull the plug on the site. It’s doing very little actual love connections.”

“That’s because supers don’t want love. You know what they want? To have someplace to be after a hard fight. Some soft arms around them, but not so much conversation and… Basically… They want…”

She held out her hands for him to release whatever he was trying to say and took a shot at guessing, “Booty calls?”

“So crass.”

“Superhero booty calls? That’s what my site is for?”

“To be fair, most social media has a high volume of digital get down.” She let out a frustrated grunt at that news. That was not what this was for. This was for Hen to find love, for people like Hen to find connections. Not superpowered body parts and arrangements to put them places.

“Is that what you do with your space?” Charlotte wondered.

He blushed and scoffed, “I mean… It’s more ethical than hooking up with damsels who were just rescued, like so many of us used to do!” She closed her laptop and got ready to go. “So, what’s your feaux beau science bro doing for his Spring Break?”

“Well,”- she went behind her clothesline curtain to change, “He’s on a mission, currently, so he’s probably gonna be working for the whole thing. But, I mean - he’s old enough to drink, so his Spring Breaks are probably you know - party truth.”

“Does he drink? Gross habit.”

“No, but he’s one of those snooty people that will watch everyone else drink and judge their lives in a comical manner,” she came from behind the curtain in a peach colored bikini, with a sheer cream cover up blouse over it, and a short pair of floral shorts. She went into her beauty wardrobe for cocoa butter and Henry forgot what they were even talking about upon seeing her. “Should we take any selfies before we go, or you think that Jasper will feel bad?” She asked while, rubbing her legs down to moisturize and protect.

“I think he might, but I also think we gotta. Look at how good we look.” She looked him over. She knew how good she looked. She looked good on purpose. But, Henry was just waking up looking fine, these days. He did have to do his hair, but he took good care of himself and his hair wasn’t a ton of work to maintain, so within a few minutes, he could be a total babe.

“We do,” she said, taking out her phone. After several very close selfies that she tagged him and hashtagged them as besties, despite the fact that his skin touching hers was doing something to her lately.

“Hey, Char - will you put the sunscreen on my back for me? I might need you to commit to it all week.” He smiled, anxiously, hoping she wouldn’t shoot him down and be offended that he asked.

“Most definitely. Gotta protect that glorious skin…” She felt her face grow hot. Henry did too. He blushed and nodded his head, grabbing her bags for her. “Oh, thanks.”

“We take care of each other,” he said, with a shrug. When did his shoulders get this broad? She sighed. This was about to be a long week.

#my heart is so torn between loving the chenry and being sad about thunderbolt rn omg #but the tidbit about them meeting was so cute!!!!#i love the idea of people bringing each other food when they're working hard...that's so cute #also also though the little thoughts char has about henry ahh...#like those subtle moments make me Soft #henry danger #the thundermans #submissions #submission

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stroni-bomb · 5 years

Text

Siren!Taeil: Eye of the Beholder {1}

CHAPTER ONE // NEXT

❃ Taeil didn’t know which was worse: being a male in a family of purely female sirens or being a rare phenomenon in a group of ‘normals’. He never had it easy growing up and going against everything which makes a siren didn’t make it any easier. He would always be thankful for that fateful day when Angel!Taeyong saved him. However when a certain individual puts all of N City on their toes as they’re a risk to another citizen’s life, why can’t Taeil feel nothing except sympathy towards her instead of the hatred the other’s hold? ❃

؂۵‗✩⑈

"Taeil," Taeyong gently shook the older brother and gave him a warm smile as his tired eyelids fluttered open. "You can go to bed now. Y/N's asleep, I've got everything under control."

He quickly checked on your sleeping figure in the infirmary bed. He didn't know how long he was out but he was certain that you were awake the last time he saw you. Slowly he stood up, giving a small thanks to Taeyong before leaving the infirmary room. He wouldn't go to bed, he didn't need to, all he did need was some fresh air and thinking time.

Quietly, avoiding waking up any of the other residents, he made his way through the dimly lit corridors until finding the back door. Sliding it open carefully he tiptoed out, allowing the cool midnight breeze to blow on his face. It was a quick walk to the lake. Well it was more of a stream really.

As he reached the water's edge he finally sat down with the grass underneath him, occasionally the wind would move the grass in such a way that it'd dance in between his fingers, lightly tickling him. He had an urge to shift into his siren form but decided against it, knowing the younger boys they're probably spying on him right now from their bedroom windows.

He brought his head down to the grass and lay there, silently. The grass moulded underneath him, leaving his temporary mark into the land. He could hear the lake gently lapping against the bed, running further and further upstream. There was probably a river somewhere nearby, acting out as a branch into the wide and vast ocean.

Ocean. That word alone reminded him of...home. Could he really call it a home though?

It always surprised him how he even managed to survive. No one had realised he was different until he was six, when sirens get their human form. His once loving family turned on him just like that. Why? He was a young boy, not a girl.

He had loved where he lived. The small, grassy cove reached out onto the beach. The grass had a different feel to the one that grew at N City, it was more...rough. Pretty much summed up his whole childhood. At first it'd start with the girls his age, pushing and shoving. As soon as Taeil retaliated though that's when the older sirens began to torture him.

They left scars but they were easy to hide with clothes, he couldn't say the same for his siren form. That's why he refuses unless necessary, he doesn't need his friends to see him like that.

"Taeil hyung!" A young voice yelled out, his feet flattening the grass beneath each stride. This was someone who didn't care if he woke others. Donghyuck. "What are you doing out here?"

Taeil quickly wiped a stray tear and lifted himself up from the ground. Donghyuck bounded into him, wrapping his arms around his elder brother. He awkwardly returned the affection, he himself wasn't much of a skinship person.

"It's cold out here," Hyuck shivered as he pulled away. Taeil noticed he was barefoot and only wearing shorts with a thin, white shirt.

There was a moment of silence between the two. A chilling breeze blew passed them both, pinching their revealed skin. Hyuck quickly brought his hands to his upper arms and rubbed in a sad attempt to warm himself up.

"You didn't need to come out," Taeil eventually smiled and brought an arm around Hyuck's shoulders. "I was just getting some air before going to bed but let's get inside now. You're right, it's freezing."

Maneuvering back into the mansion Hyuck looked up in awe at Taeil. He didn't say anything, he knew Taeil wouldn't talk about this stuff with him but he had so much hurt in his eyes, so much pain, yet kept it inside and kept being his jokey self. Much like himself. He admired Taeil for that.

After walking Hyuck back up to his room which he shared with Jaemin and Renjun Taeil finally collapsed into his bed. He had to resist the urge not to run back to your infirmary room and go to bed in the chair again, just so he could be there for her when she woke up. Maybe he was being too attentive though so he decided against it, he didn't want to give others the wrong idea.

Settling down under his duvet and forcing his past memories out of his mind Taeil was finally able to sleep. Before he was completely gone a small smile sketched onto his features as a quick image of you fluttered through his mind. You were sleeping, safe and sound in the infirmary two floors below him, a smile which mirrored his own blessing your delicate features.

؂۵‗✩⑈

"TAEIL GET UP WE NEED YOU!" A series of knocks hammered at his door as various voices yelled his name. As of yet he was in no real hurry to get up, usually when this happened -and it tended to happen a lot in a house with the devil himself in it- there ended up being no real threat but instead a cream pie waiting to smack him in the face.

"TAEIL IT'S Y/N!"

Now he was up. If his fate did end up being a cream pie then he can bet that whoever the pranker was would soon become the prankee.

Dashing into your infirmary room with a sense of urgency he immediately went to your side. You were out cold, pale and seemingly unresponsive.

Taeil's eyes scanned the faces which accompanied him in the room: Taeyong, Doyoung, Jaehyun and ... Mingcheng. Quickly doing a body scan of the latter he released a sigh of relief- she was carrying no weapons and she didn't seem triumphant. Always a good sign.

"Taeyong what happened? How did her vitals drop so drastically you told me she was doing fine!" Taeil questioned, he knew he should have never left your side, screw the attentive nonsense he would've been there for you when you needed him most.

"Her heart and breathing rate dropped after another... episode. We've put her on oxygen but we aren't medics Taeil, this type of healing is beyond my powers. I heal bones. Not curses," Taeyong said sternly, not appreciating Taeil's seemingly ungrateful tone.

He took note of the oxygen mask and evaluated your chest movements, not quite how he'd like it but assumed it was an improvement.

Suddenly a pang of realisation hit him, how he had forgotten the most important piece of information he didn't know. "Episode? Is Nev okay, what happened?"

"About time grandpa. She's fine, shaken up but fine. Your little friend here tried to kill her she's lucky she-"

"She tried to kill her Taeyong? But I thought she was bed ridden," it was more of a observation than a question, although he failed to observe the very obvious glares which Mingcheng was shooting through him.

"Did he just interrupt me?" She hissed to her mate, Jaehyun, evidently pissed off.

"He's on edge babe-" "He'll be on the edge of my foo-"

"Jaehyun. Mingcheng. Please go check on Nev and Leon, shoot I should really check on Leon...Taeil, could you give me a second? Come on you two," Taeil just nodded, not watching the three of them leave and not giving Doyoung much of his attention either. His full focus was on you, this wasn't the secure figure he pictured last night, no this was the exact opposite.

There was a gentle silence which occasionally was interrupted by the sound of the heart monitor. Every time a sharp 'beep' pierced through the air Taeil would look up and check your heart rate, noting down if there was an improvement or not every time mainly for his own sanity. He was so absorbed in...You, that he forgot about Doyoung who was sat on the chair opposite the bed, checking out his older brother's behaviour and gentleness regarding you.

"Why do you like her so much?" He suddenly questioned, cocking on eyebrow in a way which Taeil couldn't stand, as if Doyoung had just figured out his entire life story by watching him for five minutes.

"I have no clue what you're on about," Taeil dismissed by shaking his head. "Who's Leon?"

"Just some Lion girl who's been stabbed or shot can't remember the exact details, brought some half wolf dude with her or something too. Now answer my question." Doyoung leaned back in his chair now, his long legs outstretched across the floor.

"You should really pay attention to the people Taeyong saves. Maybe then people will like you?" Taeil sniped back, mimicking his younger brother's actions as he leant back in his chair. Debating whether to stretch out his legs too he decided against it, he was much smaller than Doyoung and didn't need to prove it.

"What's the point? They looked like a total mad show anyway. I don't waste my breath on obviously crazy people."

"Yet you ended up living with sixteen of them, now more if you count the mates. You should loosen up, you're stressed," Taeil smiled as Doyoung chuckled to himself. He had got him there, the residents at N CITY were far from sane.

"I should say the same for you hyung, you should let us in and not push us away when we ask you stuff," now Doyoung had evened out the score. Taeil couldn't think of a reply and the sharp 'beep' of your machine left him unable to think straight anyway as he quickly noted down the results.

"I'm gonna check on Lion Girl and Wolf Boy, call us if anything happens okay?"

Taeil just nodded in response, "see you wizard boy," he smirked as the door clicked behind Doyoung as he left him by himself with you by his side.

He liked the thought of that, you standing by his side, just the thought of you standing without needing support made him happy.

He wanted you to be happy but this was just the sympathy talking... right?

--------------------------------

That's chapter one guys 🤪 hoped you enjoyed and give my boy Taeil some love 💝 -Stroni-

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ijustreallylovezebras · 6 years

Text

Petal

Pairing: Thor x Florist!Reader

Summary: Somehow they work

Requested: No

They were a weird couple, that much was clear to see. He had a big frame that towered over her and enveloped her completely when they hugged. He was burly and muscular, the epitome of the standard ‘jock’, she was soft and sweet and worked in a flower shop where, more often than not, her smile brightened up the room more than the colourful bouquets she made.

And yet they worked. No one who knew them could deny the chemistry that exploded between them, the grins that just being in each others presence could provoke from them and everyone around them.

They fit together - that much was undeniable.

“Petal?” Thor called, walking into the store.

“Over here!” Her voice was angelic to him, and he couldn’t think of anything else he would rather listen to.

“Hello, Petal,” the smile on his face is uncontrollable as he rounds the corner to the roses and hugs his girlfriend tightly from behind. Her hands pause on the flowers and she relaxes back into his arms.

“You’re back early,” she says and Thor presses a kiss to the top of her hair.

“I couldn’t wait to see you again,” he says, his tone quiet. Thor feels himself relaxing in her company as he always does.

“I missed you too,” and there it is again, the sound of her laughter.

“Stark’s invited us out for dinner tomorrow,” he tells her and Y/N nods.

“Okay, I’ll make a bouquet for him,” she tells him with a smile and Thor nuzzles his head into the crook of her neck.

“You’re too sweet for me,”

And she was. She was as sweet as the flowers she worked with, both in nature and appearance. She didn’t have a bad bone in her body and her smile was radiant enough to brighten up anyone’s day. Everything about her was soft and kind, she had never punched someone or been punched herself.

She was tender and almost delicate and Thor knew that, if she was an ornament, she would be made of glass.

Him, on the other hand, Thor was rough and boisterous, a part of the Avengers, for God’s sake. He was the opposite of gentle. He would goof off and laugh and was undeniably the hottest person Y/N had ever set eyes on. Anyone who saw him walking around would have thought him a menace, in a way. Seen him as being too loud, too rough - and sometimes he was.

To onlookers they made an odd couple - a quiet woman and a boisterous man.

But they didn’t see the other sides of them.

They didn’t see how Y/N acted around just Thor, when she could complain and swear and cry and let down her mask and not be a sunshine. They didn’t see how sweet, loving and caring Thor was when it came to her. They didn’t see his clingy side or her whiny side, the way that they balanced one another out - kept each other sane.

“What do I need to wear tomorrow?” Y/N asks as she carefully makes up a bouquet of flowers for the customer browsing the store as they wait for Y/N to finish the job.

“Whatever you want,” Thor always thought he looked a little bit ridiculous when he came to the florists. He would put on an apron and help out - because he liked to work alongside Y/N - but he thought he looked silly with the green apron spread across his broad chest. “You’ll look gorgeous no matter what you where,” Y/N laughs, and shakes her head lovingly at him.

“You’re too smooth for your own good, Odinson,” she teases, tying the ribbon around the bottom of the bunch of flowers and smiling over at the customer, who comes over and takes the prettily tied bouquet from her hands, exchanging it with their money. “Have a nice day!” Y/N calls after them and the customer pauses in the doorway to return her smile and goodbye.

“I’m so happy I’m back with you,” the words seemed weird coming from the imposing figure, but Y/N had quickly gotten over it, loving the softness that she seemed to bring out in her boyfriend.

“I’m happy you’re back too,” Y/N assures him, beaming her wide smile at him and walking over to hide in his chest.

“Can you close early tonight?” Thor murmurs and Y/N lets out a loud laugh, stepping back and hitting his chest playfully.

“I have a business to run,” she teases and Thor smiles, leaning down to capture her lips with lips with his own.

“You have a boyfriend to pay attention to,” Y/N gives him a loving eye roll and kisses him once more.

“I’ll shut early,” she agrees quietly and she swears she’s never seen Thor grin that widely before.

Everything about them screamed that they were polar opposites - from the way that they held themselves (Thor stood tall and proud whereas Y/N always seemed to droop a little), to the way that they spoke (Thor was loud, Y/N was sometimes so quiet that she had to repeat herself thousands of times before you could hear her) and yet they were like two pieces of a jigsaw.

The way that they were dressed tonight was proof enough of their differences. He was dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, a black and red flannel over the top. She was in a floral summer dress that came down to mid thigh.

But when they turned up at the restaurant for dinner that evening, the Avengers could not deny how good they looked together, especially with the wide smiles and cheerful glints that were mirrored on both of their faces.

“How have you been?” Steve asks as he pulls Y/N into a hug, having not seen the woman in months. Thor, however, refuses to let go of his girlfriends hand as she hugs her friend in greeting. The action makes Steve laugh and Y/N roll her eyes playfully at her boyfriend when she pulls away.

Thor just gives her an innocent smile and pulls her in so that he can kiss her lips.

“Okay, well, as cute as you guys are do you mind, like, not doing that in front of us? Thanks,” Tony sasses and to the couple’s surprise, Peter hits him on the shoulder, scowling at his mentor.

“Mr Stark! Leave them alone! Let Y/S/N run their course!” He scolds and for a second everyone at the table turns to look at the kid in confusion.

Clint lets out a sigh.

“I got it,” he says before turning to the kid. “Y/S/N?”

“It’s the couple name for Thor and Y/N! It’s all that everyone’s talking about on the internet at the moment, how sweet the two of them are together, honestly, you guys are so out of the loop,” Peter says. The table falls silent again as the heroes look at the teenager who had grown so much confidence in the short time that they had known him.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk,” Tony says finally.

“He is correct, though,” Thor tells his girlfriend quietly once everyone had gone into their own separate conversations.

“Pardon?” Y/N asks, allowing herself to lean into Thor a little more.

“We are very cute,” Y/N laughs at his words and leans up to kiss his lips quickly.

“The cutest,” she agrees, though she’s grinning so wide that Thor’s not sure that she’s being serious.

“I’ll personally never understand that relationship,” Sam announces, gesturing between Thor and Y/N.

“What do you mean, man of birds?” Thor asks, already laughing loudly.

“I mean, how do you guys just work together like that? You’re as different as two people can get,”

“It would be boring if we were too similar,” Y/N points out, squeezing Thor’s hand tightly and giving out her radiant smile. “We wouldn’t work as well if we were identical in personality, it’s just how we work,”

“But everything about you is different,” Sam presses and Y/N laughs again.

“And yet I love him, and so it works out with us, if people think that it’s weird then they can fuck off,” Y/N says, shrugging and her brutal honesty makes the table erupt in laughter again. In the midst of their laughter, Thor leans over to her and presses a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you too, Petal,”

This took me far too long to write, like at least five days ugh 😂 Please send in requests and give me feedback! I love hearing from all of you guys!

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@vineisdeadiwishiwas @sea040561 @slender–spirit @valentinebucky @smexylemony

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#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #thor #thor imagine #thor ragnorok imagine #thor odinson #thor imagines #thor fan #thor fanfiction #thor fic #thor fluff #thor fanfic #thor x y/n #thor x reader #Not a request #please request

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illyriandreamer · 6 years

Text

Heal Me Chapter One

She died down there, the sex, blood and tears ruined her. A mask she was too afraid to take off. She needed to heal and he knew that all too well.

Elvie of the Night Court, was the first daughter. And everything she did was for her family’s survival. Except she didn’t care about her own.

Azriel/OC {Mature Themes/Content}

Time had meant nothing to me for a while now, I don’t know how long I was in her clutches that afternoon, all I was to her was a slab of meat to please herself, to give her power. I only wished that I could mist her right in front of me, her body turn to atoms underneath my fingertips. My powers were fleeting, there was no possible way to carry out my dream of turning her to dust or shattering her mind to the extent so she couldn’t wipe the dribble off her own chin.

These were the thoughts that kept me sane while her hands caressed my body and violated my pale skin. She would smirk to herself as she tasted me, thinking that my body was reacting to her touch. It was the thought of her death that kept me slick between my legs. I glowered at her as if she was the only person in my life.

After my tongue had bought her to the edge multiple times that day I was released. I felt sick to my stomach and did she know it. That was her goal when my brother or I were whoring ourselves in her bed. She took everything we had and made it hers. To tear and create the little puppets that she loved so dearly. Amarantha liked to think she had control over us, and maybe me and Rhys were the only ones here that weren’t. This was a means to an end

I picked myself up off her satin sheets, picking up the sheer black veil gown she forced me to wear to her bed. She came up behind me and ran her fingers through my hair and shivered at her touch. She wrapped her fingers in my waist left waves. I wanted to tear away not caring if clumps of black hair went with it. She seemed to have some twisted obsession with pulling on my hair in bed

“My beautiful girl.” She whispered in my ear. “You’re so good at serving your queen.” I closed my eyes forcing a smirk and turned to face her. I gave her a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Always.” My voice was not mine own, a mask. A mask that I wore in front of her, the hewn city, that I once wore in the presence of my father. I took a slow walk out of her suite, thinking about scrubbing my skin raw to get rid of her scent. I slammed the door behind me and leant against the wall. I wanted to scream, and shake, tear down the vile court she had built. I was being watched and I turned to the right of the corridor to see the filthy Attor staring me down. Its black eyes clung to the shape of my body. I needed an outlet and that creature had sent me over the edge.

I marched forward at the beast ready to use what I had to tear it limb by limb, not caring what Amarantha did to me for it. The few measly parts of my darkness that I had control over reached out as I boiled over. Graciously from no where my brother put a hand on my shoulder and shielded my exposed body from sight. His eyes raging violet he turned to the Attor with dictation in his voice.

“Why don’t you find somewhere else to fester. Unless you need to lose an eye for looking at Higher Fae like dinner?” The Attor didn’t dare to respond to Rhysand as he scrambled away on his beady little legs.

Rhys pulled his tunic off his body and put it over my head, I slipped in my arms and welcomed the comfort of fabric to my thinned paled body. Rhys pulled back my hair tied it back with a piece of leather from his wrist. I stood there and let Rhys look after me, because I knew that it helped him. When things came to their end, when we had a way out of this, Rhys needed to be okay and id just heal when I could.

“Did you get some sleep?” I asked as he guided me towards me room. People kept their heads down as we walked by. Both of us stood straight and wore our masks.

“Enough to keep you safe.” He kissed the top of my head.

My brother ran me a bath as I sat on the edge of the bed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see the stars from the house of wind. I wanted Cass to hug me tightly in the morning. When I woke up in the night I wanted Az to be there hiding in the shadows. Rhys came into view and leaned against the door frame.

“I’ve ran you a bath. I’ve left some of my clothes in there, to try and get off the smell of her. But you’ll have to dress again for tonight.” Tonight, I don’t think my body could take even being around her even if it was around other people too. “No sleep actually. I’ll take care of her.”

“Rhys.”

“You’ve tired her out. It will just be charm.” He kissed my head. “For Velaris.” He whispered.

“For our dream.” I whispered back, and he left me to it.

I soaked in the bath for what seemed like hours, not that I cared. The water went cold and it wasn’t until Nuala and Cerridwen came to my room. I was silent as they helped me into the clothes that Rhys had left me and made me get into bed.

“High Lord gave us strict instructions you’re to rest tonight.” Nuala told me as she tucked me in like a child. I rolled my eyes as Cerridwen gave me a glass of wine.

“Do you miss him?” I asked the twins, my mask dropping in front of the half wraiths. “Tell me whose orders are better. Humour me?” I asked.

“The Shadows.” Nuala told me and walked to the door.

“The Shadows.” Cerridwen smiled as I took a sip of wine. She took the goblet and set it down for me. “Sleep well, my lady.”

Sleep was something that I wanted and yet feared. She was in my every dream, she was in my every waking moment. I couldn’t escape her. It felt like those hours before. The touch in my dreams felt just like I was awake. And so did the pain and punishments. As I slept I knew Rhys was receiving one or she would wait for me and terrorize us both, pull our subjects in front of us and torture them to the point of death and not even then could we help.

Rhys told me to sleep. I didn’t get much of it, I woke up drenched in sweat. I picked up the goblet and forced the wine down my throat. To give me a buzz of any sort to stop feeling so broken. I climbed out of bed and I couldn’t smell her on me anymore. Rhys’ tunic had done its job. I pulled open the wardrobe and pulled out a soft silk dress. I ripped away the night court fabric replacing it with the navy blue high neck dress. I had no under garments, Amarantha liked to have easy access. I wanted to be sick at just the thought. I rested my hand on my aching stomach, I was hungry and I glanced at the doors. If I wanted to eat then I needed to leave the safety of my room. I brushed my hair through and pushed it back with a diadem.

I looked down to tie up the ribbon on my heels and when I looked up I jumped back at the person who was in mirror opposite. Today she had called my beautiful, but my eyes were hollowing, the tanned skin that ran in my blood was grey. The high cheek bones that anyone would die for was because my body was starving myself, of love, happiness, flying, and the stars. I was dying. I was not the same girl that walked in arms with her brother, followed by their court of nightmares. I could not seem weak. I had to seem like I was still that girl at least in front of her.

I walked to the ‘throne room’ passing a number of other courts people of the way, the mask of strength and power, and bitch wore on my face. As I came close to the high stone doors they opened to a girl bloodied and bruised dragged out by two guards. I looked closely at the girl. She was human, and I felt sorry for her pain. I wanted to reach out and take it away. I rested my hands in front of me and walked again into the throne room.

There she was bright red hair and a tight red dress with red lips. Everything red for blood and power. I strutted towards her wearing a smirk and bowed gently at her then blew her a kiss as if I was the happiest girl in the room. She nodded at me and then I was free to walk towards Rhys.

He was sipping wine in the corner of the room surrounded by a few nightmare court people. When I walked over they stopped talking. Rhys was leaned against the wall with one hand in his pocket, he smirked as he sipped on his wine.

“Shoo.” I flapped my hands at them and they scurried off like mice leaving me and my brother in private. I took his wine off him, if I got drunk enough maybe it would be easier tonight. “Who was that girl?” I asked him. Rhys looked pained when I mentioned it.

“The girl from the Spring Court. She came back for Tamlin.” He answered. I looked at the body of Claire Beddor. Welts and all.

“I thought Claire was his human girl.” I frowned at him and he shook his head. I crossed my arms. “Rhys.”

“I thought she gave me a fake name, when the Attor turned up with a girl.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I knew it wasn’t her. I lied to her said it was, now she’s come to claim Tamlin. Break the curse.” My heart stopped for a moment.

“We’re going home.” My voice cracked.

“Not until she completes three tasks of her choosing.” He pointed his chin towards the bitch lounging on the throne. I looked back at Rhys.

“Think she can?” He nodded with a smile. A real smile on his face for once.

“Not without a helping hand.”

“Rhysand!” Amarantha called him over. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Lucien needs to help her heal. Go tell him.” Rhys whispered. I nodded as he brushed past going over to red haired witch.

Things were beginning to change around here. Amarantha seemed to be on edge, even worse than the weeks leading up to the end of Tamlin’s 50 years. Everyone under the mountain could feel the change in her. That she was suddenly threatened by a human girl, maybe not realising this herself.

I shoved the glass into the arms of someone walking by and swayed my hips over to the broken soul Lucien. This girl better be worth it.

I tapped Lucien on the nose of his fox mask and trailed down to his lips where he grabbed my wrist and stared me down with his golden eye. I smirked.

“Id like you to unhand me now.” I asked sweetly. Keep the mask I told myself. He let my hand drop and drunk more wine. Seems like he was drinking to forget.

“What do you want Elvie?” He snapped.

“Me?” I placed my hand on my chest and feigned shocked. “What makes you think I want anything from you foxy?” He just stared at me. Fake it Elvie. “Okay, okay you got me.” I put my hands up in the arm at him. I leaned closer to him so my whisper would carry to his ear.

“What you’re going to do is simple. Guards change every three hours. So just before change over youre going to visit that little human girl, and you’re going to help her as much as you can. Do you hear me? I shouldn’t have to ask twice, youre quite fond of her too right?” I leaned back. Lucien nodded at me taking another sip. “Good foxy.”

I walked away leaving him to drown in his self-pity. I had enough of my own.

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sinrau · 4 years

Link

https://link.medium.com/w3EzDMrcj8

There’s no other way to say it, so let me just speak frankly. Thanks to Donald Trump’s stunning lack of leadership, America’s in a state that can only be described as free fall. Rarely in history has a nation descended into chaos, depression, despair, and mass death at all. But this fast? It’s unprecedented — outside of true authoritarian implosions, that is.

How bad are things in America? Unbelievably, shockingly, incredibly bad. Let’s begin with Coronavirus, and then proceed through economics, to politics and society.

America recorded its highest number of cases ever just yesterday. 76,000. Seventy six thousand. That’s edging perilously close to the threshold at which a society breaks down — somewhere north of 100,000 or so. At that point, schools and universities shut down, hospitals are overwhelmed, depression sets in, job losses go permanent, there’s a widespread and long-term loss of confidence, faith, and trust. “Wait,” you might say, “all of that’s already happening!” Exactly. The threshold is being reached, day by day. A vicious spiral of social collapse is now setting in.

So how bad is 76,000 new cases a day — apart from igniting a chain reaction of social collapse — in global terms? America still has the highest number of new cases in the world — higher than Brazil’s 50K, or India’s 30K. where individual Red States have worse outbreaks than many of the world’s poor countries with far higher populations. Florida, for example, has close to 15,000 new cases alone. That’s more than Pakistan, where even if you quadruple the official number, 2,000, Florida’s close to more than twice that.

The EU — as a whole — had about 5,000 new cases. America has more than fifteen times the number of cases Europe has. Texas alone had more than twice the number of cases — at more than 10K — than the entire EU. The population of Texas is 7% of the EU’s.

Coronavirus is a catastrophe of epic, surreal, nightmarish, global proportions in America. America is now the world’s biggest Coronavirus incubator — and its greatest failure. Sure, Brazil and India are about to give it a run for its money — but that isn’t saying much, only getting to the root of the problem. All these countries have authoritarian, nationalist, neofascist leaders — whose supremacist, Darwinist pseudo-philosophies — the weak must perish so the strong survive — have allowed a lethal pandemic to go thermonuclear.

That brings me to deaths. There was a faction of Americans who, just a few weeks, ago, seemed to glibly believe that even if the virus ticked back up, deaths wouldn’t. The unspoken reasoning was, again, Social Darwinist: “All the weak — the elderly, frail, sick — have been killed off! The death rate won’t go back up! So there’s nothing to worry about!” This was the illogic and amorality of the American Idiot at its most egregious.

The death rate is now spiking back upwards.

After falling to a low of about an average of 500ish per day, it’s back to close to 1,000.

The death rate lags the infection rate by about two to three weeks. And so as the virus exploded in America over the last two to three weeks, it was eminently predictable that the death rate was going to spike, too. That is exactly what happened: after a short lag, deaths are now exploding all over again. They are going to continue exploding, just like the daily infection numbers are.

Why? Because Covid is a lethal virus. In America, it has a mortality rate of up to about five percent so far. Now, perhaps that number doesn’t take into account those with Coronavirus who haven’t been tested. Go ahead and make that number lower. 4%. 3%. Fine — half it. 2.5%. That’s still shockingly high. That’s orders of magnitude more deadly than the flu. It’s not the flu. It’s deadly. It doesn’t just kill off the elderly and weak. It kills, period. Sure, you might have a smaller chance of dying if you’re young and strong. Or you might not, depending on how much of a dose you get, and how fast you get treatment. Covid is not the joke it’s been made out to be.

That brings me to political leadership. Nobody much in America seems to have done the most basic work when it comes to understanding Coronavirus, certainly not its leaders. Why isn’t the mortality rate to date — which is unbelievably high — the stuff of everyday knowledge? Even if you want to halve it, by imagining that testing isn’t widespread enough to establish a decent estimate, you still get to a mortality rate of 2.5 percent.That’s still…shockingly high. The flu, by contrast, has a mortality rate of about 0.1%.

And yet when that kind of basic knowledge hasn’t sunk into people’s brains — especially American Idiots — you can expect that people won’t understand they’re playing with fire, and they’re going to get burned.

Nobody is discussing these basic facts because, well, even the good guys are too busy trying to fight the Idiot-in-Chief’s stupidity. A decent President — just a sane and civilized human being, whatever their politics — would have said three things by now.

“This is not the flu, my fellow Americans. This is a killer virus with a mortality rate fifty times that of the flu. You are at real and serious risk of dying, and so are your loved ones. It does lasting damage, too. You don’t want to get this virus. Everything you do these days should begin with that. And then you should think: you don’t want to spread this virus, either. We are in serious trouble, and we need to work together now to get out of it.”

But Trump, of course, hasn’t said any of that. He’s done just the opposite — denied, minimized, pretended it will magically go away, told people to drink bleach…and then he’s headed off to the golf course. What the? So of course Americans have no idea how bad Coronavirus really is — who’s telling them? Not their President. Not their political leaders. And I don’t read about it in the pages of American media, either.

Hence, without an understanding of how deadly and serious this disease really is, three fatal things have happened.

One, America still has no national strategy to beat the virus — without which it will just go on exploding, which is what global success stories like New Zealand and South Korea tell us, having had swift, decisive national strategies. America’s having a Coronapocalypse precisely because even now there’s nothing — nothing — resembling a national strategy of best practices.

Two, the American Idiot has free reign, since there’s no general understanding that yes, Covid really is a killer virus. Just yesterday, the governor of Georgia made it illegal to make people wear masks. Wait, what? Made it illegal not to wear a mask, surely. Nope — to make people wear one. This is the kind of thing that drops the jaws of my friends from…everywhere. Canada, Europe, Asia, Africa.

But the American Idiot is spreading this virus. The American Idiot has turned America into the world’s greatest viral incubator, precisely because there’s no real understanding in America of how deadly Covid is, and so the American Idiot can respond with his usual…idiocy. “Freedom! It’s not a big deal! It’ll go away! Stop being such a p*ssy!! Man up!!”

Somebody needs to say right back to this kind of massive, massive idiot…the truth. Corona is a lethal virus with a shockingly high mortality rate which does lasting and serious damage even if you survive it. It is not a joke. It is like a tiny nuclear bomb: something with the power to wreck a society.

That brings me to my third point. America now stands on the brink of lasting and historic ruin.

While we’ve all been focused on how fast and far the virus is spreading, economically, a shocking and terrible thing has happened. Unemployment claims have stayed north of a million per week…since the pandemic began. This week, again, they came in at 1.3 million.

These numbers are astonishing, jaw-dropping, unreal. How many Americans is that, unemployed now? Easily north of 25%. The weekly numbers are coming in so fast that it’s impossible to say for sure. For now, it’s a Biblical deluge of economic pain with no end in sight.

What does a sudden wave of mass unemployment do? It causes a sudden stop in spending. While much is made of retail sales going back up, that’s neither here nor there — real personal consumption expenditures have fallen off a cliff, and aren’t at anywhere near normal levels. The reason for that is simple: people are getting poorer, as their jobs simply disappear.

As consumption falls, businesses shutter their doors, for good, especially the small and medium sized ones which are the backbone of a healthy economy. There are clear signs that’s beginning to happen, too.

And as that happens, unemployment goes permanent. An economy is poorer for the long-term, less dynamic, creative, fulfilled, employed, able. Bang! Now there’s a depression — another kind of chain reaction, falling spending leading to bankruptcies which causes unemployment and so on.

And that Biblical deluge of economic pain, like the pandemic, is almost impossible to stop, too. At least without a plan. Yet just as there’s no plan to end the pandemic in America, there’s no plan to end the economic pain, either. The $600 a week some Americans — too few — are able to get, after much difficulty, is about to come to an end. They were only offered one week in additional support, anyways. Contrast that with Europe — where, for example, in France, people were furloughed at 80% of their incomes up to about $10K a month, or Italy, which froze mortgage payments and rents. The Trump Administration and Congress have done literally the least they could get away with in America, and the result is that a depression is now very clearly emerging.

And there’s no plan to offer economic help now, at the precisely the moment it’s needed most — when the virus is going thermonuclear, and the tiny, tiny aid package offered a few months ago is running out. What happens then? A massive depression does, just like the which is obviously beginning to hit now. Walk down the street and tell me how many local shops are closed. How many are never going to reopen. Tell me you feel happy and safe and confident spending money these days. I didn’t think so.

America’s in free fall. It’s having a public health crisis, an economic crisis, a social implosion, and a political implosion all at once. And all those things have been brought to you by Donald Trump, whose negligence, irresponsibility, recklessness have allowed them to flourish. He’s had plenty of help from his Army of American Idiots, too — who believe free-dumb is the right to get and spread a deadly virus, like Georgia’s flagrant moron of a governor, who made it illegal to make people wear masks. Trump and his Idiot Army have made America into something even worse than a Third World Country — which is a mildly insulting term, I’m told, but let’s go with it. Even far, far poorer countries are doing better than this combination of catastrophes.

None of this is happening anywhere else in the rich world. It is only happening in countries run by men like Trump — Brazil, India, Russia. But sane and civilized societies? Canada, Europe, New Zealand? They look at America with a kind of horrified disbelief. My European friends literally don’t believe me when they ask, and I try to tell them the state of play in America, because it’s not been allowed to happen in their happier nations. It’s literally beyond their capacity to process. They stand there, dumbstruck.

And yet even far, far poorer countries like Vietnam, or rising ones, like South Korea have beaten back the virus, and are lifting their economies back up. Nobody in the world is in free fall like America.

But America is led by a Psychopath-in-Chief, who’s backed by an Idiot Army, who are fighting for the virus, its depression, its social implosion — not against all that. And so how much more pain is yet to come? Economic, human, social, psychological? So, so much.

Umair July 2020

#IFTTT #WordPress

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gimmetheheadcanons · 7 years

Text

Waking up in Vegas (4)

A/N: There is one more part left (written from Iris’s perspective). I know I suck but I had my reasons and I now know I can’t apologize for that (anyone wants to know what those are can read here). This is for those of you still around and wanting to know how the story ends because I do owe you guys an ending.

read the previous parts 1 2 and 3

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4. An invalid divorce petition

Barry Allen had it all planned out. He purchased his ticket, got himself to the airport and did the usual unpleasant back and forth with the grim TSA folk. He came well prepared in his best – no cleanest shirt – a dark blue one Cisco swore wouldn’t display any sweaty pit stains should Barry’s cowardice rear its ugly head once more. Yet despite his nerves, Barry felt strangely in control.

“Hey guess what? I’m a grown married man who no longer needs to hold his breath or close his eyes every time the plane hits the runway! Up top buddy!” Barry let out a jubilant laugh, elbowing his neighbor to join him in a celebratory high five.

“You sure are son. Good for you.” The man replied instead giving Barry what could only be described as a pity pat on the back out of pure confusion and awkwardness. It didn’t take Barry long to realize he was publicly embarrassing himself on a plane full of strangers. And again, none of that mattered for nothing could go wrong today.

The alignment of stars had very little to do with Barry’s confidence, instead it was his preparedness that pulled him through these last, few, vexing hours. Barry kept his talisman close, stuffed into his back packet and in the form of a scrunched-up piece of paper. Written onto it were spell-checked, rehearsed but nonetheless completely romantic words to undoubtedly sweep Iris off her feet. Deeply sincere words from the heart such as ‘destiny’ ‘soulmate’ and the classic ones like ‘you complete me’.

She’ll know how I feel and of course feel the same way, Barry thought and armed with a hopeful smile and an infinite amount of optimism he continued on his journey.

Everything’s going to be okay.

After all, as the paper says Barry, you’re just a boy, standing in front of girl, asking her to him.

But then he got to her dorm room, her door opened and not a thing in this universe could’ve prepared Barry for the brown eyes staring back at him. Eyes just as striking and scared as they were on that fated morning after. Without managing to mutter even a casual hello first, the hopeful smile he’d been wearing all day slipped off his face in a cowardly fashion akin to the way Barry slipped out of that small bed in Vegas. It was a memory branded onto the back of his skull, a memory he was being forced to finally confront now, here and on Iris’s doorstep.

No amount of romance or Cisco’s swanky aftershave left to mask the stench of shame now Allen.

You have no business being here.

There was a corner waiting for him back at M.I.T and just like the one back in Vegas, it beckoned Barry to come home and sit in it like the gutless fool he was. His mind, in full panic mode, was already there and right now it was just Barry’s stubborn body that refused to catch up and pathetically slink after it.

Except he couldn’t leave and he didn’t need that physics degree to understand why.

It was her.

Iris.

Standing right in front him.

The fear in her eyes unable to dampen that beacon she always seemed to emit to Barry. Her intense presence calling out to him, a blinding light in a vastly dark world, that would break for none. And once in her orbit, nothing in this universe could make Barry Allen change trajectory.

By the grace of some force greater than he could even imagine, Iris West – hesitantly – moved aside to let him in and with his head no longer hanging in defeat, Barry entered her modest dorm room.

Once inside the room, Barry tried his best not to get distracted by how clean it was.

Not a stray sock or family photo in sight.

Spotless. Almost clinical and wholly devoid of anything personal. Stark white walls, completely bare apart from a notice board covered in perfectly ordered yellow and pink post-its; the small desk in front of him uncluttered by books or papers, her study items stacked away on shelves or in drawers, and all of it shutting him out.

Barry turned back to face Iris and away from the strangely unsettling Spartan existence that couldn’t possibly have belonged to the girl in front of him, wearing a casual above-the-knee red summer dress covered in yellow and white flowers. Her body splashed with the warm colors of a Van Gogh painting begging to be hugged.

Barry knew that girl. The girl with wavy brown hair bouncing casually off her shoulders as she moved towards him.

He loved that girl.

“You can sit down. If you like?” She whispered before pointing an uncertain finger towards the coldest bed he’d ever seen and Barry thanked her anyway. He sat and waited for her to do the same.

She joined him in taking a seat and her dress rolled up slightly, exposing an inch more of soft brown skin, instantly warming up the bed and Barry’s cheeks with it.

“H-how have you been?” Barry said awkwardly after finally managing to clear his throat.

Iris did the same before responding. “Fine.”

“Good.” He said trying to smile whilst privately wondering if his face obeyed. Whatever hideous way his features contorted, it was too late to do anything about it now and Barry had no choice but to commit to the uneasy show of teeth.

So far so good, Barry thought grimly, unable to relax now he was so close yet so far from cementing for himself a future timeline that contained Iris.

“You?” She asked him politely, her glossy rouge tinted lips running into none of Barry’s problems with smiling.

Disarmed by the perfect way her lips curved Barry paused for a second before offering her an echo of her answer to him. “Fine.”

“Good.” Iris replied in a sincere tone Barry took as the sign he’d been waiting on.

Suddenly no longer satisfied with being an awkward parrot or engaging in excruciating small talk, Barry used the kindness contained in Iris’s smile as an opportunity to push forward with his agenda.

“No actually Iris, that’s lie.” He began, on the verge of confession. “I’ve been the opposite of fine.”

Before continuing Barry slid over towards the stranger before him – his wife – moving to close the gap between them on the bed until the sides of their legs touched. “I don’t know if you heard but I’m kinda going through a divorce.”

Her face was an inch from his now and he could feel her warm breath on his face as she whispered back the words “Well that sounds shit.”

“Yeah,” Barry replied chuckling. “It kinda is.”

She could still make him laugh, bring levity to any moment. With the tension somewhat eased by her efforts, Barry found himself able to go on. Encouraged, he reached over, placing his hands on top of the smaller ones that fidgeted on her lap and tugged nervously at the cotton material of that red dress.

It was the first time they touched since they parted ways and it left Barry breathless for a moment. Did she feel it too, he wondered, the feeling of being hurdled through time and space? Did she make it through the ride? Was she there again? With him?

“It’s not fair.” He whispered as he slowly let her go, her naked skin her own once again and his left to bear the brunt of the cold AC air. A questioning frown formed on her face, her chest heaving as she drank in the air he refused her with the intensity of his kisses.

“What isn’t fair?”

“You.” He said, missing their connection, and counting the seconds until he could be inside her again. “How dare you feel this good.”

She was giggling but he was completely serious, the taste of her lips and liquor giving the term Dutch courage new meaning. “How am I supposed to get out of this and be just Barry when Mr. Iris West gets to feel this way?”

“Then don’t. Stay here, naked.” She said, her eyes glimmering and greedy. “And mine. Forever.”

Back in Iris’s room, surrounded by stillness instead of sweat drenched sheets Barry sighed mournfully.

How far away were they? How far away were they from that memory – from ‘forever’?

“This is hard.” He finally said, trying everything in his power not to break down in tears and break that steady gaze between them.

“It is.” Iris replied understanding exactly what Barry was unable to articulate out loud and staring back with eyes as watery as his.

“We had everything.” Barry began before correcting those presumptuous words. “Well I did. I had you.”

He took a breath for a moment, trying not to focus on the way her hands began to shift slightly at the key word. “And now…I’m here desperately wanting to know if that’s still the case.”

Iris did not respond instead just biting down on her bottom lip and Barry prayed it wasn’t to keep it from trembling as hard as his heart was.

“This is a lot shorter and less sweet than the partially plagiarized romantic prose I got in my back pocket.” He whispered, relying once again on the sense of humor that brought them together in the first place. “But I love you Iris.”

There was no stopping the tears now.

“And I need to know. I just need to know if – just if. That’s all.”

He was pleading with her, his voice shaking just as much as his head, warding off evil or in this case the answer any sane person would expect to hear. The plan wasn’t to show up out of the blue, then turn into a blubbering creep unable to take rejection, but that’s how it turned out and Barry was now fully committed to it – begging for his life.

How romantic.

His face was fully wet by the time Iris responded, yet Barry couldn’t move his hands to dry it.

If I let go, I lose, his gut told him and just a cruel second later Iris’s hands slowly began slipping out from under his until Barry was clinging to the air that surrounded her. She was crying and Barry wished the tears stinging at his own eyes would just go ahead and blind him.

When Iris finally spoke, her voice was much calmer than he had anticipated. “You let me get on a plane Barry.”

There it was, the crux of Barry Allen’s problem – the inability to time travel.

“I know.”

“You didn’t fight for us.” Iris continued and so did Barry’s admission of guilt.

“I should’ve.”

“You didn’t even call me. I waited. I actually waited.”

She sounded almost angry at him except Barry knew she wasn’t. He had disappointed her, it was written all over her face and it was something Barry couldn’t turn away from.

“I should’ve Iris,” he sobbed almost reaching for her hands again but thinking better of it at the last second. “I swear to you I know I should have.”

“But you didn’t Barry.”

And now you’re here, her accusing eyes told him before mercifully looking away. Her lips, however, being more accustomed to sympathetic smiles than cutting truths, refused to follow-through with such frankness.

“Please.” Barry said wordlessly, momentarily choking back his tears, his heart grateful to be spared the worst of what he thought he deserved from the wife he had abandoned.

There was no subtle way to put it.

He watched as her fingers now clenched in frustration, tugging at her dress more desperately whilst shedding those tears of hurt and humiliation yet somehow holding back the brunt of it just to spare him those feelings of betrayal. Barry cursed himself for ever making her feel undesired by him, unloved and unwanted.

Nothing could be further from the truth Iris.

“I should’ve called.” He said, not knowing what else to do but keep admitting to the unforgivable mistakes he made.

“But you didn’t.” She said under her breath before sighing and adding in a sorrowful whisper. “And neither did I.”

With one sad statement Iris West went there. It was brutal and brave and all of it for Barry’s sake.

“I just got on that plane.” She said twice as if to really take ownership of the blame. Sensing an onslaught of self-flagellation, Barry dried his tears and shook his head at the statement.

However, Iris said it a third time, and then a fourth; with her hand clasping over her mouth the final time as if she was going to be sick. Concerned, Barry watched as her bleary eyes widened at the sudden realization of what their decision had cost them.

“Oh God, how could I just do that? How?”

“No,” Barry said finally placing his arms gently around his wife, steadying her. “That wasn’t your fault Iris.”

Determined to talk her off from the edge of that cliff of self-loathing he had taken a dive off just mere moments ago, Barry decided to remind her of the huge part he played in the biggest mistake of their life.

“But I got on!” She yelled at him in response, her panicked face telling him he couldn’t shield her from the blaring truth the same way she couldn’t him. “What does that say about me or how I feel about us?”

“Nothing that is your fault!” Barry said his once shaking voice now stubborn and strong enough to clash with her reasoning. “I didn’t stop you.”

Yet it wasn’t enough for him to win the blame game, her comeback argument every bit as unflinching and as sound as his. “Yeah but I got on Barry. I did.”

“You had your reasons.” He replied mulishly trying to convince Iris that this was on him and not her by forcing her to examine and share with him what those reasons were.

The answer was simple.

“I was scared Barry.” She told him and Barry pulled her a little closer.

“I know.” He whispered against her cheek before confessing in a small voice. “I was too.”

She pulled free to face him with raised eyebrows, astounded by his words. “But you came here, wearing that.”

Barry was surprised to hear the slight admiration in her voice as she finally addressed the elephant on his ring finger, a piece of jewelry so evidently missing from her own hand. She was staring at it like it were some sort of medal. And still feeling unsettled, Barry couldn’t help but wonder if she thought it was all in vain – a Purple Heart of sorts, acknowledging the bravery of the dead and buried.

Iris continued and Barry held his breath. “The problem is –”

Please let us be more than just those memories.

“ – I still am.”

They sat for a moment, in silence, just letting the weight of their respective confessions settle in. There it was again, their old friend Uncertainty, with its unforgiving hands around their throats – just squeezing.

“It’s just a lot to consider.” Iris finally said, ending the quiet with what Barry could only interpret as a sledgehammer to his hopes. Her eyes were uncomfortably fixated on the ring and all that it meant.

Finally, unable to take it anymore

“I suppose yours is somewhere in this mess?” Barry said ironically waving at the spotless room they sat in. Sensing slight judgement in his voice, a serious frown began to form on Iris’s face.

“I was trying to clean up.” She sighed defending herself.

Barry expected his cheeks to burn with shame at the sneering way the remark must have sounded, but all he felt was exhaustion creeping into his body. He was worn out, by his journey, by this conversation and by the way his life was turning out in general. Rubbing at his neck he decided to try his hand at an apology.

“It’s okay.” He began okay but quickly found himself unable to continue in that sincere tone. “I guess I wouldn’t trust me either. Perfect stranger, here in your room, snooping through all your stuff…”

“I said I was trying to clean okay? I’m not hiding anything.” Iris snapped back unimpressed with what Barry was implying.

“Of course you’re not. This is what an average dorm looks like.” Barry replied, this time sounding every bit as bitter as he felt, gaping in shock at the perfect way Iris West decided to shut him out. What else was he supposed to think? She knew where he stood and she was happy to let him stand there. Keeping her cards close to her chest.

“You didn’t have to come here Barry.” Iris said angrily, getting up from the bed – and away from him. Her usual sympathetic nature did not spare him. What exactly did he think she owed him, Iris’s eyes insisted.

The truth.

“Actually I did Iris.” Barry retorted saying her name in a manner that felt foreign, one part resentment and one part regret, unsure how what started as a confession of love turned into an argument. He followed suit in standing, trying hard not to tower over her small form but being unable to take a step back. He never stopped being afraid of being without her.

“I needed to come here.” He said trying to start over, realizing that her vulnerability had thrown him and it was by acting out of fear and lashing out, that he would end up losing her.

“Why?” Iris demanded unable to back down, red faced and furious she continued yelling. “Because you didn’t think I was going to come for you?” Her eyes were once again watery and her voice shaking. “You think you’re the only person in love here?” She shouted, daring Barry to take back the unfair insinuation.

But unable tell him outright what she thought she just told him, Barry fired back quietly. “I don’t know, am I?”

It was cruel and cowardly and somehow the truth. Barry didn’t know the answer and it was scaring him to death.

“Well I’m not going to say it now.” Iris spat. “You’re not going to make me say it.”

Barry scoffed completely incredulous at Iris’s response. “Is that what you think I’m trying to do? Force this? Do you feel pressured somehow by ‘unwanted advances’?”

Iris responded with a sarcastic wow aimed to shame Barry for the ugliness of his words.

The situation had now devolved into an angry face off, each opponent standing in their respective corner – glaring down the other in what could only be described as a demented game of chicken. Sensing things were about to get out of hand, Barry backed down.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to put words in your mouth. I just want to know what’s on your mind.” Barry promised, his hands held up and angry look disarmed. “Honestly, that’s all. Your choice what you tell me, but you gotta tell me something.”

Iris hesitated for a moment before leaning her head against the wall behind her and letting out a frustrated sigh “God we’re such idiots.” She muttered

Barry took the admonishment with a small smile.

“In no way wasting that expensive college education our parents are paying for.”

It was a light-hearted quip but the mere mention of parents suddenly reignited the tension that they’d worked so hard to defuse. She spun around to face him once more and Barry had to only take one glance at the look of anguish on Iris’s face to know they would be once again at odds.

“No, no, no, Iris – no! I didn’t mean that.” Barry plead hopelessly clambering to take control of worms spilling out of the can he had unwittingly opened.

“He’d hate me! My dad would hate me. Oh God what was I thinking!” Iris shouted horrified at the prospect of facing her father. Barry ran across toward her but before he could even speak, she was shoving him out the way and trying to flee for the exit. “You need to go Barry. Thank you for coming but please go.”

She could barely look at him as she held the door open.

Barry blinked in disbelief.

This can not be how it ends.

“Iris please.” Barry whispered gently, afraid to spook her again. “You can’t just expect me to go, I love you and I want us to be toge – ”

His plea was cut off by the violent slamming of the door. Before he could react to this surprising stay of execution, Iris surprised him further by unexpectedly storming across the room. Angry sobbing and emotional, she made a clear purposeful effort not to look him in the eye and Barry stood there as still and as confused as possible as she began patting down his body.

“Where is it?” She demanded, pulling at his shirt before a moment later pulling out of his pocket the item she had been searching for. It was Barry’s phone and pressing it hard against his chest, Iris asked the question he knew was coming.

“Did you call him? Did you huh?”

“Iris –” Barry was finding it difficult to speak, unable to admit what he suspected she already knew just from the look of regret on his face. “Barry, no. No. Just no. He asked you to call him Barry!” She looked so hurt by his actions. “The man who raised you asked you to call him and you didn’t.”

Barry shrugged pathetically.

“I was going to but I needed to come here first.” It sounded every bit as disingenuous as Barry knew it was. He opted to try and change the subject. “She showed you my status didn’t she? Linda did. So you know how serious I am about us and making this work fo –“

Barry was once again interrupted by a loud sound he hadn’t expected, Iris’s ironic cackle.

“Yeah not but Call-Your-Dad-Back serious.”

The words stung and Barry couldn’t hide his hurt. There was a look of steel in Iris’s eyes, determined to remain unmoved by anything he said or did and Barry couldn’t help but wonder if this was in fact the end he had feared.

She was staring him down, silent except for quiet, enraged breaths.

“You have no plan Barry.” She whispered. “Just admit it.”

Barry throat burned as he found himself frozen and unable to respond. She gave him plenty of time before her patience ran out as Barry continued to struggle to form any words.

“Admit it!” Iris demanded, angrily pounding at Barry’s chest with his phone. Fierce eyed, frustrated and furious she refused to accept his silence. But Barry did nothing to stop her or answer her, for all of his inadequacies, deep down he knew he had no more words to offer. Not without pushing her further and further away from him.

Tired and never determined to do any real damage with her hands, Iris stopped asking, handed over Barry’s phone and let arms drop to her sides.

She let out a sigh. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going to happen next? Huh?”

Barry smiled weakly.

“You know why.” He whispered back. A painful look spread over Iris’s face and Barry responded with one of his own. It said: Only you can do whatever it is you want to Iris.

And she did.

When Iris West leaned over to kiss him, Barry’s arms were all over her in an instance, clinging onto her for dear life. On her tiptoes, lips still latched onto his, Iris began tearing at Barry’s clothes. There was nothing gentle about their reconciliation and Barry could feel a strange mix of dissatisfaction and desire radiating from her body.

She was insisting for more.

She needed more, from him and in every sense of the word.

So instead of promises, platitudes and plans, Barry gave her a taste of all that he held pent up inside of him since the day they had parted.

In return, Iris angrily push into him. Teeth, tongue and tortured thoughts about the time they wasted arguing forcing them off balance and causing them to almost collapse under the weight of it all.

You owe me better than this, Iris’s body cried as he kissed every inch of her face and Barry knew it. He hoped to make love instead of demands and yet here they were doing both. Him, trying to move and work faster than her, as if the answers lay deep inside, between her legs and he had to get there to prove it. Her, grabbing on tightly and blocking him with her own search for the truth.

He had refused to write out the rest of their lives for them or give her the answers to questions she should be the only one answer. Still, Barry knew he needed to be with her in every way the day she finally did figure it out.

And from the way Iris moved, she needed that day to be today.

Shirtless and now completely unzipped, Barry lifted Iris’s dress off her shoulder, hoping to exposing her as she had exposed him. It was a struggle as she ushered him backwards toward the bed, her naked breasts continuing to push up against him, her hands confidently on his crotch and her mouth on his, sacrificing all air for the simple taste of his lips. Afraid to detach and to be once again all alone, Barry lifted Iris off her feet and in one sweeping motion, they fell back onto her small bed.

They dropped down together with a loud thud.

The rough landing had a sobering effect. An awkward headbutt caused Iris to flinch and Barry to pause and examine her until he was just silently sweeping away strands of wild hair that clung to a beautifully flushed face that had been kissed until wet. Once in full view, he couldn’t help but stare into those brown eyes above him for what felt like almost an eternity, a time during which their breathing slowed almost to a halt yet the pounding in their chests remaining unchanged.

Iris no longer looked confused, just curious before taking the initiative once more and resuming their kiss. It began as a slower more tender one, both of them taking their time longing to become fully reacquainted with something so perfect but had been lost to them for far too long. Barry held Iris down, pressing his naked body up against her with growing desperation, until the build up of heat had Iris’s fingers digging into his shoulders.

Finally, her thighs unclasped. There it was, Iris’s invitation, sober and certain.

And wasting not a second to respond, Barry lovingly answered.

#westallen #iris west #barry allen #the flash cw #sabby56 #fanfiction

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