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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 1

(Ch. 25) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: Just a girl stretching her wings.

WARNINGS: The usual espionage stuff, Lewis Nixon's functional alcoholism lol

A/N: Sorry y'all, Ik it's been a hot minute!! I've been Going Thru It™ again lol, as one does, but I'm back again momentarily! We'll see how long this lasts

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 1st, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix was always uneasy when it stormed but especially at night.

The downpour battering the rooftop overhead, the howling wind and deafening thunder, the pattering droplets pelting the tree leaves outside in the darkness, all of it was to the enemy's advantage.

It could mask the sound of approaching footsteps, swallow the screams of any victim, even disguise gunshots.

If an attack was coming, it was bound to come during a storm.

So naturally, when she thought she heard a rattling coming from the back door, Alix stopped her pacing and dropped into a crouch, her usual dagger in one hand and a throwing knife in the other as she crept behind a small, sturdy end table and waited.

The moment the door creaked open, the spy sprung from her hiding place as her training kicked in. Forcing the intruder to the nearest wall, a knife pressed against his throat before he could blink, Alix was about to remove his hood with her other hand just as he spoke with a voice still somehow as languid and droll as a Sunday morning:

"Oh good, you're still sharp."

The OSS assassin instantly took a step back and sheathed her knife.

"Goddammit, Nix," she groaned, releasing a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

"You scared me half to death. How’s Joe doing?”

“Well hello to you too,” her case officer deadpanned as he tossed back his hood and began to unbutton his coat, clearly somewhat miffed.

"Don't worry, I'm fine, you only almost skewered me is all."

“Yeah, sorry about that," Alix commented over her shoulder as she checked the door lock. "Anyway, how are my boys? How's Joe and Skip and-"

But turning around, she was in an empty room again. With a roll of her eyes, the spy weaved her way back from the hall and into the living room where Captain Nixon was making himself comfortable--albeit dramatically-- in his usual armchair, a thick folder in his hands.

"So, what's the dope?" Alix piped up brightly and her handler barked out a laugh.

"Well Liebgott seems to've designated himself protector of the pack, by the look of things. Wherever they go, he goes too. I don’t know if you asked him to do that or…?”

“I didn’t,” Alix replied as she struggled to wrap her head around why Joe would even bother.

“Well regardless, I come bearing gifts," he announced, leaning forward to plop the folder onto the coffee table, sending a cloud of dust billowing towards the ceiling.

“If that's another after-action report, vaffanculo," Alix remarked, taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

"I've already typed up at least ten of them for you today, Nix, and my hands are cramping. You want it done, do it yourself."

"Oh c’mon, relax," Nixon scoffed, taking a swig from his flask and lowering his voice to an exaggerated stage-whisper dripping with sarcasm.

“What is it, Runt, ‘that time of the month’ or something?”

“Just finished actually, not that you care,” Alix bit back and her handler visibly recoiled.

“Didn’t need to know that,” the thirty-something replied, making a face reminiscent of Gio's when the family doctor had given him castor oil for his stomach troubles.

He'd looked about as green in the gills as the Captain did now and Alix rolled her eyes with a snicker.

Men could be so juvenile.

“Then don’t ask, Nix."

“Well it’s not another AAR, alright,” Nixon said airily with a lazy, one-handed mock-bow.

“So you’re welcome.”

“I don’t recall ever receiving a Thank-You for typing all your shit in the first place," Alix pointed out, stretching her legs lazily as she lounged on the couch.

“Well–"

He took another long gulp of his whiskey before continuing,

"You see, Runt, the great thing about being an authority figure is--"

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks," the spy remarked with a roll of her eyes before cutting straight to the point, leaning forward in her cushioned seat so she could better scrutinize her handler.

"So level with me, Nix: Why're you here? You wouldn't be bringing me a folder that big for no reason and if it's not AAR's...?"

Alix trailed off, some of her long raven tresses escaping from her ponytail as she shook her head.

Gesturing with his flask and sending small droplets of whiskey sloshing onto the moth-eaten throw rug, Captain Nixon motioned wordlessly for her to open the folder.

Obliging, Alix neatly lifted the folder's cover and was momentarily stunned.

Inside was a mountain of paperwork, topped by a red passport with Cyrillic lettering embossed on the front of it, a permanent propiska or residency permit from Moscow as well as additional travel papers.

"So," Nixon asked, barely containing a satisfied chuckle like a proud parent watching their child open Christmas presents.

"How's your Russian sounding, Runt?"

"Probably better than yours," Alix quipped easily as she lit up a cigarette, still waiting for Nixon to elaborate.

Her case officer cracked a grin at her joke.

“Good because you’re going to need it. You've got an assignment."

"In Russia?" Alix was aghast and instantly dropped the folder back onto the coffee table as though it was a hot coal but Nixon barked out another laugh.

"Not unless you have a death wish."

With that, he took another swig of his whiskey before continuing amiably,

"No, your newest assignment is going to be much closer to home. How does Paris sound?"

"Paris?! That's swell!" Alix whooped, swinging her legs off the shoddy sofa and sending her book clattering to the floor in her elation.

"Thought you might like that," Nixon chuckled. "You've read up on Major Kieffer, right?"

Alix cocked an eyebrow.

"You mean Hans Josef Kieffer? The head of the Parisian Sicher…Sicher…"

"Sicherheitsdienst," Nixon added helpfully.

Alix took a grateful stab in the air with her cigarette and replied, "Yeah exactly, that.”

"Looks like somebody read the notes after all," her case officer snarked and the spy rolled her eyes bemusedly.

"Oh don't act so shocked," she scolded with an expression of mock-reproach.

"I do pay attention when I type, you know."

"Could've fooled me" was the sardonic reply and Alix hurled one of the deflated-looking throw pillows at his head, which the older intelligence officer batted away with his free hand.

Alix took a drag of her cigarette, speaking on the exhale and letting the smoke dissipate with her words.

"So you going to fill me in on the op, Nix, or do I have to do everything myself?"

Now it was Nixon's turn to roll his eyes.

"You can read, can't you?" he remarked dryly but Alix crossed her arms doggedly.

"You know as well as I do that nothing important goes on paper, Nix."

"You got that from me, you little shit," he grumbled, taking a final drink before screwing the cap of his flask shut with a slight rattle, muttering something about using his own words against him.

Once the dark-haired man had retrieved a handful of caramels from his rations to snack on, the time had finally come to divulge much-needed information.

"Alright, so here’s the dope," he began, popping a candy in his mouth before steepling his fingers like one of her mother’s gossipy friends at tea.

"Kieffer's birthday is in 3 days and being a public official, it's kind of a big deal so his cronies are throwing him some glitzy gala or whatever to celebrate, some sort of masquerade shindig, you know the type."

The captain took a brief pause to gnaw through his second caramel before continuing,

"By the sound of it, it’s going to be a real Who’s Who of upper-crust Krauts so of course Donovan being Donovan, he got you– Well, ‘Tanya’– an invitation.”

Crumpling up the wrappers in his fist, Nixon gestured vaguely,

"You put on a mask, you dance, you take out some Krauts on the fringes while no one's looking, conduct an interrogation or two...Piece of cake, really."

Alix narrowed her eyes, her mind racing with suspicion. This sounded too easy.

“So what’s the catch?" she burst out. There's always a catch."

"See, this is why I wanted you to just read through the folder," Nixon remarked through a mouthful of his third caramel block.

"If I wanted the third degree, I'd go back to HQ."

"Stop stalling," Alix pressed, beginning to bounce her knee with such anxious vigor that she could hear the floorboards creaking their complaints. "What's the bad news?"

"You can read about it later," her case officer replied cryptically as he finished chewing.

"The Gestapo have an APB out for you so the first order of business is disguise. Everybody-- and I mean Everybody from the SD to the Milice-- is looking for you. Krauts are sick of you flitting away."

He lit up a cigarette, the worry lines creasing his forehead making him appear almost twice his actual age.

"One million Francs to the man, woman, or child apparently, who brings in Der Schwarze Schmetterling– The Black Butterfly."

The Gestapo wanted her badly enough to give her a nickname?

Alix wasn't sure whether to be flattered or horrified.

“And with Le Fantôme making it his personal mission to hunt you down, your cover needs to be rock-solid. No one’s ever seen him face-to-face but he's still somehow gotten hundreds of Allied agents arrested!"

“Then how do we even know he exists?” the spy retorted skeptically. “Sounds like agitprop to me.”

“Guy's all over Kraut radio. Unfortunately, he’s very real–"

Her case officer took a strong puff of his cigarette as though attempting to summon some strength from the smoke.

“And he’ll be at Kieffer’s birthday shindig somewhere, you can bet on it."

"Well, that's just great." Alix remarked facetiously. "Eight different agents in the program and they chose the one with the bounty on her head to go in solo. This oughta be a real cakewalk."

"Hey!” Her case officer's voice rose with indignation and he sat forward immediately, brotherly concern written all over his face.

“Who said anything about you going in alone? You really think I'd abandon you in a goddamn pit of vipers?"

"Maybe I'm a discard" was Alix's automatic reply but the unexpected scrunching of his brows instantly made her regret it.

“Well you’re not," her case officer snapped, hands gripping the chair’s arms, but Alix could still detect the faint pang of hurt in his tone at her mistrust.

After all, Captain Nixon had visited her weekly.

He had kept her updated on the outside world, brought her playing cards from Don so they could play Go Fish and even broke up the monotony by bringing her newspapers when he could grab one.

Even typing his AAR's, she realized, had its purpose: to keep her busy and in the know.

Yes, he'd made a joke out of the task, his perpetual smugness never wavering, but it had a purpose after all.

He had been playing a role, helping her to stay informed without even realizing it, through the guise of simply being too lazy to do it himself.

She must have grown on him some after all.

Alix knew she should probably apologize for doubting him but the memory of him scaring her half to death earlier quickly changed her mind.

No, fuck that, she thought wryly. It'd be a cold day in Hell before she'd apologize to Lewis Nixon.

"So who's my partner?" she asked instead.

"Fresh meat," was the dismissive reply as he reached for the folder. "Now--"

He began rifling through its contents, the rumbling undercurrent of laughter in his voice telling her that her doubts were water under the bridge.

"--if you're done being a pain in my ass--"

Without even a second's hesitation, he plucked a packet from near the bottom of the stack and tossed it over for her to catch before sitting back in his chair with his usual cryptic smirk.

"-- We can get down to business.”

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townofslumber · 1 year

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Today we learn that Boone has a friend who is 20x his energy and 10000x his general volume. Chapter 8: Weather Trap Snaps (Part 1): Wordpress Tapas ComicFury Support on Patreon or vote on TopWebComics!

#update #SE1: Partly Cloudy #webcomic #furry webcomic #tapas #comicfury #blanche is the only person who can not only match Boone's energy but curbstomps it into the ground #and she's like 10 years older than him #I guess it's a bit cathartic to see Big Brother Boone get treated like a little sibling for a change

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 7 months

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a forbidden desire

kinktober 2023 masterlist

stepsister!wanda maximoff x reader

18+: smut; stepcest, somnophilia, fingering, degradation, kinda inferred pervy behaviour

Wanda’s hands had always wandered when it came to you. Her eyes liked to observe you with a lengthy gaze that often made you shrink, so exposed whilst she unabashedly examined you. She’d taken a liking to you all those months ago, her pretty step-sister with merely a wall separating your bedrooms.

You’d not thought much of it when she found immediate comfort in your presence; she didn’t think twice about changing in front of you, nor with helping you try on lingerie. She encouraged you to shop with her, guising her predatory idea under the false pretense of sibling bonding. She didn’t let you know that she’d heard the hitching of your breath when a daring hand touched your waist, nor the goosebumps she could see beneath the harsh dressing room light.

She kept it all to herself. The times she’d caught you watching her, drinking in her figure when she’d come back from a run. The way she’d seen your tongue lick over your lips while you kept your sights set on her when she’d teasingly come into your room in nothing but a towel after a shower. Wanda knows the effect she has on you and the ideas keep her company at night; with her fingers venturing south in the confines of her bedroom she likes to imagine you’re doing the same thing next door.

There’s only so much one can take, though.

There’s only a certain amount of yearning and aching she can bear and so it’s only a matter of time before the secret watching of your sleeping form becomes too little to satisfy her desires. She’s almost annoyed at you with the way you’ve plagued her mind so furiously that you’ve begun to appear in her dreams.

Just now, with her head on your shoulder in front of the television, you’d appeared again. Her thighs squeezed together without her knowledge as scenes of you and she played on in her mind, your body whimpering beneath her whilst her teeth marked each piece of soft skin she could reach. Whispered mewlings of her name made her skin blanch and the heat of her back woke her up into that familiar dissatisfaction she’s used to; the harsh feeling of being thrown into consciousness again.

She so often awakes to the ache between her legs, the heat in her cheeks she can only quell with her own hand. But, this time, there you were. You looked so sweet and peaceful with your breaths even as you slept, your head against a pillow without the knowing of the preying eyes on you. Wanda adored the way you slept, how she knew how easy it’d be to touch you; she let her hand rest on your upper thigh with her fingers daringly creeping upwards and she knew you were none the wiser.

She kept her stare on you musingly when she cupped your clothed sex in her palm, feeling the radiating heat and the twitch of your hips that you were not privy to. She smirked at the way you shifted at the pressure she pushed against you, unknowingly moving further into her touch. She’d be lying if she claimed to not have influence over what you often wear - she knows you’re eager to please her - so, the underwear that served as the only barrier between her and you was working in her favour and she could see the hardening of your nipples beneath the material of your t-shirt.

Wanda readjusted her seated position to take you in fully, to see each small change in your slumbered expression as she danced her fingertips across your torso. Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip at the way your chest arched into her as she pinched a pert nipple through the material of your shirt, squeezing at the pillowy flesh just as she’d always fantasised.

She’d always thought she’d take her time with you the first time but having you here and at her mercy, begging to be touched yet unable to push her away, made that hunger in her become ravenous. She had to take you for herself.

She took the opportunity to play with you, to tease you with her hand dipping past the waistband of your underwear pushing against you just enough for you to feel it. She nudged at your clit with the heel of her palm, feeling the wetness begin to pool with the soft ruts of your hips chasing the pleasurable feeling.

Her lips glided over your jaw with her tongue and teeth swiping against you, and she listened to the way your breathing sped up, how you became restless in your seat and you began to stir.

When your eyes blinked open with tired difficulty you were met with hers looking right at you; it was hard to determine what precisely was happening in your dazed state - the reason why your heart was thumping or why you ached with needy arousal.

“Wanda? I-”

“Sh, sweet girl,” she breathed against you, pressing a kiss to your neck while her fingers drew circles over your swollen bud. “Just makin’ you feel good, okay?”

You could hear the rasp of hunger in her tone and you could feel it in the rhythm of her fingers toying with your clit, swiping through the slickness of your folds you hadn’t even known was there.

Svelte fingers inched into you with ease, curling within you whilst the pad of her thumb paid attention to your throbbing clit and her teeth dug into the skin of your breast. The way she was so eager to have you made you dizzy, how she pushed the fabric of your shirt out of her way just so she could flick her tongue across your nipple. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this - that you shouldn’t be enjoying it with such fervour - but that forbidden concept only made it taste much sweeter.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to make you cum for so long,” she breathed. “I’ve heard you at night. Fucking yourself like a needy little slut. But, I can fuck you so much better.”

Her breath was burning hot as it tickled the soft flesh of your torso, the kisses, the words and the sublimely perfect feeling of her fingers made you moan. Mumbling out her name with your choked voice breaking.

“And I know you’ve been wanting me too,” she murmured. “A dirty whore like you just can’t keep her eyes to herself, hm?”

With each sensually uttered sentence, her fingers kept up their pace, burying deep within you with the soaked sounds of your cunt accompanying them. The coil in your stomach tightened and tightened, readying to snap at any second.

“God, Wanda, I’m so close,” you stuttered out. She didn’t hide the cocky smirk that pulled her lips, smug at how easily she’d got you to fall apart.

“Cum for me,” she stated. She watched on intently as you took her fingers, clawing at the sofa’s cushions beside you with your knuckles paling with the strain. It was even better than she’d thought. The parting of your lips as your body began to shake, the whimpered sounds of your orgasm washing over you as you drenched her fingers. She knew it’d be a pretty sight.

You didn’t think twice when you took her glistening fingers into your mouth, licking them clean of any remnants of yourself until she pulled them away to replace them with her lips. The kiss was bruising and desperate, as though this had only touched the surface of the deeply harboured cravings you’d both been keeping.

With her straddling your lap and your hands on her hips just as you’ve wanted them to be, you were all consumed by the woman. Her tongue pushed against yours with control and she hummed into your mouth at the semblance of your taste still lingering. Her pussy ached to be touched and you could tell by the subtle pushing of herself into you; she pulled away to catch her breath and, for a moment, you thought she was going to claim regret.

But she pulled you to stand with your fingers laced with hers and dragged you behind her to her bedroom.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wnada maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem!reader

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occatorcreator · 23 days

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Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

1 - Family Lost

Purple and his mother receive a grim diagnosis, and Purple struggles to find a cure to save his only living family member.

Content Warnings: Disease and Major Character Death

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Purple stared up at the clock that punctuated the silent waiting room with its ticking.

10:15 am. His morning elective class was close to wrapping up. He distantly thought that he should care about what he’ll miss at school, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the hammering of the clock and how long he waited for a response.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

He looked from the clock to the door, waiting for a nurse to come and summon him. Right now, he had been in the hospital for over two hours and there hadn’t been any updates on his mother’s current condition.

If I had slept in, Purple thought, tapping his foot with anxious energy in time with the clock, would she not have made it?

The thing was, he almost had. He had almost shut his blaring alarm off and gone back to sleep. He really hadn’t been in the mood to go to school this morning; he was sure there was a test in math, and he wasn’t ready for it. School was… well, it had become more unpleasant since the divorce. Despite it being a year since Navy left, thoughts of the divorce sent his mind into a negative tailspin. All those times Navy ragged on him to wake up “bright and early” every day for routine exercise, and all those times he got annoyed by Purple’s fussing made him resent the idea of getting up at all.

He debated sleeping in to spite Navy, but what was the point of that? Not like Navy would show up to witness the spite. All that would come of sleeping in would be the omelets mom prepared growing cold. She was the only parent he had left now; he couldn’t let her down by being a brat about school.

And now he faced the possibility of having no parents… he found his mother fallen to the kitchen floor, unconscious, with the omelets burning.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Every second not knowing if Orchid was alright or dead drove Purple mad. He had driven as quickly as he could to the hospital and made enough of a scene in the emergency room to get her wheeled in right away. The doctors had escorted him to a nearby waiting room after they took Orchid to treatment, offering reassurance and describing some procedure they’re doing.

Knowing that barely worked to calm him down. Purple was no longer actively panicking, but he was fretting. He hated sitting. It was the inability to do anything but wait, unsure what the response would be, unable to take his mind off of anything but his prayers that things will be alright.

Tick tock. Tick- creak.

The door grabbed Purple’s attention. He stood up preemptively, ready to meet the nurse, only to blanch back as a giant orange stick figure ducked his way through the door frame. Clutching at his massive hand was a golden child, about four or five years old. He looked nervously around the room, sticking close to the orange stick’s leg.

“Just have a seat, Mr. Tango,” the nurse said. “We’ll call you when they’re done.”

The stick figure nodded at the nurse with a sour expression.

“Will Second be okay?” the child asked the nurse.

“Your older sibling will be fixed up,” the nurse said, smiling softly. “It’s just a minor fracture.”

And what about my mother? Purple wanted to ask. Is she going to be okay?

The question died on his tongue as Mr. Tango passed by him to take a seat. Purple instantly stepped back from the towering figure. By the time he and his child found a place to sit, the nurse had already left, shutting the door.

Great, still nothing, Purple thought, returning to his seat. He missed the prior solitude of the waiting room. With other stick figures around, he felt self conscious of his worrying. Not to mention, one of them was a small child. Purple wasn’t ready for the annoyance that would follow when that small child inevitably got bored and started wandering around, looking for things to do.

“Hello,” the child waved at Purple.

Purple took a deep breath, counted mentally to two, and looked at the child standing before him with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

“Hi,” he greeted half-heartedly.

The child tapped his hands together nervously, eyes looking down at Purple’s feet upon the less-than warm response. Somehow his sour mood didn’t send the kid crawling to his parent, which made Purple raise an eyebrow.

“What do you want?” Purple asked, baring his teeth in a false grin.

“Um, can I have that?” The child asked, pointing at the table filled with magazines.

Purple waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not using it, and you don’t need to ask. Just take it.”

The child brightened and grabbed a magazine. He retreated back to sit by his father, who’s cold gaze regarded Purple in a way that made Purple’s skin crawl. The giant’s gaze reminded him of Navy’s.

Specifically, the day Navy left. He could never forget that cold and guarded stare despite Orchid’s best attempts to shield them from him.

“I guess this is it, then,” Navy said, “I’m leaving.”

Don’t think about him, Purple mentally scolded, closing his eyes to refocus on the present.

With nothing else to get his mind off of the past and present situation, he watched as the child flipped through the magazine. It didn’t take long for the child to realize that magazines were mostly advertisements and boring articles he couldn’t read before he placed it to the side. He caught that Purple was looking at him, and Purple failed to look away in time.

“My sibby broke their thumb.”

Sibby? Purple didn’t know how to comment on that odd shorthand for sibling.

“Ah…How did that happen?” It took Purple a full second before he found his voice. He got the feeling the kid was a bit of a chatterbox, how unfortunate. Purple had no desire to talk, but he felt like he couldn’t stay silent either.

Maybe this could get his mind off of things...

“My dad had a day off, took me and Second in the park,” the child said, “We did lots of fun stuff and it was really nice out. We were playing truth or dare, and I dared Second to punch a tree!”

He looked expectantly, waiting for Purple to supply a question. Yet when Purple only bothered with a raised eyebrow, Mr. Tango cleared his throat.

“You two didn’t answer why you did that in the first place, Gold,” Mr. Tango said.

The child — Gold — looked down at his dangling legs, ashamed. “It’s cuz Sec’s as strong as you, dad.” Gold said, “I wanted to see if they could punch a hole in the tree.”

Punch a hole in a tree? Ridiculous. Purple scoffed.

“Still. Punching things without the proper technique can be dangerous,” Mr. Tango said. “I hope you two don’t do that again in the future.”

“We won’t, dad,” Gold said.

Again, Mr. Tango reminded Purple of Navy. That comment was a straight-out warning he said during sparring lessons. His father drilled in many basics on keeping yourself from breaking your arm while fighting. Having that reminder of his father again, combined with the ludicrousness of the child’s story, and the fact they were in the hospital over something so stupid made Purple surly.

“Let me guess,” Purple said, “your sibling was dumb enough to tuck their thumb in their fist while punching?”

That was harsh. Now both father and son were glaring at Purple. Purple could feel his heart hammering, desire to cower and apologize strong, but not strong enough to overcome anger brought on from constant fatigue and stress.

“Second’s not dumb!” Gold snapped. “They just didn’t know they needed to do that.”

Purple shrugged. “Sounds like the definition of dumb to me,” Purple said, “I mean tucking your thumb in is unnatural and uncomfortable, so why do that?”

“Not everyone comes into the world knowing everything there is to know,” Mr. Tango warned, “and I don’t care much for you insulting someone you hardly know.”

Mr. Tango said it with a threatening, low tone that made Purple reconsider and apologize for his meanness.

Almost. He might have, had Gold kept his mouth shut.

“They managed to knock the tree down in one hit even when doing it wrong!” Gold bragged. “I bet you can’t do that!”

Inadvertently, Gold managed to hit a sore point for Purple. Orchid and Navy both were prolific fighters in their prime, strong and agile enough to break wood and cinder blocks with a well placed hit. Purple knew it could be done, but he was never strong enough, never fast enough to do it. All he got was painful bruising and a sprain so awful he gave up trying.

And given today, Purple’s fuse was short.

“You little liar,” Purple snapped, “no one can do that.”

“I’m not!” Gold balked, and he tugged on Mr. Tango’s arm. “Dad, you saw it too! Tell him! Second did punch a tree down!”

But there was a split second of hesitation in Mr. Tango’s gaze, that moment of doubt and skepticism. Before he had the chance to defend his son, Purple pounced.

“If your dad claims that, then he’s helping a liar,” Purple said, “I thought preschool taught you better than to make up stories for attention.”

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” Gold yelled, and Purple saw that the child was so worked up that tears were forming in his eyes. “I’m not a liar!”

“What is your problem?” Mr. Tango snapped, standing up tall to get between Gold and Purple. He didn’t yell like Purple did, but clearly didn’t hide his anger. “You have no right to talk to my son like that.”

“Maybe if you didn’t want me to yell at your liar of a kid,” Purple snapped, standing back up, “then you should have parented better.”

“Excuse me?”

Purple stood up. He was a pipsqueak to the massive stick figure before him, his limbs shaking from fear and rage both.

“I’m just saying, a kid who broke his wrist punching trees and one that makes up tall tales to strangers reflects poorly on you.” Purple said, “My parents wouldn’t hear me spouting such nonsense.”

“Where are they?” Mr. Tango asked, grinning without any joy. “I would like to talk with them about their parenting skills if they could raise someone who’d yell at children for little reason.”

To that Purple had no response.

Oh creator, what would mom think of me right now? Purple thought, visibly deflating and stared at the ground in shame.

Now the only sound there was the clocks ticking and Gold crying. Seeing no fight left in Purple, Mr. Tango sat down and started to console his child. Gold buried his head in his father’s chest, weeping and insisting he wasn’t a liar.

Creak

“Purple?” A nurse came in with a clipboard.

“Yes?” Purple straightened himself up. “Is she ready?”

“She is,” the nurse nodded, his expression appearing grim despite his smile. “She wants to talk to you.”

Oh, good she’s awake, Purple thought, but still… the dread in his stomach grew. Why is the nurse looking at me like that if she’s awake?

“Okay. Take me to her.”

He followed the nurse out, ignoring the pressing glares of Mr. Tango and Gold following him out.

“Rapid aging syndrome?”

Purple sat by Orchid’s beside, holding her hand. Orchid was looking rather pale and frail, but she was alive. The doctors managed to stabilize her.

But only stabilize; there was no cure for this condition.

“Yes,” Orchid said, “Explains a lot of things, like why I didn’t have the same stamina as your father even though we’re the same age.”

She said it with light airiness that nearly made Purple cry.

“But, this is a glitch in your programming, right?” Purple said, clearing his throat, “couldn’t they patch you?”

To that Orchid let out a shaky sigh and patted Purple’s hand. Purple noticed the faint tremor in her hands.

“They found out that they can’t,” Orchid said, plainly.

“Why not,” Purple asked, voice rising. “They’re doctors! Expert coders! They have to fix you! What sort of doctors would they be if they couldn’t?”

“It’s not that simple, honey,” Orchid hushed, “They discovered that my code’s corrupted. The fact they could stabilize me without losing my memories was a miracle in it of itself.”

“Surely, there’s a way around corruption,” Purple begged, “You mean to tell me they can’t stop you from just… aging to death?”

Orchid didn’t say anything at first. She looked up at the ceiling with an inscrutable expression. In that moment, Purple wondered how well she was taking the news that she was given a terrible death sentence, aging at an insanely rapid rate until she shriveled up to a husk. Looking at her now, all the marks Purple blamed on exhaustion or loss of appetite were the tell-tale signs of becoming an elder.

“The doctors gave me two choices,” Orchid said after a moment, “Either I would have 5 months left to live, or they would reset me.” She then turned to Purple. “And reset means full reset. My age, all of my memories… I would be as I was created, as my 18 year old self. I wouldn’t even recognize you as my son anymore. Even with that, I could still be… lost to a reset. There is no guarantee to save me.” Her expression turned pained. “You know which one I had to choose.”

“That’s so f-messed up,” Purple caught himself. But he wished he could swear. How could anyone sugarcoat that?

“The doctors will want to discuss care options in light of my condition,” Orchid said, “having nurses to care for me at home, or placing me in hospice care.”

“But we don’t have the money for a live-in nurse,” Purple pointed out quietly.

Orchid hummed in agreement. “And I don’t want to be moved to hospice care if I can still stand and walk.”

“I could care for you,” Purple offered. “Take off school for a bit-“

“I don’t want to place you in that position,” Orchid waved her hand, “and your education would suffer for it.“

“Mom, I’ll be blunt, my education has already suffered from… Navy leaving.” Purple couldn’t even say the divorce to her, “I won’t be able to focus on shoring up what’s left of my education knowing that your… that you're going to…”

He couldn’t say that either. He shan’t say it, or else he made it true. He didn’t want it to be true.

“Fair point…” Orchid muttered. She placed her hand on her chin and hummed. “There is always my creator,” Orchid paused, “I still have her email address, and I occasionally send her updates. We could stay with her for a while.”

“An actual human? With a desktop?” Purple asked. “Is it even possible for us to go there?”

Orchid nodded. “I’m certain something can be arranged once I reach out to my lawyer and get my affairs in order.”

“Don’t say that, mom,” Purple shook his head.

“I’m afraid we don’t have many options,” Orchid said, “Plus, it would be nice to take you to our childhood home.”

Our? Purple thought, You mean, dad also grew up on that computer?

Purple wasn’t sure about going on a human’s computer with all the risks, but like Orchid said, it wasn’t like there was any better options they could take.

I’ll find something to save you from this fate, mom, he thought, I promise.

Purple kept this vow deep in his heart as the doctors returned.

Her name was Alana, and, despite his mom promising to take him to her childhood home, she clearly owned the latest Apple Macintosh. Alana was nice, nicer than what Purple expected of a human from his history class, and she welcomed Orchid and Purple upon their arrival through her email. They had to write out words on the email in order to communicate with her, but Purple learned he didn’t need to talk with Alana often. She was present for the first two days to ensure they settled on the desktop, before just disappearing and leaving them to their own devices for days on end.

Orchid explained most of the situation to Alana. She wasn’t fully candid about her diagnosis, but she shared that Purple was her and Navy’s son, and that they needed a place to stay in the meantime.

Alana asked only one question. “What happened to Navy?”

The awkward silence and body language from both Orchid and Purple told enough for Alana to discern something happened, but she didn’t feel the need to press.

Living on a desktop was a new experience, one Orchid was happy to guide Purple on.

“Ah, they updated so many things!” Orchid said in awe, “You’re getting a better experience than I did. The desktop is so lovely!”

She leaned down to press a button. It was the finder, and it opened up a series of apps. However, she let out a groan of pain as she struggled to stand back up.

“Careful!” Purple said, lifting her up, “you know you can’t move like you used to.”

Orchid looked forlornly at what she opened, rubbing her back. Stacks of icons stretched above her without any easy way to traverse them.

“Right. Climbing would be your strong suit, you have to do that a lot on a desktop,” she said, half muttering as the advice she gave came with a realization of her condition. That her body was too old to navigate something that she had done in her youth.

Purple had to watch her as that condition worsened overtime.

Not that Purple was idle during this time. He set to work making the desktop space more accommodating for an elder. He found Flash and constructed a crude house with the pencil tool. The linework wasn’t the neatest, but it was convenient, light enough for him to pick up the house and set it down, but sturdy enough that a punch wouldn’t knock it down.

He tried looking around for Orchid and Navy’s files. After all, if they were made, then that means there had to be backup copies somewhere around. Surely, Alana transferred their files to the new computer, there had to be something to counter the apparent corruption.

“Purple, please don’t be going into Alana’s files,” Orchid warned.

Purple nearly fell off the top of the directory, not expecting to hear her voice. It started to croak with age, a tremor of strain she didn’t use to have. She leaned on a crude cane Purple drew to help support herself. He hastily went down so she didn’t have to call him.

“I’m not doing anything shady,” Purple insisted, “I was hoping to find… something.”

Orchid gave him a look. A look he knew too well when she suspected Purple was up to one of his antics. He received that look a lot whenever the school called about his moments of less-than-stellar behavior.

But as quickly as it appeared, it fell. “Look, I’m just warning you, if you poke around in her files and break it, she will be incredibly upset and hurt by that,” she chuckled lightly, “I’m speaking from experience here. Navy and I regretted how we clowned around back in the day.”

You? A trouble maker? Purple couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of Orchid, roughly around his age, causing trouble for her creator. But the smirk faded when that image contrasted the frail stick figure before him.

“Why did Alana… make the both of you?” Purple asked.

Orchid blinked, not expecting the question. She fiddled with her cane, nails gently scraping against its side.

“I don’t know. Flash animation was new and there was a genre of animation that featured fighting stick figures beginning to form. I supposed Alana wanted to add a battle couple, but I couldn’t be certain.”

Purple’s face curled at the thought. “Like she made you two to be a couple?”

“Not like that, she made us to be a team,” Orchid’s smile looked forlorn and she looked elsewhere, “the love came later.”

Purple shuffled awkwardly, knowing how that “love” ended for them all. “Why did you two leave the computer?”

“Stick City was new, and we both wanted to strike it on our own,” Orchid explained, “we wanted to be famous, and we didn’t feel like we could if we stayed on a desktop.” She let out a huff. “How funny that I ended up back here after all this time.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, Purple, I’d rather you not go poking around and getting into trouble.” Orchid placed her hand on Purple’s shoulder. “Come. I can show you some games on the Mac you can play in the meantime.”

“Games?”

“Yes, I know I can’t play the ones that are more active, but I don’t want that to stop you from experiencing the fun you can have on a desktop,” she said, “it’s way more immersive.”

Purple opened his mouth to argue something, before closing it and nodding.

I really can’t go against her wishes now, Purple thought, besides, there are healing items in games, maybe I can find something to fix her?

“What do you recommend I try, mom?” he asked.

Time moved too quickly for Purple’s liking. He did as much as he could in his investigation of the games on Alana’s computer. Some of the games were fun, but ultimately useless to his main goal. Others had healing items he had to buy from a vendor or could collect in chests. He gave these to Orchid, yet the most they did was ease her aching joints.

He found Minecraft through his investigation and it, too, had healing items that didn’t work. Yet, the game was fun, intriguing enough for even Orchid to join in on the fun. He found himself simply just building things with Orchid out of the simple blocks provided in creative mode. They began to build a foundation of a castle, but in time, only Purple was able to build the castle. When that happened, he abandoned construction to refocus his efforts in finding a cure.

Orchid was visibly getting older and weaker every passing day. She walked slower, leaned on her cane more often, and complained of pain in her bones. Vision and hearing were going, and Purple had to draw her glasses and hearing aides to help her.

Nothing was working. He tried experimenting with healing items he found: mixing it into her food, combining it with other mechanics, and even breaking into a game’s code to see if there was anything he could pull. All his efforts did was ease the burdens of aging. He could not cure nor save Orchid from her fate.

Eventually, Orchid became too weak to even leave her bed. Purple was torn between wanting to stay by her side and care for her or leaving to find something he possibly overlooked. He settled for spawning a villager from an egg to be her nurse while he stepped away. But walking away was difficult; he felt every hour he was away was the hour he came back to find her…

He came crawling back with nothing to show for it.

“Is there anything in your game that can stop this?” Purple asked the villager, one night after he returned. “To stop her from dying?”

The villager looked around, unsure if Purple was genuinely engaging with them or speaking out loud to himself. When Purple remained silent, the villager felt like they needed to respond.

“I don’t know,” they admitted, “I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

“You do realize you don’t age, right?” Purple continued. “You and every video game character are just frozen, as you are. You don’t have to worry about growing old, leaving your kids and loved ones behind...”

“That’s not…” the villager trailed off when he met Purple’s cold stare. “It’s not that simple..”

“Seems pretty simple to me. You, a computer program, live on, while us stick figures, also computer programs, grow old and die. How unfair is that?” Purple muttered. “I ask again. Is there anything in this stupid game that can make her ageless like you?”

The villager shook his head and took a step back. Something was in Purple’s voice that deeply frightened the sniveling NPC. And for a moment, Purple thought of pulling out his sword and stabbing the villager for his unhelpfulness.

After all they were only ageless, not immortal. Weak.

He walked away from the villager, but those horrid thoughts followed him.

“What’s happening to Orchid?”

Alana logged on to find her desktop disheveled: a half finished castle from Minecraft, a crude house with a crude bed where Orchid lay in it. She must look so bad that even a human could see it on the screen.

Purple stayed by her side, unable to sleep, and stared blankly at the writing above him. He dared not grab the pen he used to write, he didn’t want to get up and leave his mother’s side.

It had been five months. Her time was almost up, and all his efforts to stop it amounted to nothing.

The cursor moved down and Purple placed himself between it and his mother.

“Don’t!” he said, splaying his hand out. He knew Alana couldn’t hear, but he spoke anyway. “She’s very fragile.”

“Is that Alana?” Orchid croaked.

Her feeble, weak voice broke Purple’s heart to hear. Her glasses were off to the side, but she didn’t reach for them.

“Yes, it’s her.”

“Ah, I'm glad,” Orchid said, “I worried… I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.”

“No, no mom, you don’t have to,” Purple said, clinging to her hands. “There- I’m still searching for a cure- I can-“

“Shh,” Orchid placed her hand on his cheek, stilling him. “No, Purple, honey. My time is up. And I don’t want to see you wasting your time searching for a cure that doesn’t exist.”

“But I can’t give up, not now,” Purple shook his head. Her face began to blur and hot tears streaked down his face. “I don’t want you to leave me. Stay here. Please.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” Orchid coughed, “I want to be with you… but I don’t want you to suffer for my sake.”

She wiped his tears with her shaking, wrinkled hands. A pointless endeavor, for Purple could not stop sobbing.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Purple choked, holding her hand.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Purple,” Orchid said. Her hand slackened to her side and eyes closed. “Promise me something, Purple?”

“What?” Purple leaned in. “What do you need me to do?”

There was a beat of silence, just the raspy rise and fall of her chest.

“Promise me that you'll…” Orchid whispered so faintly, every word laborious. “Promise me you’ll… take good care of yourself… that you’ll find someone-” She broke off into coughing.

“Hush, hush. Of course, of course I will.” Purple said and hugged Orchid. “I promise.”

Orchid didn’t return the hug, too weak to do so.

“I love you,” she wheezed.

Then, she let out a shuddering gasp and fell limp within his arms.

“Mom?” Purple pried away, staring at her gaunt face, eyes closed. He saw that she was becoming translucent, fading away like a spirit.

“Mom? Please…”

Then there was nothing, just him clinging to the blankets. All that Orchid was became nothing now. Not a trace of her was left, except her scent and his memories.

And with that he wept openly into the empty bed while Alana wordlessly hovered above.

#occatorart #alan becker #animator vs animation #animator vs minecraft #second family au #cw death #ava purple #ava orchid #ava king #ava gold #cw disease #existential dread

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gallusrostromegalus · 7 months

Note

Speaking of public health. What was the soul society reaction to the eradication of small pox like?

"You notice there's a lot less dead babies these days?" Iba asked in the middle of one morning's office work.

"Fewer dead babies." Komamura corrected without thinking. "Less is for things you measure by volume, fewer for things you count. We do not measure dead babies by volume."

"Oh. right." Iba nodded. "Yeah, that wouldn't be right."

After a moment, what his lieutenant actually said caught up with him. "Sorry- force of habit from living with a Librarian." Komamura shook his head and looked up from the monthly intake statistics analysis report, peering at Tetsuzaemon Iba through the narrow gap of his helmet. "What do you mean, fewer dead babies?"

"I dunno, it just occurred to me. When I started the academy in the 40's- right after the catastrophe- we did a student tour of the 7th division's recently deceased souls intake queue, remember?" Iba waved his hand leaning back in his chair, apparently uncertain of where he was going with this either, but articulating his thoughts.

"I believe so. I had just taken over from Captain Kotsubaki." Komamura nodded, patient. Chikane Iba was an excellent shinigami and had done a magnificent job running the third division, but she had a tendency to talk over and bulldoze her son, so Komamura had learned to be patient when the young man when he felt like he should share a thought.

"Yeah, yeah- Not gonna lie Boss, you scared the crap out of me back then." Tetsuzaemon laughed. "-But the thing that stuck out to me that day was just. The sheer number of Infants and little kids in the line. the guy giving us the tour- I think it was Old Ito, actually- He said that one in five babies in the living world didn't live to see their fifth birthday."

"An improvement even back then- it was one in three children when back when I started in the 1840s." Komamura nodded. "It's funny that I frightened you- Captain Aikawa apparently headhunted me for the 7th because Kaname told him about how the children at the library used to use me as playground equipment."

"Good grief." Iba blanched. "So, what, he threw you in the deep end with all the dead kids?"

"In Captain Aikawa's defense, I did volunteer to handle children's cases. As sad as a frightened infant is, it's infinitely preferable than dealing with the deceased who are angry."

Iba frowned, opened his mouth like he was about to object, reconsidered, closed it, considered further, rocking his head from side to side, and then nodded. "I- yeah, Yeah, that tracks."

"You were saying though?" Komamura laced his fingers in front of him, leaning forward to listen.

"Oh! Well- not as much these days but back then, every family had like seven and eight kids, you know? And I realized that, well- almost everyone I know has a dead sibling or two? Almost every mother lost a child- Gods know my mother's a basket case but even getting a cold could send her into fits. If something had happened to me when I was a tyke- I don't think she would have pulled through."

Komamura nodded enough for Iba to see his helmet tilt to indicate he as still listening.

"I- I don't actually know where I was going with this, but I was reading that report earlier and there's a note from Shita-san at the end that this is the first month we haven't had a kid under the age of five in the intake queue. Ever."

Komamura flipped though the pages of the report to read the hand-written note at the end. "That is excellent news!"

"Oh! Yeah! It's great!" Iba nodded enthusiastically. "It just- I don't know, I guess it just snuck up on me and I'm so used to hearing something went wrong I guess I don't quite know what to do with good news?" he shrugged.

Komamura pondered this for a moment. "Hm. Well. Take heart, to start. But I see what you mean- it's a tremendous achievement, but not one we contributed to, and a "No Dead Babies This Month" office party feels in poor taste at best."

"Oof, yeah- especially if next month there's an accident or something and there's a whole bunch in the queue." Iba nodded. He considered things for a moment.

"-What happened that there are le- fewer dead babies, actually?" Iba frowned. "-Whoever it is, it would be appropriate to toast them and make an offering in their name to the Gods of Good Fortune, I think. Also do more of whatever they did."

"That IS a good idea!" Komamura smiled under his helmet. Perhaps it was his training as a priest, but he did enjoy an offering of goodwill ceremony. Also, nobody would ask him to drink- just pour any alcohol he was offered on the statue of the relevant deity. "I think- It's probably in our statistics, if the tenth division doesn't have an idea already. Can you collect the cause of death data for young children for the last-"

He was interrupted by the thunderous footsteps of someone sprinting towards the office, immediately followed by a tall young woman with short white hair throwing the door open, red-faced and winded.

"THEY DID IT! THE MAD BASTARDS THEY DID IT!" She shouted with wild excitement.

"Isane-? Uh, Miss Kotetsu?" Iba flustered.

"Please keep your voice down-" Komamura said through gritted teeth, trying not to growl at being suddenly shouted at. "Who has-?"

He was interrupted by Miss Kotetsu bolting right up to his desk and shoving a newspaper into his face hard enough to actually wrap around his helmet in excitement.

"SMALLPOX! IT'S GONE!!" She shrieked with joy.

"-gone?" Iba asked, bewildered as Komamura gently took the newspaper from her and pulled it back to actually read it. It was a newspaper from the living world, dated that morning- someone had gone through some pains to get it back to the Seireitei at speed, but the news was worth it:

SMALLPOX IS DEAD!

"TOTALLY ERADICATED! EXTINCT! KAPUT! IT HAS CEASED TO BE!" She bounced excitedly. "IT IS AN EX-PANDEMIC!"

"So like. Nobody has it this year?" Iba tried.

"Nobody has it this year, or will ever have it again, if I'm reading this right." Komamura muttered in awe. "Thanks to an aggressive worldwide vaccination and disease protocol program, there have been no human cases of the disease for several years. Since there are no people infected, there is no way for the disease to come back..."

Both men stared into space, the news almost unbelievable.

"Well. That does explain the Less Dead Babies thing." Iba nodded.

"Fewer Dead Babies." Komamura and Isane corrected in unison.

"I mean yeah that sure is part of it because Smallpox was the number one killer of infants in the living world for a long time there, but there's a whole bunch of stuff that's really cut down on infant mortality in the last few decades in particular." Isane nodded.

"We were JUST Talking about that!" Iba said, excitedly. "-Good to know you guys in the fourth are keeping track of that, It was gonna take forever to pull out that data..."

"Oh, could you pull it out anyway Tetsu-kun?" She asked. "-That's most of why I came over- I mean, to share the good news first, but Unohana-Taicho is planning on using this to really push a widespread vaccination program in the Rukongai and having the numbers to back us up would be really helpful!"

"Oh! Uh, sure!" Iba blushed.

"...You know this young lady, Tetsu-Kun?" Komamura lightly teased.

Both of the young people twitched and bowed to him, pointing at each other and speaking at once.

"Oh! I'm sorry Sir, I'm fourth division third seat Isane Kotetsu, i just know Iba because we were in the same class at the academy-" She babbled.

"-this is Isane Kotetsu, she's the smartest person I know and she saved my life from a lizard one time!" He waved excitedly.

"...That lizard was not going to kill you." She sighed, covering her face in embarrassment. "-I mean, if you developed a sepsis infection from the contaminated wound it might have made you very ill but that would take weeks and we have antibiotics for that, the lizard itself wasn't all that dangerous."

"It was INSIDE my LEG!" Iba gestured to his right thigh.

Komamura slowly tilted his whole torso sideways at Iba, hoping that sentence might make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. "...How?"

"I. Uh." Iba stopped, realizing his story was maybe not one he should be telling his boss. "I was. um. Out camping with the lads back when I was in the 11th, and a lizard climbed into my cot and I was. not totally awake and thought someone was trying to cop a feel and well you know, that's behavior you respond to with force so I rolled over and tried to stab the intruder's hand and. Uh. Missed."

Komamura continued to stare at him blankly.

"There was. screaming. lotta flailing, blood, general mayhem sort of thing. And in the confusion the Lizard.... climbed. inside the hole. In my leg. Sir." Iba explained, slowly crumpling behind his desk.

Komamura sighed deeply.

"-but Miss Isane was right there and actually kicked Ikkaku halfway across the camp because he was trying to lure it out with a Banana and generally being useless and she just grabbed that sucker and ripped him right outta there and had the wound packed and sealed in less than a minute and I even got to finish doing boot camp!" He rallied, cheerfully waving at Isane in hopes of distracting his captain with how cool she was.

"...What happened to the lizard?" Komamura asked, warily eyeing her through the gap in his helmet.

"Oh! He was really, really human acclimated and sneaked into my medkit rather than go back into the wild, so Harry lives a very spoiled lizard life in a terrarium in my room at home! Though it's actually my sister's room now but he still gets all the mango and smashed beetles he can eat!" Isane nodded cheerfully.

"You named a lizard. Harry?" Komamura asked slowly.

"...Iba-san named him, actually." She blushed.

"Ironically!" Iba protested. "I'm only mostly stupid, sir."

Komamura sighed deeply and once again regretted that his disguise would not let him rub his face as needed. "Alright. Thank you for the announcement, Miss Kotetsu. We will get that data to you in a timely manner- was there anything else you needed"

"Oh gosh, there was something else, what was it-?" She tapped her chin, trying to remember.

There was the distant sound of explosives, and all three of them turned to see what looked like midday fireworks going off at the 4th.

"Oh Right! Unohana-taicho requests your presence at the 4th as. Um. 'Designated Non-Drinker and Unarmed Combat Specialist' because the party was getting kind of wild when I left actually-"

Komamura sighed, and picked up Tenken from his stand and started tying the zanpaktou to his belt anyway.

---

The following morning, a small party arrived at the local shrines to The Gods Of Good Fortune, bearing offerings on behalf of the living world's World Health Organization and the handful of names they'd been able to glean from the living world newspapers, and nursing varying degrees of of hangover.

Komamura lead the party, having gotten them up at a slightly malicious 5AM to be there first thing in the morning. Tetsuzaemon and his friends from the 11th he insisted come along and 'suffer with me, as my sworn brothers' were quite pained but doing their best to hold it together.

Shunsui was a veteran of this nonsense and was hiding the pain very well behind his longtime party companions, Ukitake and Unohana, who seemed so extraordinarily cheerful that Komamura had to conclude that they were both still significantly chemically altered. He couldn't fault Unohana- they were faint and only visible on the rare occasions she let her hair down, but just below her left ear there was still the faint divot scars from surviving her own infection.

Isane had celebrated just as hard as the 11th Division lads, but had also had the good sense to alternate beer and water and take both aspirin and some sort of horrible pink goop that apparently relieved nausea before passing out under a table and had woken up only slightly groggy.

Komamura's new friend Harry the Lizard- a remarkably loquacious and quick-witted reptile -had taken up residence inside his helmet, lightly intoxicated on the cocktail fruits people had kept feeding him, and was politely nestled in the thick fur of his neck to ward off the morning cold.

The rituals of gratitude for this miracle, and asking the Gods to bless those who had worked so hard went smoothly, and Komamura couldn't help but notice when he turned around that Miss Kotetsu had opted to lean on the shoulder of 'Tetsu-kun'.

It was not often Komamura started the day with the feeling that everything would turn out alright, but as he watched Tetsuzaemon cautiously but gracelessly take Isane's hand and her squeeze it back on the way back down from the shrine, he felt like the feeling might stay this time.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach fanfiction #bleach #sajin komamura #tetsuzaemon iba #isane kotetsu #long post #infant death mention #disease mention #injury mention #it's funny I promise

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doc-pickles · 6 months

Text

waking up in vegas | matthew tkachuk x hughes!sister (p. 2)

series masterlist

summary: the hughes-tkachuk family thanksgiving dinner from hell

warnings: mentions vomiting

a/n: here’s part two of my matty fic! hope y’all enjoy :)

xoxo

nina

Your parents' living room is loud and boisterous as everyone mills around for an early Thanksgiving dinner. The dinner had been a Hughes-Tkachuk tradition for as long as you could remember, but this year your stomach rolled uneasily at the thought of having to sit at a table and lie to everyone at it.

“Did the annulment go through?”

Matthew’s voice makes you jump as you turn to face him. His stubble has grown out into the beginnings of a beard and you can’t deny it’s a good look on him.

“About that,” your eyes shift down to your boots as you speak quietly. “They can’t annul it, we’re going to have to get a legal divorce.”

Matthew doesn’t say anything, simply drags you down the hall into one of the spare bedrooms before closing the door and looking at you with wide eyes.

“What do you mean we need a divorce? I thought we could get it annulled and pretend like it never happened,” Matthew's tone was incredulous as he stared at you.

“Me too but apparently when you marry someone with a multimillion-dollar hockey contract that complicates things,” you swallow down the bile trying to climb your throat as you look up at Matthew. His gaze softens and you realize you must look scared shitless right now. “Listen I’ll figure it out okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Without warning, Matthew pulls you into a hug and you breathe in his warm woodsy scent, grounding yourself in the contact. You take a shaky breath as he runs a hand down your back, “Let me know how I can help, okay? I don’t want you stressing over this and it takes two to tango anyways.”

You barely hold back the urge to laugh at his statement, Matthew not knowing how true his words are. Instead, you nod and stay there for a few more comforting seconds before he pulls away, “You okay?”

Nodding you meet Matthew's eyes, “Can we talk after dinner?”

“Sure,” Matthew nods and presses a kiss to your forehead before he gives you one last smirk and leaves the room.

When you leave a few minutes later, everyone is starting to sit down around the table. You take your spot next to Luke and across from Matthew who winks at you as you sit. He groans and you see Quinn glaring at him, assuming your brother had kicked him under the table.

“Table is getting full,” Keith chuckles as he looks between all of the kids, Emma now seated next to Brady. “Might need a bigger one next year.”

Your mother lets out a huff and as soon as you look at her you know whatever comes out of her mouth next isn’t going to be good.

“I’d say so. In fact, I think someone here has a little announcement they want to make,” as you scan the table and meet Matthew’s gaze your stomach drops, both of your faces blanching. “Who wants to share?”

You and Matthew break away from each other's stares to look around at all of your siblings. None of them look like they’re quite sure what’s happening, but they all keep flicking back to you and Matthew.

“Mom-”

“Anyone want to tell me why there was a pregnancy test in the guest bath? A positive one at that?”

Your mouth snaps shut at your moms admission and side glances immediately start flying across the table. Most eyes turn to Brady and Emma, the newlyweds shaking their heads. Emma grabs her wine and takes a hearty sip before answering your mom, “Not me, I’m very much still enjoying my wine.”

Eyes dart around the table again and you can tell the moment Luke spots your can of Coke next to his bottle of beer, a long and loud groan leaving him, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Luke Warren Hughes! Language,” your father scolds, but you can barely register his chastising as you lock eyes with your twin.

“Okay but who’s pregnant?” Jack asks cluelessly as he continues to look around the table. “If it’s not Emma it’s Taryn or- Oh my god!”

You can feel every set of eyes at the table fall onto you but you can only meet Matthew’s gaze across the table, his blue eyes wide and searching as he stares you down. You hold his gaze until Quinn and Jack both start yelling simultaneously.

“Are you kidding me? You knocked up my sister you fucking douche canoe!”

“Holy shit! Holy shit this is from Vegas? First, you marry my sister then you knock her up?!”

At Jack and Quinn’s outbursts, you push your head into your hands as all four of your parents begin to hurl questions across the table. The noise leaves your head swimming as bile begins to rise up your throat, everyone around you shouting.

“Wait, Matthew got you pregnant?”

“What the hell happened in Vegas?”

“Did he just say you're married? How long have you two been together?”

“Does this mean we’re all going to be grandparents?”

As everyone continues to yell over the table you do the only thing you can think to do. Leaning to your right you promptly throw up your meager lunch into the potted plant next to you. Everyone stops as you continue to throw up and you vaguely register your mom ushering everyone out of the room while a hand settles on your back. You’re not entirely sure who’s holding you but the hand on your back is comforting.

“S’okay, I got you,” you’re slightly shocked when Matthew’s voice sounds out as his hand rubs your back. “Fun dinner huh?”

You huff out a laugh as you finally stop retching, looking over your shoulder at Matthew, “No one got a chance to take a single bite.”

There’s a silent minute where you’re simply breathing and trying to ground yourself before Matthew asks with a small voice, “You okay?”

Nodding slightly you sit up and face him, “I’m fine. Besides single-handedly ruining Thanksgiving and not being able to keep any food besides cranberry sauce down all day.”

Matthew chuckles as he runs a hand over his face, “Hey at least we had the common sense to get married before having a baby, huh?”

You both sit in silence for a second before a bubble of laughter bursts out from you, Matthew joining in. You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I found out last night, I was going to tell you after dinner. I didn’t want to freak you out before we had to sit down and lie to everyone about being married, but here we are.”

“It’s okay. At least we don’t have to stress about telling everyone,” you’re both quiet for a second before Matthew whispers his next words. “You… Do you want to keep it?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly as you focus on your fingers. “Yes I… I hope that’s okay.”

Matthew nods, pulling you closer before speaking, “I… Yeah. We’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you stop puking yet?” Luke asks as he sticks his head around the corner. Seeing you and Matthew sitting together he rolls his eyes. “Good. Can you please go into the living room before someone in there combusts? I think dad and Keith are about to start throwing punches.”

Matthew helps you up and you walk hand in hand to the living room. Keith and your dad are yelling and Quinn is trying (and failing) to explain what happened in Vegas to your mom.

“You think if we slip out they’d notice?” Matthew whispers right next to your ear and you have to stop yourself from letting out a full body shudder at the feeling.

“Unfortunately, yes. Plus I’m getting kind of hungry so I want to wrap this up and get back to dinner as soon as possible.”

Matthew chuckles behind you and everyone seems to realize you two are standing there. Your dad takes a step forward, but you put your hand up to stop him from coming any closer as you step in front of Matthew.

“Okay so we’re not going to threaten to beat up the man you’ve known since he was five,” you fix your dad with a knowing look before eyeing your brothers over his shoulder. “You three are included in that.”

“Why don’t we just let the kids explain what happened,” Chantal broaches from her spot on the couch next to your mom. “Maybe we have the story wrong.”

“Ummm so we went to Las Vegas… And then we got married,” you can’t meet anyone’s eyes as you speak but Matthew grabs your hand again and squeezes it comfortingly. “So there-“

“You got married because you were drunk and couldn’t find something better to do,” your father asked as he stared at you and Matthew.

“Jim!”

“No, Dad-“

“Well it’s fine they can just get it annulled,” Keith says from his spot across the room.

“Not if she’s pregnant,” Chantal shrieks and you can feel your heartbeat pick up. “You are pregnant, right?”

You nod, feeling tears prickling your eyes as your parents begin to speak again.

“What if it’s not even Matthew’s?”

“Well you can’t have a baby out of wedlock! Even if it’s not his-“

“You saying my daughter is a-“

“I didn’t say that! I’m just suggesting-“

“Listen I know that all of this wasn’t planned but both of us are responsible adults who can make decisions on our own,” Matthew interrupts your parents bickering and you don’t realize you're harshly squeezing his hand until he pulls you back into chest. “Can we table this conversation and eat dinner? Please?”

Everyone files back into the dining room and you cast a grateful look to Luke who’s taken the seat across from you so Matthew can sit next to you. Plates get passed around and when everyone is eating you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“So besides the impromptu elopement, how was Vegas?” your mom asks with a small grin and a chorus of laughter sounds from the table.

Left it kind of open ended but I love writing the Hughes/Tkachuk gang so maybe another part?

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nina writes

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george-weasleys-girl · 5 months

Note

Omg my poor baby George!!

Could I please get a George x Reader fic where the reader is stuck/stranded with the weasleys for Christmas and George keeps going out of his way to cheer her up and make sure she’s comfortable because he has feelings for her and the family all notice? Maybe they find themselves under some mistletoe? 💖💖

❄️Yuletide Celebration❄️

Snowstorm

Fred and Ginny stood in the kitchen with their arms crossed.

"You rummaged around in the attic for half an hour to find an old Christmas stocking so she'd have one on Christmas morning," Fred began.

"You talked mum into making her favorite soup last night," Ginny continued.

"And now you've baked her favorite cookies," Fred grabbed one off the plate.

"Stop that! Those are for Y/N, " George swatted at his twin, who only laughed.

"We think you've got a little crush," Ginny grinned, swiping a cookie.

George moved the plate of cookies away from his siblings. "I have no idea what you're talking about. First off, she's my employee. And second, if I hadn't asked her to stop by on her way out of town, she wouldn't be stuck here. I'm just trying to make it up to her."

"Yeah, I bet you're all broken up about being snowed in with Y/N," Fred snickered.

George rolled his eyes. "Why don't you two stop pestering me and go find something useful to do?" He grabbed the plate of cookies and pushed past them.

~•~

"These are SO good. Some of the best I've ever had." Y/N helped herself to another cookie. "I didn't know you baked."

George grinned. "I'm full of surprises."

"Inventor, businessman, and baker. You're quite the rennaissance man," she complemented.

"What can I say - " George began but was distracted by Fred, Ginny, and now Ron and Harry all standing under the mistletoe making kissy faces.

"Everything ok?" Y/N asked, turning to see what her boss was glaring at, but the quartet had scattered.

~•~

One thing Y/N could say with certainty is that Weasley family knew how to celebrate the holiday. Christmas day turned out to be a raucous event of laughter, food, and a few drunken carols.

"I'm happy you're having a good time," George confessed.

"Thanks, me too," Y/N smiled. "Hey, um," she continued after a moment. "Thanks for taking such good care of me these past few days."

George beamed. "You're important - er, it was, you know, important to me that you enjoyed yourself. I know how disappointed you were not to spend the holiday with your family."

"It's okay," Y/N smiled again. "I'll see them on New Years. So, better late than never, right?"

"Right, yeah," George stammered.

Y/N nodded, uncertain what to say next, when Fred sauntered by. "Hey, look, mistletoe," he pointed over their heads.

George glared at his twin, then turned back to Y/N. "Ignore him. We don't have to do anything."

"Oh, um, well, it is tradition," Y/N ventured.

George's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah... yeah, it is... do you want to, uh - "

"Yeah, ok," she interjected.

"Right, ok," he nodded, leaning down, expecting a chaste kiss on the cheek. Instead, her lips connected with his, and he jumped back, fearing he'd messed up somehow.

"Wait," George silenced her. "That happened on purpose?"

Y/N's face blanched. "I, uh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... you're my boss. It was stupid of me to think - "

"I... well. Yeah," Y/N admitted. "But, you're my boss... "

George grinned. "I don't care, if you don't."

Y/N looked up in surprise. "What?"

"I like you too. I have for a long time," he confessed. "And if it's ok with you, I'd like to kiss you again. Properly."

"Um, ok," she smiled. "I'd like that too."

The kiss was gentle and passionate and completely interrupted by the entire family clapping and cheering, with Fred yelling,"it's about damn time!"

George and Y/N pulled back red-faced and giggling. "Welcome to the Weasley family, love," he said and kissed her again.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @lastwandastan @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe @drama-queen-fromthevault @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean @themaraudersslut @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @scooby-doo1995 @phant0mkitsune @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance @Havenater1920

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x you #hp fandom #hp universe

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verysium · 6 months

Text

『01』到着: arrival

ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi

summary: the forces of nature abide by a single law: all cataclysms are creators of their own collapse. in the wake of such destruction, rin tumbles his way down to earth, and along the staircase of heaven, a new star is born. cw: mild swearing, childhood nostalgia and growing pains, rin being embarrassing, social anxiety, sae being somewhat parental, sibling dynamics, kamakura and japanese culture, spanish lessons, very dense prose (cus i suck ass at dialogue), star analogies, orange peels and other fruit metaphors, fluff but bittersweet.

word count: 6.4k

series masterlist || next

The first word Rin learns is star.

It is spoon-fed to him in glittering globules of milk fat, dense and pooling around the gums. Stars are what he senses when rough hands slip around his torso, stuffing the nib of a plastic bottle into his mouth. He is only a week old and can't see yet, but he already knows the set of eyes he is staring into. There are tiny pinpoints of blue-green light, reflective and shiny, a mirror to his own.

The world is blurry but somehow Rin finds his own image. His newborn legs are scrunched inside a wad of cotton blankets, poised and ready to strike. Rin doesn't like being confined, but the four walls of the hospital room offer him no reprieve. He cries and bawls and screams to go back. Only the silence answers.

Rin hates this place. The world out here is a different state of mind: too bright, too loud, too much. Anything and everything has been etched into a single frame, time scorched into untouched skin. It is to the point his senses cannot handle any more.

Every morning the shadows of nurses gorge themselves on daylight, waistlines growing by the minute as they enlarge into his field of vision. They pry at the wires of his crib, brushing off invisible dust as they try so hard to make his heartbeat sync with their incessantly beating machines. His body refuses to obey. They should've known the moment he was born that he'd always be one step behind.

Rin wants to screech his head off again. This time he babbles that the milk tastes like car grease, that he'd rather die free than live in pain, but a firm hand stays the bottle between his lips, insisting on its delicacy. Rin blanches. He isn't hungry. He tries to pull away. But his mother's voice cuts through the silence, a warning.

"Sae-chan, be careful with your brother."

The two-year-old grunts, lips twisted in annoyance as he tries the balancing act of feeding a newborn with one arm. His gaze is ancient, too piercing for a child. Rin's fingers crawl up Sae's face, clumsy and blind as they grope for his nose bridge. There are stars in his older brother's eyes, ones Rin cannot reach no matter how hard he tries.

Rin ends up spilling milk on himself, crying as he drools white rivulets down his chin. If Sae could swear, he most definitely would’ve called Rin an ungrateful little shit. But Rin knows it is an honor to be born where he was. He is a legacy to someone else’s dream, both a spare and a second chance at living. He butters himself up in their nasal tongues, machinating his lips in tandem.

When his brother offers him another drink, his mouth is already open.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It turns out life outside the womb is actually far greater than it was inside. Rin learns that real people walk and talk and grow up to find something called a purpose. He doesn't understand why the adults deem it complicated though. How could something so simple take years to discover? After all, his brother has already figured out his purpose, so why couldn't he?

"Rin-chan, you must find something to do with your life," his grandmother mentions over dinner, smoothing her weathered hands down the locks of his hair. The family is gathered around the table for tea, sitting like a portrait on the zabuton. Rin tries his best to emulate, his three-year-old spine drawn taut with practiced humility.

"Your brother has already paved the way. You can do the same, can’t you Rin-chan?"

Of course he can. Rin's heard these words a thousand times before. Sae isn't called the family's star collector for nothing. His nii-chan has already amassed tens of thousands of these five-pointed shapes, a few of which sit in a glass trophy case Rin isn't allowed to touch. He’s seen this all play out before.

A fortune teller once read their futures, thumbing her way along his brother’s palms as she spilled the very same oracles. Rin still remembers that day clearly: a morning visit to the shrine, the image scattered like water. The torii unfolded like a vermillion tongue, moseying its way down Komachi Street. He had been dressed in his little navy blue hakama, toes tucked politely into his tabi, his round eyes reflecting the world like a fisheye lens. There was much to observe from the hustle and bustle of life. Peculiar squiggly lines danced along the signage of shops. Candied lacquerware displayed themselves behind glass windows. Rin even stopped to point out the goldfish hanging in their crystal bags, giggling when the force of nearby windchimes sent each fish for a tumble. One soba stop and two taiyaki ice creams later, his small feet had grown tired from the hours of excursion, and his mother carried him on her back for the latter half of the trip home.

It was then that he spotted her.

An old lady sat in a booth by the wayside, framed by colorful curtains. His father had told him that she could foresee the future with the mere touch of her hand. Sae had gone first, holding out his palm with assured poise, as if he already knew the outcome. Rin wasn’t surprised when he heard the verdict. The old lady claimed Sae was destined to become the world’s greatest star, to bring glory to the nation of the sun. Rin didn’t doubt it if this was true at the time. His brother’s existence was proof enough. Sae’s certainty was a lesson Rin learned before object permanence, before any preconventional stage of development. Nii-chan is always one way and not the other. He is on track to do something important, and nothing can sway him from it.

That was the first truth Rin learned of this world.

Even now at the family dinner, he doesn't even need to look to know that his brother is sitting with near perfect posture, the precision of still life running through his veins. Sae is an adult before he is a child, a handcrafted figurehead for the Itoshi name. Rin lifts his chin a little higher, his toddler hands raised in firm conviction.

“I’ll follow Nii-chan! Follow him to the end of the world!”

His grandmother nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Rin doesn't say anything else, quiet for the rest of the night. He doesn't understand the words she exchanges with his parents, nor does he try to. Adult talk still isn't his strong suit, especially not when it concerns the future. But his mother's eyes shine wet and proud, and his father chuckles more than usual. Rin decides his purpose right then and there.

He wants to be a star too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The day after starting kindergarten, Rin shows off his first masterpiece, cradling two sheets of rice paper as he runs up to the front door. By the time the fusuma slides open, he has already uncrumpled his work, dramatically revealing a bold shock of color. It appeared to be some sort of assemblage, painstakingly inked in blue crayon and pieced together with painter's tape.

"That's a pentagon, Rin."

"No, it’s a star! See? 1…2…3…4…5 points! Star!"

Sae isn't amused. Rin does not know why. His brother’s eyes are hardened slats of light, the still water of an abandoned lake. There are no mouths to swallow the light, no twinkling ripples at the surface, not even the gasps of glimmering excitement. There is only the mirrored slate of the sky: one shade of blue bleeding into the next. Rin feels his stomach plummet into its depths. This isn’t the soft look of pride he wanted to see. Not in the slightest.

At first he thinks about crying, his bottom lip already curled with the onslaught of a pathetic sob. But spite unfurls in his lungs, so instead he turns his nose up with huff, trying to seem unaffected. He would be very proud of his star. And it most certainly was not called a pentagon or whatever stupid name Sae learned in his stupid math class. But apparently his older brother always had something else to say.

"Just come here and erase it. I'll show you how to make a proper star."

"But I don't want to! It's my star. It's perfect!"

Rin can hardly utter another word before Sae's glare nearly freezes the living daylights out of him. Nii-chan is scary, especially when angry. He doesn't even have a choice when he sits down at the chabudai, pouting in reluctance. Sae works out his magic on paper, crafting ley lines within the grain of paper. Rin does his best to follow, licking his lips as he guides his crayon through the dotted lines. It gets increasingly difficult though when Sae's hand echoes warmly around his own, gentle but firm in its direction. Rin tries to avoid his brother's eyes, but Sae's kindness is as disarming as his gaze. Had Nii-chan always had that crease between his eyebrows? The slight upturn of his lips when he bit his tongue in concentration?

Rin tries to trace the lines, but he ends up tracing Sae's face instead. His focus isn't even on the paper when he scribbles out a mess of incomplete pentagons, some geometric concatenation he cannot translate into real-time. Sae would have pinched his cheek, scolding him in disappointment.

Sae never did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next time Rin traces a pentagon, it is on the surface of a black-and-white ball, shot like a meteorite through a football goal. His brother becomes a comet, light on his feet as he thunders down the field, weaving seamlessly between defenders. Rin can only stand on the sidelines, drowned out in his second-hand hoodie, face smushed up against the fence as he tries to get a good view. The team's been at it for hours, and Rin's pretty sure he now has the diamond imprint of chain links burnt into his cheeks.

"Somebody stop him!"

"Get after him!"

"Mark Sae Itoshi!"

There will always be someone up to the challenge of his brother's prowess, but no one ever comes close to toppling him. Rin doesn't think Sae would ever miss a single step, not when he's so far ahead. His brother is strong and calculated, absolutely unwavering in his ascent to the top. The only way Sae Itoshi could ever fall is if he buckled under his own weight, caving into himself.

Rin's eyes follow the reporters as they trail after Sae, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. They were no better than a pack of bloodhounds, desperate for a small taste of his brother's victory. How dare they? His Nii-chan outshined everyone at everything. Rin wasn't the smartest boy, but even he knew that a star could never be caught. They didn't even belong on Earth in the first place.

"Let's go, Rin."

Rin doesn't complain when his brother calls him to return home, oblivious to the media's chagrin. Like Sae, Rin is utterly indifferent to their plight, side-stepping one of the reporters who dry-heaves on his shoes in exhaustion. It was definitely their fault for failing to outrun both an eight-year-old child and his kid brother, let alone try to feast on their glittering remains. If they couldn't catch a star, they ought to eat the dust left behind. After all, that was how the world worked according to Nii-chan.

Only the best could succeed. All the rest would implode with the universe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It is the summer before his tenth birthday when Rin takes back every single one of those words. He is that reporter now, completely humiliated and exhausted as he collapses on the sidelines. The afternoon workout had just entirely rearranged his guts, so much so that he's foaming at the mouth, the remnants of his hasty breakfast speckled all over his cleats.

Out of every star in existence, the sun has to be the worst one. A pool of sweat trickles down his back, melting into a sticky discomfort along his nape. It’s too far up his jersey for him to do anything about, and he might just die from the sweltering heat.

Perhaps it was true that sports stars had to suffer in order to burn bright, but Rin would never wish this fate upon anybody. Sae is shouting at him from somewhere outside his periphery, insisting that the sun has never stopped revolving, that Rin has to never stop practicing if he ever plans on keeping up. But at this point, he could care less about a goddamn metaphor, let alone rub two brain cells together to interpret it.

"That shot was shoddy, Rin. Redo it."

"But it's so hot, I can't—”

"It's not hot. It's lukewarm. Redo it."

Sometimes Rin regrets ever thrusting himself into the orbit of his brother’s football dream. Playing on the world stage sounded so much easier in his head back then, but now it might as well have been an impossible fantasy. He most definitely wasn’t cut out for this line of work because his legs feel like shit, his arms feel like shit, and his whole body can’t even breathe under the thick, grimy layer of sweat. Blinking his eyes against the burning salt, Rin curses to himself. He should’ve taken that energy drink from earlier. At least the caffeine would have kept him sane. Sae snaps Rin out of his reverie, his thin voice seeping into Rin’s bones. There’s something softer in his tone this time.

“Suck it up and redo it. I’ll buy you ice cream after practice.”

There is silence. Rin stands back up, wiping his forehead as he stares his brother dead in the eye. The field has never been larger, and the goal has never been closer. And just like that, he is off, powering down the turf.

Under the supermassive gravity of his brother's ambitions, Rin becomes a supernova, his body charged with enough energy to last through entire lifetimes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

In the oppressive sunlight, Sae's cold stare becomes a welcome sight. Augusts in Kamakura are the products of heat waves, the sun so scorching Rin can see a visible mirage above the asphalt. The heat spares no one, and Rin feels his cargo pants stick to the crease of his thighs. Even Sae’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, unusually slick behind the ears. They had just met Sae’s agent that morning, taking the Yokosuka line back from Tokyo. Sae had even left early, planning to evade the weekend’s tourists. But neither of them ever anticipated the harshness of the afternoon heat. After nearly an hour of searching, their only refuge was this 7-Eleven, some tiny microcosm practically stowed away between two utility poles.

The oba-chan at the konbini greets them with a seasoned smile, chirping with polite bubbliness as she rings up Sae’s Garigari-kun popsicles, a total of 70 yen for the original soda flavor. Rin waits demurely in a corner, eyes drawn to his brother’s silhouette. Some oji-san sits himself down nearby, fanning himself with a newspaper as he twirls a toothpick between his gums.

“Trying to avoid the heat, eh? You and your brother come here often?”

The man looks middle-aged, crowned with an artificial toupée and a cracked tooth. His eyes dart between Rin and Sae, a knowing smile plastered on his lips.

“Nii-chan and I just found this place. We don’t come here a lot.”

“Ah. Is that so? You seem awfully young to be shopping without parents. What’s your name?”

Rin doesn’t want to answer. He hates this man already, even more so his strangeness. There’s a disarming nature to his beady eyes, like he knows something Rin doesn’t. Rin looks down at the floor, his sneakers toeing a shy line across the linoleum tiles.

“R-rin.”

“Rin-kun, eh? You must look up to your Nii-chan a lot, huh? Your gaze hasn’t left him since.”

Rin feels his throat close up, cheeks flushing with heat of embarrassment. On second thought, he hates everything about this oji-san now, even down to his obnoxious friendliness. The old man winks, bending down in a conspiratorial whisper. Rin wrinkles his nose at the stale smell of beer, feeling embarrassed for even bothering to converse. This man was clearly drunk out of his mind, and Rin secretly hopes no one else is watching him. But unfortunately, the whispers are loud enough to travel across the entire convenience store, right into Sae’s ears.

“Oh-ho? Are you blushing?”

Rin vehemently shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, Rin-kun. Your secret is safe for me. You must be your brother’s little shadow, right?” The man pumps his fist out, his voice distorted in a childish imitation. “Nii-chan's number one supporter!”

Rin’s hands ball into fists at the oji-san’s teasing, his ears red to their tips. Sae is looking at him from over the cash register now, a confused look etched onto his face. Rin clenches his teeth in annoyance. Stripped bare of all defenses, he is now analyzed for what he is. Was his admiration that obvious? Did Sae know about his feelings? He didn’t want to be taken for some stupid, awestruck fool. The old man’s question is barely answered before Rin makes a break for it, the bell on the door ringing with his sudden departure.

The road outside swirls in holographic patterns, a dizzying blend of feet and socks and concrete. Rin has to take a moment to steady himself before Sae comes up behind him, armed with a plastic bag of wrappers and blue ice between his teeth. Rin licks his popsicle with caution, burning away his shame as his tongue freeze dries itself to the candied surface. Sae crunches his ice cream in two bites, an amused lilt to his voice.

“What was that back there?”

“N-nothing! I didn’t know him.”

“You’re too shy to talk to strangers?”

“N-no…H-he was just talking to himself.”

Sae gives Rin a weird look, but he doesn’t question further. Instead, his hand reaches down to slap Rin on the back of the head, ruffling the hair there until it somehow resembles a bird’s nest.

“Next time someone asks you something, just answer. Stop acting like a damn coward.”

Rin’s entire face burns with humiliation at that comment. He wishes the ground could just open up and swallow him whole. The last thing he wants to be is the laughingstock of his brother’s dry humor, but the fact that Sae rarely even cracks a joke makes this entire situation much worse. Instead of replying, Rin follows what he does best and rapidly changes the subject. His voice trembles as he stares at his popsicle handle, noting the hiragana carved into plywood. Atari.

“Ah, look. I won a prize.”

Sae’s eyes widen momentarily, pausing in his step as he looks down to check his own stick. Less than a minute later, he grimaces, tossing it away.

“Tch, don’t waste your luck on something so meaningless.”

Rin knows what Sae means. Only becoming the best matters, and with the sparse amount of luck to go around, he might as well spend it on a real victory. The Itoshis can’t afford loss, not that they’d ever know what it was. A foreign emotion flickers through Sae’s eyes, something akin to uncertainty. Rin brushes it off as a trick of the light.

The trek back home is tinged with a golden hue, the sun milder as it cascades rays down both their faces. Sae's appearance has always been unsettling, even in the mellow glow of summer. Rin recalls his mother used to say that Sae inherited all the sharpness in the family. His mother was definitely right. Sae’s nose is too straight, the slant of his brows too unnatural. If Rin took a ruler to his face, every measurement would come back scientifically accurate. Nothing about Sae is soft. Nothing about him should be comforting. But when his brother looks at him, Rin feels someone’s breath brush across his forehead, the skin still warm from the imprint of their lips.

He grips Sae’s hand tighter, knuckles looped between calloused digits. They tread silently, all thoughts of victory forgotten, the coastal breeze whispering their names into air. Rin can’t take his eyes off his brother, and, despite his lack of situational awareness, Sae notices it too.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing… It’s just… Back at the store… If it were you, you’d never be afraid to speak up, right?”

“Of course. There’s nothing that I fear.”

Sae’s tone is stiff when he says this, his face tilted towards the horizon. Rin almost misses the slight waver in his voice. His brother does everything to keep his word. At least that much holds true. Rin silently wishes that too would never change.

Sae always looks forward, always stares towards the skyline, always plans for the future. Not once has Rin seen his older brother look fully back at him, let alone pivot toward the direction he once came from. One side of Sae’s face is always hidden, not too dissimilar to the far side of the moon. His Nii-chan might as well be some celestial body, cast under the penumbra of his own eclipse. No one could ever know him in his entirety.

Sae’s eyes must be lonely, Rin ponders. They’re trapped on opposite ends of his face, two stars that could align but never cross. He swears to always remember the constellations in his brother’s eyes.

He'd follow them wherever they took him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Sae has his eyes set on Spain: a land of gold, guts, and glory. The streets are somehow more burnt than its people, and the nation itself flickers with twisting tongues. It is also the only place where Rin cannot follow, and he is inconsolable.

Sae hadn’t even given a week’s notice before he broke the news on a Sunday, stating his plans factually over a family dinner. Rin nearly spit out his ochazuke right then and there, choking pitifully on his tea-steeped rice grains. Who in their right mind would willingly travel to a country that sees the sun for nearly three thousand hours a year? Perhaps Sae was immune to all natural phenomena, but Rin would rather die than train in that hellish heat. And most importantly, what was with the sudden announcement? Did his brother not even care about the people he was leaving behind?

He thought about it hard during dinner and even harder when Sae blow-dried his hair that night. They had both stepped out from the tub at the same time, arguing after their shared bath. Rin complained his brother turned the water temperature up too high every time, and Sae pointed out he was dripping water everywhere, the suds still stuck deep in his scalp. Their fingers had been at each other’s hair, clawing and tugging until their mother finally intervened, wrapping Rin up in the family towel as she knelt down to dry him. Rin stood there, an angry flush on his cheeks and his features pulled into a petulant sulk as he observed Sae clean himself with elegant precision, a quiet look on his face. Life at ten and a half was simply unfair. Rin couldn’t wait until he was his brother’s age. Apparently being a teenager meant Nii-chan could have his own towel, a custom gift embroidered with seagulls on the hem. Nii-chan could dry himself without any help from others, no longer needing his mother’s guidance. He could even leave the house if he truly wanted, and no one would come after him. Rin’s scowl deepens, glowering at Sae as his mother forces his little arms up, tugging the pyjamas over his head. In another life, he would’ve admitted that he was envious of Sae’s independence, the sheer effortless grace with which he carried himself. But Rin was too prideful to do that. A confession of his own failures was equivalent to suicide in his book.

The best he can do is bite his tongue, forcing back the angry vitriol that would have otherwise spilled from his lips. His brother stands on a stool behind him, blow-dryer in hand as he ruffles through Rin’s tresses, the nozzle spewing warm air across his forehead. Sae’s fingers are rough and heavy, riddled with calluses underneath, likely from the months of weightlifting and grip training. But as solid as they are, they are also nimble, delicate as bird wings as they gently comb through strands of hair. The hot air massages around his temples, and Rin feels the tender brush of something against his nape. He cannot tell if it was the blow-dryer or the warmth of Sae’s body behind him.

In the end, he decides he does not want to know.

By now, the water droplets have cleared from his skin, his locks rusted from a dark olive to a coarse black. Sae turns the blow-dryer to his own head, tousling his hair as he shakes out the excess moisture. Rin watches silently through the mirror, squeezing a fine line of mint paste down the center of his toothbrush. He chews on the plastic bristles as he contemplates, moving his arm back and forth in a repetitive scrubbing motion. Sae had inherited their mother’s hair and their father’s countenance, his visage a perfect combination of both genetic features. His obaa-san once remarked that the kami had accidentally spilled wine on Sae’s birthday, anointing his head in a rich maroon. In Japan, red is the color of all things joyous, a shade Rin identifies with the uchikake at weddings and the rope decorations his parents pin onto doors for good luck. But to be associated with joy, Rin finds that fact highly ironic. He has never seen Sae express any semblance of happiness before, except maybe the occasional grimace he tries to pass off as a smile.

Still, the connotation of their contrasting hair colors does little to ease the ache in his tiny chest. If Sae is the blood of an early sunrise, then Rin is the death before night. Black is not a marriage but a funeral, the makings of an era filled with fear, violence, and misfortune. In a way, Rin is the end to Sae’s beginning, both the antithesis and the complement.

A soft touch against his chin interrupts his thoughts, and Rin looks up just in time to see Sae retracting his hand, wiping the excess toothpaste off Rin’s chin. And in that moment, he wants to scream. How dare Sae try to leave him? To act like everything was alright. He said the end was another beginning when really it was just the end. There wasn’t any coming back from it. Sae would disappear off to Spain, and he would never come back. At least the version of Sae he was seeing now.

In the dim lights, Rin’s hair is darker than ever, the inky tendrils plastered around his ears like a vacuum devoid of light. He brings a death omen, a curse wherever he goes. In between the liminal space of bathroom mirror and tile, he divorces memory from mind, separating the flesh until it can last no longer. He’ll kill this memory of his brother if he has to, suffocating it in the most gruesome of ways. He doesn’t want to admit this might be the last time he’ll ever see Sae.

And most importantly, he doesn’t want to admit that he just might miss him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rin resolved to give Sae the silent treatment after that night, avoiding him throughout the house and acting like he was repelled by some nameless force. But his plans sadly never seem to work. The more he turns away, the more he is reeled back in, as if cast on some invisible fishing line. Now he’s here in Sae's bedroom, forty-eight hours before D-day, trying to mouth out words that aren't his own.

His brother has somehow convinced him to adopt a new language, something about how he needs to be bilingual to play in different countries. Rin didn’t understand most of it before he complied, letting himself be dragged onto his brother’s bedspread. His English flashcards sit opposite to Sae’s Spanish ones as he crosses his legs, mouthing the shapes on his brother’s lips.

Manzana. Banana. Naranja.

Translation: I am undoing everything that has ever made me whole.

In the middle of their lesson, Sae hands his brother said fruit, as if to accentuate his point. He peels the orange in a perfect spiral, thumb under the calyx as the spongy white fiber separates from ochre flesh, the pulp inlaid like jewels beneath skin. He cracks the segments hexagonally and tosses Rin the larger half.

“Naranja.”

“Naranja.” Rin repeats, curling his tongue around the foreign vowels. He catches the fruit with ease, shoving the flesh into his mouth until juice pools between teeth and his mouth is bursting with flavor. The language trickles down his throat, settling into the hollow of his larynx.

Naranja.

He looks down at his own orange, a half-imitation at best. His fingers are still stuck inside the skin, the liquid squirting into his right eye. It is sour, acrid even. The flesh has gone bad, wrinkled like soft cherries. A tangerine blooms saffron yellow beneath his nails, zest building up under the cuticle. He makes a mental note to wash his hands later.

Mi media naranja.

Unlearning, Rin decides, is a very difficult process. It makes him feel like a child again, an estrangement from his old self. Sometimes two halves aren’t enough to make him whole, and other times it is a section too much. There are many things in this world that elude his grasp. One day perhaps he will know them all. In another life, he would have been able to tell the difference between an apple and an orange, to draw the line between his half and Sae’s half. But for now, he is still discovering, still plucking and choosing, still floundering in a body he has come to hate. Rin picks up another flashcard, right next to the yellow one labeled starfruit, named estrella for each of its five points.

“What’s this one?”

“Desastre. Spanish for disaster.”

"Dis…as…star?"

"It's disaster. You have to enunciate the r."

"Dis…as…ster? What the hell even is that? Another star?"

Sae deadpans, and Rin mentally braces himself for another harsh remark, probably a brutally honest insult about his own stupidity. But this conversation has long evolved past fruits and colors and my half and your half. His brother’s eyes soften with shadows, as if bruised by something far deeper. A contusion forms beneath the surface, purpled and pained. Rin’s mind fills with confusion when Sae suddenly stares out the curtains again, his gaze strangely wistful. The room is so quiet he almost misses Sae’s answer.

"Yeah...it's a star.”

Disaster is a bad star.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The day before Sae leaves, Rin wishes on a bad star. He wakes up at an unlucky hour of dawn, slinking past a sleeping town as he goes to find his brother on the embankment near the sea. The streets bend around this corner of the peninsula, gaping like a mouth, lips pried apart at the seams. Located between a rock and a hard place, the coast of Koshigoe Beach oscillates between two types of constant turmoil, battling the erosion of natural forces from the east while facing the gentrification of construction in the west. During early mornings, the tide is sometimes low enough to expose the rocks up to the seawall, the desiccated seaweed forming fishing nets along its edge. Occasionally, the imprints of a stranger's footsteps leave behind small pockets of water, each one a home to an assorted array of abalone and oyster shells. Rin remembers the family vacations he spent here, the storm-cloaked skies. He had been so excited to go clamming after watching every episode of Chibi Maruko-Chan. In his red bucket hat and plastic shovel, he raced to the water’s edge, his little cheeks puffed out in exertion. He had anticipated sunny weather and clear skies, the glitter of rainbow sea glass, maybe even the golden sands he had seen in many of Sae’s travel brochures. But his first impression had been one of utter disappointment.

The sand was a dull, drab grey: a single expanse of color that stretched on forever across the horizon. There were no clouds, only the stinging brittle of salt stuck inside his lungs and nestled between his toes. And to make matters worse, there weren’t even any clams in the first place, no sparkling bits of the golden treasure he had been so desperate to bring home. He felt his spirits dampen with ocean spray, his little feet coming to a sudden halt as he stared crestfallen at the waters.

Rin learned two major lessons that day. One, Maruko-chan was a big fat liar. And two, he should never believe anything that he sees on screen. Unfortunately, his folly cost him a hefty price: one tantrum on the car ride home and zero pretty seashells to add to his collection. Looking back on it now, Rin feels a strange sense of comfort in his disillusionment. In all four directions, his home is still the same greyish wash of color, unchanging as the sea and as unforgiving as its waters. At least that is something he can rely on. Nowadays, the constants in his life can be counted on a single hand, and the number of childhood remnants dwindles down to even fewer.

Still, he can recall one memory clearer than the rest.

While Rin had been busy lamenting the lack of clams, Sae had tugged him by the back of his shirt, pulling him to the wayside as he stuck his fingers into the earth. Obviously, Rin was too caught up in his misery to notice, but his sniffles soon died down when he saw the faintest of bubbles lurk beneath the sandy surface. Sae taught him how to dig, how to plant feet into the ground, how to scavenge for survival. And Rin followed without question.

Soon, a cast of translucent crabs spilled forth from the pits, scuttling in massive red tides. Rin scooped some out with bare hands, sectioning them into segments: the ruby shells of a pomegranate, dividing and dividing again. He held a hermit up to the light, a look of gleeful amazement on his features. Was it their shells that determined their shape or the tender bodies inside them? Rin could never tell. All he knew was that these crabs were a different sort of treasure, ones that he cradled gently with bare hands and shielded from the foraging gulls. They were creatures meant to be loved.

The waves now break across concrete fortifications, crashing upon cubic breakwaters. By the time Rin reaches the paved promenade near the shores, Sae is already there, feet drowned in the freezing Pacific, the shirasu swimming between his toes. He doesn’t even turn when the sand crunches with footsteps, and Rin silently curses his brother’s superior senses.

“I thought I told you not to come, Rin.”

“I know....But I still wanted to.”

In Rin’s mind, it doesn’t matter if Sae didn’t want him to be there. It doesn’t matter that he should’ve never come. He’d always keep chasing this dream if it meant he could stay. In fact, any ill omen would be better than this sinking pit in his stomach, this feeling that something was about to change forever.

The twinkles of light in the sky ripple across the sea, and Rin can’t help but see the view reflected in his brother’s visage. Sae’s eyes are like the ports of Sagami Bay, hardened with the carapace of cold comfort. Absence, Rin believes, would be his brother’s ultimate paradox. Sae could do everything and nothing all at once, and he would still be both the empty hole and the overflowing home. If eyes could be waves and faces could be stars, Sae would be the coldest, but he would also burn the brightest. Right now Rin just wants some of that warmth.

“So...you’re really leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m going ahead of you now. You better catch up.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do my best to become scouted like you.”

“Right. And then onto the world. The two of us will become the best there is.”

A silence hangs between them, loose as a thread. The wind whistles across the boardwalk, stirring up small spirals of volcanic sand. Sae notices Rin’s contemplative expression, following his gaze until he finds the moon still in the sky, lit up by the fading light of Polaris. Rin prays silently, knees tucked into his chest as he clasps his hands tightly together. His soft whispers are frequently interspersed by distant murmurs of the sea.

Please let Nii-chan be safe. Please don’t let him forget me.

The sunrise is about to start, one more hour until the day fully begins. Sae has to put an end to this, or else he'll never leave.

“Stop praying, Rin. They’re just stars. They'll die before your wish can come true.”

Rin peeks an eye open, unfurling from his tucked position. He looks to the stars then back at Sae, a familiar prickling in his eyes. Sae doesn’t even need to check to know that he’s crying.

“I just...” Rin’s voice wavers, “I think I’lll miss you, Nii-chan. At least send a message home?”

“Maybe. When I have the time.”

“Oh...okay.” Rin looks down awkwardly, staring at his feet before perking up again, “Do you think our dream can be achieved in a few years? I’ll come visit you in Spain! Maybe we’ll even play for Royale together.”

“You better. Don’t slack off just because I’m not here.”

“I know. I won’t.”

Rin had never been particularly good at farewells, let alone his first one. His voice is watery now, as if liquid and unable to be contained.

“Hey...Sae?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think we’ll make it big?”

There’s a pause in the conversation, the length of it too long for Sae’s liking. For once, certainty does not come to him as easily. But Rin already knows there is a fundamental difference to the depths of his brother’s greed. Sae’s eyes harden into flints, his voice crashing across the sandy beaches, unrelenting in its harshness but still shapelessly soft.

“We have to.”

Rin doesn’t have anything to say to that. Neither of them do. If killing himself meant living forever, then Sae Itoshi would have died a long time ago.

He would have died and become a star.

author's note: to whoever made it down here, thank you for reading the words i’ve curated at the cost of my sleep schedule. this chapter was supposed to be a purely self-indulgent one-shot about rin’s character, but it quickly devolved into a multi-chapter fic (oops.) majority of the content is pulled from the official manga, the spin-off novel translations, and occasionally my own personal interpretation. the extended star metaphor is inspired by @hanyjar (my lovely moot) and franny choi's poetry in the atlantic. while the plot follows the original canon chronologically, you can theoretically read the scenes in any order, and the vignettes are meant to vacillate between different scenes and interactions. regardless, rin seeks the same path of self-destruction throughout all scenarios, even if it means losing himself. (atp he needs to go to therapy, and i need to go touch grass.) anyways, thank you for reading, and it genuinely means a lot to see people interact with my works!

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eulaliasims · 2 years

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Jayne: Does the entire family have to be here to watch me try to ask a girl out?

Chiana: Um, not everything is about you, Jayne. But also yes, because it's funny. Can you move so I can go play pinball?

#Chiana and Gaius tend to treat the older niblings more like Bonus Siblings rather than trying to be some cool/wise aunt/uncle figure lol #TS2 #Middleground #Blanch #Jayne Blanch #Chiana Blanch

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une-sanz-pluis · 6 months

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#another important poll by me #henry v #thomas duke of clarence #john duke of bedford #humphrey duke of gloucester #blanche of england #philippa of england #edward leboorde #siblings #polls

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years

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Shovel Talk // B. Wayne x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

WARNINGS: brief discussion of sex

Summary: It was the first time Bruce Wayne was introducing his partner to the world...and his kids. His very inquisitive, highly trained, pain-in-the-ass kids.

The steady, firm press of the hand against your lower back was the only constant of the night, it seemed. You were whisked to and fro to talk to various people with a tight smile on your face and honey on your tongue. Your partner kept close to your side as he warmly informed each person that you were his. Your appearance came as a surprise to Gotham society and also to Bruce’s family. Only Stephanie greeted you with a brilliant grin and a quick hug.

“So,” Tim said to the blonde as the Wayne clan sidled up next to their friend. “What’s their story? How do you know them?”

Stephanie smirked, wolfish and sharp, and tossed back the champagne that was in her hand. “Hmmm, the great detectives don’t know something? It must be eating you up. I could put you out of your misery…”

She considered her options and then shrugged. “Or I could go bully some rich assholes. Have fun! Toodles.”

Stephanie placed her champagne flute on a table, gave a little finger wave to the gaggle of fellow vigilantes, and escaped into the crowd of people. Dick glanced at Damian, Tim at Duke, and Jason at Cass. Unspoken words flowed between the pairs and they nodded.

They would figure out who this mysterious figure hanging off of their father’s arm was by the end of the night. They were determined.

Bruce finally left your side to speak with investors, leaving you to stroll through the gala on your own. It was then that the first team decided to strike.

“Hi!” Richard Grayson appeared in front of you, one hand on Damian Wayne’s shoulder. “I’m Dick and this is Damian. You are…?”

“Y/N,” you replied smoothly. “Your father has told me plenty about you two.”

“That’s interesting because we’ve heard nothing about you,” Dick said cheerfully. “How did you and Bruce meet?”

You grinned and clasped your hands in front of you. “We met at a charity event in the East End a few months ago. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. I guess he wanted to make sure I was a good fit before he introduced me to you all. How is school going, Damian?”

“Quite well,” the youngest Wayne answered. “My art class is highly stimulating.”

“Your father told me that you liked art. Have you ever been to the art museum in the city?”

“Richard has taken me once or twice.” Damian shifted his weight on his feet.

“I don’t know much about art, though, so Little D was doing all the talking,” Dick added.

“I fear my education regarding the history and styles of art is lacking.”

You shrugged. “I took a class or two on art history in the past and I’ve got a friend at the museum who gives tours. Wanna go with me someday? We’ll make Bruce buy us ice cream and everything.”

Damian glanced up at Dick, as if searching for his brother’s approval, and then back at you. He shrugged and almost appeared shy as he responded. “That would be agreeable.”

You turned to the oldest Wayne next. “You’re welcome to join us, Dick. I hear there’s an excellent photography exhibit on Cirque du Soleil right now.”

Dick blanched and he was clearly taken off guard by your response. A shy smile flitted across his face and he lost that handsome, rakish media appearance he usually kept up. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He racked his brain for something else to say, but Dick could see that you were earnest in your attempt to bond. How many times had this family scared off a potential love interest thanks to their hypervigilant secret life? And if Bruce of all people were comfortable with you, then you had to be something special.

Dick made his decision and planted his hands on Damian’s shoulders, steering him towards the hor d'oeuvres table that his other siblings crowded around in their attempt to look inconspicuous in their snooping.

“Thank you, Y/N. I see some investors we need to talk to but have Bruce set up a day for us, okay?”

“Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

The next kid you ran into was Bruce’s favorite child…and his trouble child. Jason intercepted you at the dessert table just as you were stuffing a truffle into your mouth. You glanced up at him with a wide-eyed expression and then merely held out a truffle in a peace offering. He grunted but accepted the sweet without an argument.

“So…you’re bedding the old man.” You choked slightly at his words and coughed to clear your throat before pounding on your chest.

“I mean, yeah, but he’s not paying me if that’s what you think,” you said once you could breathe properly. “Do you ask about the sexual behavior of everyone or am I just the lucky one?”

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall as he studied you carefully. “He’s not paying you? Really? How’d he get you to stay?”

“Oh, I would dump Bruce in a heartbeat. But then I would lose Alfred’s cooking and I’m not a masochist. Well, actually, I’m dating Bruce Wayne so maybe I am a masochist.”

He snorted at your comment and nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. What’s your schtick though? I mean, Bruce Wayne could have anyone he wants. Why you?”

“That’s a fair question.” You handed him another dessert, this time a mini bundt cake. “I’d like to think he keeps me around because I’m smart, invested in Gotham, and decently attractive. But between you and me?” You leaned in close so you could lower your voice and Jason took the bait, following suit and craning his neck down so he could hear your whisper.

“I know his deepest, darkest secret.” A flash of uncertainty crossed his features but you forged ahead. “The back of his left knee is the only spot on his body where he’s ticklish. He shrieks like he’s in a horror movie or something. You’re welcome.”

A wicked grin spread across his face and Jason stood up straight, his gaze clearly seeking out his adoptive father in the crowd. You patted his bicep and he darted out into the crowd with a mumbled thanks tossed in your direction. A muted shriek rose from the crowd seconds later and you hid your grin behind the glass of lemonade in your hand.

Turning to grab a final dessert, you nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sight of the girl staring at you. Cassandra raised an eyebrow at your reaction and bit down on the cupcake in her hand. You pressed a shaking hand to your chest and sucked in a long breath before flashing a smile in her direction.

“I like your shoes.”

You both glanced down at the bright purple converse on her feet and she grinned. There had been a fight with Alfred and Bruce that she won. While converse weren’t deemed “gala appropriate” or “formal”, Stephanie had gifted them to her and Cass loved them. “Thanks.”

And just like that, she melted into the crowd too.

You were chatting with Stephanie when the last two sidled up to you. Steph groaned at the sight of Tim and Duke with their shit-eating grins but you offered them a gentle smile.

“Hello boys,” you greeted. “I figured you would be showing up soon.”

“You probably know why we’re here,” Tim said, getting straight to the point. You shared a glance with Stephanie and leaned back against the wall.

“You each get three questions. Hit me with it.”

Duke perked up. “Who’s your favorite member of the Justice League?”

“Green Lantern.” Your smirk grew at the thought of Bruce’s face if he heard you say that.

“Not Batman?”

You pointed a warning finger at him. “I’ll allow that as a follow up question, but that’s the last follow up question you get. Still have two more. And no, not Batman. I might be from Gotham, but I have taste.”

“Social security number?” Tim asked. You gave him an unimpressed stare and leveled your hand up in the air before flipping your thumb down in the style of a Roman emperor deciding the fate of a gladiator.

“Try again, Timbo,” Stephanie snickered.

“Fine. Occupation.”

“Nonprofit director for a food insecurity program in Gotham. Duke?”

He considered his options for a moment and then nodded to himself. “Favorite place to eat in Gotham?”

You ignored Tim’s mutter of “this is an interrogation, Duke!” and winked at Duke. “Probably Ernie’s Burgers over on 7th. You ever try it?”

Duke grinned and raised his fist. You accepted the fist bump. “If you don’t tell Bruce, I’ll break you out of school one day and we’ll go get some burgers.”

Tim intercepted between the two of you and crossed his arms over his chest, trying and failing at looking as intimidating as Jason did. You merely raised an eyebrow at him and he deflated quickly.

“Okay, okay. Where do you currently live?”

“A studio apartment over in Otisburg. If you want, you’re welcome to stop by. I’ll try and keep your favorite snacks stocked.”

He wasn’t buying it, however. Tim was the hardest kid to crack it seemed. You looked at Duke once more and he pointed to Tim. Alright then. Two in a row.

“What is your biggest fear?”

Stephanie stiffened beside you but you accepted the question with ease. You absentmindedly played with the ring on your finger and tilted your head to the side in thought.

“Losing the people I love,” you said simply. Your gaze strayed for a moment to glance at the tall, imposing man who chatted easily with investors. Your relationship with Bruce was both new but also building for a long time. The first meeting between you two was less than ideal, but your tentative partnership and later friendship built into an undeniable attraction. And, seriously, there was a lot of denial on both parties' end.

“What are your intentions with Bruce?” Duke’s final question snapped you out of your thoughts and you couldn’t stop yourself from barking out a laugh. Stephanie dissolved into a pile of embarrassment and giggles beside you and Tim looked positively stricken.

“Am I…am I getting a shovel talk right now?” you wheezed.

“Do you need a shovel talk?” Tim asked. You shook your head and waved them off, leaning onto Stephanie for support. The blonde wiped a tear away and snickered once more.

“They don’t have a clue, do they?”

“Not one bit.”

When the night came to a close and you were seeing out the last of the guests, you found Bruce waiting for you at the base of the stairs that led to the manor. He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders as you joined him on the steps.

“Did you have a good evening?” he asked.

“Yesit was. Thank you. And the kids were darling. Damian’s an adorable sweetheart.”

His eyes narrowed at your comment and he hummed. “Yes, a regular angel.”

“You really told them nothing?”

Bruce turned you in his arms and tilted your chin up so his lips could press against yours. You tucked yourself closer to him, both savoring the body heat he offered and the rich scent of his cologne. Resting your head on his shoulder, he swayed the two of you back and forth slowly.

“They’re watching from upstairs right now, aren’t they?” you whispered.

“Mhm.” His hand traced lazy strokes up and down your back. “I’ve trained them all for years and no one caught on.”

“Think Stephanie told them yet?”

Bruce rested his chin on the top of your head and sighed. “No, we would hear it.” He drew your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the ring that sat on your finger. To some, it would appear that billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne was moving quickly. Proposing already to his mysterious partner? What would the tabloids say!

But under the moonlight and the warm lights of the manor with the eyes of all of his kids watching, the two of you knew better. The ring glinted for a moment and then, briefly, flashed blue.

You had lied to Dick. While you had met Bruce at a charity event, you had met Batman long before that on the decks of the Watchtower when Hal introduced you to the Justice League.

If there was one thing the Bat of Gotham needed, it was hope.

Tag list: @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @alexxavicry

#bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagine #batmom imagine #batmom x reader

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 1 year

Note

May I request a fanfiction about Diavolo or any of the brothers (obey me) that has a calm and collected S/O who one day just looks very grumpy and tired?

Hi Anon! Absolutely! Ooh, my first fanfic request in a while...let's see how it goes!

Pairings: Lucifer/Mammon/Leviathan/Satan/Asmodeus/Beelzebub/Belphegor/Diavolo x gn!reader (separate)

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It just was not your day.

You'd been gaming with Levi and Belphie until late last night. Then when you finally got back to you room, Satan had dragged Mammon in to work on an assignment. You had gone to bed in the early hours of the morning. As a result, you slept in, Lucifer banging on your door to wake you up. Thanks to Beel, you missed breakfast, and just when you were walking out the door, Asmo realised he had forgotten his bag. Which prompted you to realise that you had also forgotten your bag.

So when you got back to the House of Lamentation, you were just not in a great mood. Your usually calm façade was slipping quickly. All you wanted was to lay down in your bed and sleep the rest of today away.

But of course this was the House of Lamentation. There was no peace to be had there. Of course the brothers only knew bits and pieces of what had happened in the last 24 hours so when they looked up from what they were doing to see you standing, glowering in the doorway, they were surprised to say the least.

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More under the cut!

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Lucifer sighed as he heard the door slam. He really had to tell his brothers to be more careful with the house. But as he turned to chastise whichever sibling had disrespected the front door, he caught a glimpse of your tired, angry face.

There aren't many things that make the first born blanch. But in that moment, he felt an unnatural stab of fear.

He quickly shook off the feeling. As your partner and someone Diavolo had trusted to look after the exchange student, Lucifer needed to make sure you were okay.

He gestured for you to meet him in the next room, away from his brothers. As he turned, he saw you roll your eyes and he bit down the rising wave of anger. You were having a bad day, it was to be expected.

"Are you alright? You seem tired."

You nodded tritely. "Late night. Bad morning."

Lucifer recalled that he had needed to wake you up that morning, something that rarely happened. He guessed his brothers must have kept you up last night with their foolish whims.

He sighed again. "I'll make sure you get an early night tonight. Don't worry about any work you have to do. I'll take care of it."

The first smile he had seen lit your face at his words and he felt his pride soar. Even if it was a small gesture, he'd managed to make you feel better. He'd count that as a win.

Lucifer poked his head into your room a few yours later to see you curled up under the covers. He silently walked over to the bed and pulled another blanket over your sleeping form, brushing your hair out of your face as he did so.

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As soon as he heard the door slam shut, Mammon's fight or flight instincts kicked in. Usually that only happened when one of his brothers was mad (Lucifer especially) and when that was the case, he was usually the one they were after.

So when he saw you standing in the doorway, he was surprised (and a little ashamed).

"Hey human. How ya doin'?"

The look you gave him was so foreign on your usually calm face that Mammon actually took a step backwards. But he didn't get to where he was without having a good sense of how to stay out of trouble. So he walked over to you, stretching out a hand to rub your shoulder.

"Y'okay?" His voice softened. This wasn't like you, something must have happened. He could see the bags under your eyes.

Oh. That's right. You were up last night trying to help him study. A twinge of guilt twisted his stomach. Maybe he was responsible for this.

"C'mon! Follow me." He grabbed your hand and tugged you behind him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"My favourite human and partner's havin' a bad day and it's my job as ya first man to change that!" He could feel his cheeks and ears burning and he looked forward determinedly so you wouldn't see his blush.

As a result, he didn't see the small smile that touched the corners of your lips. Your first man was on the job to make sure your day got better.

The snacks were scattered over the table and the movie’s credits were rolling before Mammon noticed that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Sweet dreams human.”

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Leviathan almost jumped out of his seat when the door slammed. His game jumped from his hands and he scrambled to catch it. Once it was secure again he turned to see who had almost made him drop his precious device, ready to yell at them.

He was used to seeing grumpy looks from people (even if they were only in his mind sometimes) but seeing that look on your face was something he wasn't used to.

His immediate instinct is to think you've finally gotten fed up with him. He knows it’s just his sin speaking but he can’t help the intrusive thoughts. You stayed up late playing video games with him last night, and now you-

Oh. You stayed up late last night. He knows when he goes a few days without sleeping, he gets irritable. Maybe you just couldn't go quite as long as he could before that happened.

As you stormed to your room, Levi followed you at a distance, saving and closing his game. When you reached your room, he approached you quietly.

"Hey." His voice was soft, "You want to relax together? We can watch your favourite anime? The new season just stared right? We can rewatch the rest to catch up."

You smiled. Levi watching something you wanted to rather than rewatching The Tale of the Seven Lords meant a lot. "Yeah, I'd like that."

You only watched the first two episodes before you slipped into a comfortable slumber. Levi pulled a blanket over you and turned down the volume of the show. He’d stay here until you woke up. After all, he needed to see what happened in this show his partner loved so much.

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Satan recognised that look. It was an outward display of an emotion he felt more than he cares to admit.

He felt bad for you. He knows what it's like to have days where everything is just too much and there was nothing you could do to keep it together other than try to scare everyone away.

He also knew that it was partly his fault. Mammon had been pestering him to help him study and he’d lost his patience, dragging him over to your room for some extra help. He should have dealt with his brother on his own and let you have some well-deserved peace and quiet.

If this was his fault, it was also his responsibility as your partner to help you feel better, as you had helped him so many times before.

He slipped a bookmark into his book and closed it, tucking it under one arm as he stood. He caught your gaze, so full of tired anger, and tilted his head in the direction of your room. He saw your shoulders drop almost imperceptibly and you followed him.

When you reached your room, Satan turned to face you. “Go on. You head in and get changed into your pyjamas. I’ll be back in ten minutes with some of your favourite books from my collection. I’ll read to you.”

You felt tears prick the back of your eyes as you smiled at him.

True to his word, Satan brought back all of your favourite books. He tucked you under the covers, your head on his lap and he read to you, his voice low and smooth. Only a few pages in and you were already asleep but Satan read on. He wanted to still be here when you woke up.

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Asmo audibly gasped when he saw the grumpy look on your face. Didn’t you know that sort of expression would give you wrinkles?

Well, he knew just what to do! You’d grabbed his bag for him this morning when he’d forgotten it so the least he could do was share his bath and his favourite self-care products with his lovely partner!

Asmo jumped out of his seat and grabbed your hand, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to tell him that you just weren’t in the mood right now. He didn’t stop until you were standing in his bathroom.

“Alright, get undressed and I’ll run the bath!”

He was off before you could even protest. The lights were turned down and a few dozen candles scattered around the room were lit, their flames dancing softly. Asmo dumped his favourite bubble mixture into the bath and lined up the skin care and hair products he knew would work best for you.

As you climbed into the bath, Asmo slid in behind you. When he had taken his clothes off, who knew, but he was pouring shampoo into his palm before you could properly register the situation.

“Lean back, let me wash your hair.”

You smiled as you leant back onto his chest. Some self-care would be good after the day you’d had.

Asmo smiled down at your sleeping form. The bath had had just the relaxing effect he had hoped for and now you were blissfully lost in your dreams. Now he just needed to figure out how to get you out of the bath, dried, changed, and into your bed. Oh well, he could rest here a bit longer.

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Beel felt terrible. It was entirely his fault that you hadn't had any breakfast. Demons could go a while without food but he knew humans weren't like that. He should have restrained himself.

So he had foregone his afternoon workout to drop by Madam Screams to get your favourite snacks. Of course he had picked up a few for himself but he had been waiting until you got home before he started.

Now, he picked up the picnic basket full of food and waved you over. Your expression lightened slightly as you walked over. No doubt you could smell the food. Beel knew he would have the same reaction if he was in your place.

He gently took your hand and led you to your room. He had been in earlier and set up a small picnic blanket on the floor, accompanied by a vase of flowers and an assortment of cushions. He let got of your hand and placed the basket on the floor, opening it up to reveal the food inside.

“I wanted to apologise for breakfast. So I got you this.” He patted the pile of cushions next to where he was sitting.

You took the seat gratefully and began helping him take the snacks out of the basket. All of your favourites were there and you felt touched by his thoughtfulness. Beel made sure you ate your share before he had any, restraining his sin to show you how truly sorry he was.

You were stretched out on the floor, nestled in cushions, curled into Beel’s side. He lifted a hand to wipe a stray crumb of food from your cheek before wrapping his arm around you. He knew he should carry you to bed…but a few more minutes snuggled up with his partner right here wouldn’t hurt right?

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Belphie almost fell of the couch when the door slammed shut. He had just been about to find out who the mastermind behind his dream escapades was when he was rudely awakened. He picked himself up off the floor and turned to see who had woken him up.

Yikes! If you’d looked like that when he’d broken out of the attic, he would have had second thoughts about whether you were really human. That look was certainly equal to some glances he’d caught from demons before.

He remembered last night’s gaming extravaganza with you and Levi. As avatar of sloth, he could feel the exhaustion rolling off you in waves. Well, he was certainly the best person to help fix that.

He threw a pillow at you before grabbing one of his own and a blanket and waving for you to follow him into the observatory. When he stopped and turned around, he thought he glimpsed a shimmer of mischief in your eyes, as though you were about to retaliate for the pillow he’d thrown at you. But you just laid your pillow down next to his.

He stretched out on the ground and pulled the blanket over both of you. Almost instantly, he felt the pull of sleep. But first, he needed to make sure his partner was comfortable.

He felt you shift as you turned to face him. “Thanks Belphie. I needed this.” You curled into his side and closed your eyes, breathing almost instantly settling into that of someone fast asleep.

Belphie let sleep overtake him as well as he turned to wrap his arms around you.

A few hours later, Belphie’s eyes fluttered open. He gazed down at you and sensed that you were still sleeping deeply. He pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead before closing his eyes and letting sleep pull him under again.

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Diavolo shot Lucifer a disapproving glance as soon as he saw you slam the front door of the House of Lamentation behind you. Why was his favourite transfer student not their usual self? He watched you storm off to your room before turning back to Lucifer.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to postpone our meeting.”

Lucifer nodded, gathering up the papers on the table between them. Diavolo made his way to your room, knocking gently on the door.

“Go away. I’m not in the mood right now.” Your voice was muffled through the wood.

“Not even in the mood to say hello to your loving partner?”

He heard you moving and stepped back as you opened the door. Now that he was closer to you, he could see the dark circles under your eyes. You opened the door wider to let him in. He slipped through and, before your could react, had scooped you up in his arms. He carried you over to your bed placing you gently on the mattress.

He walked back over to the door before turning to face you again. “Get changed and let me know when I can come back in. Then you can tell me about your day.” And he closed the door behind him.

When you called out to him, Diavolo re-entered the room, locking the door behind him. He sat down on the bed next to you and stretched out an arm, laying it over your shoulders. “So. How is my favourite exchange student.”

And he listened to you as you explained your day, voice growing softer as you felt sleep creeping over you. When you had been silent for a few minutes, Diavolo checked on you. He smiled when he saw that you were asleep. After the day you’d had, you certainly deserved it.

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