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bluegarners · 3 years

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“Damian takes a pic with a mall santa, chaos ensues”~ anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts

“I do not see why traveling here was necessary.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dami! We’re going gift shopping!”

“Clearly. However, actually going to this cesspool of idiots is ridiculous. The internet exists for a reason, Richard. It is about time you learned how to use it.”

“That takes all the fun out of it though,” Dick pouts, landing a hand in Damian’s perfectly combed hair. “It’s practically like a tradition at this point. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to actually look at what you’re buying and not just try and guess what it’s like through a screen. What if it wasn’t like you wanted? What then?”

“Returns exist as well,” Damian grumbles, swatting at the hand still latched firmly to his scalp. “If the purchase is void, then a simple return is all that is necessary to begin again.”

“For once,” Tim sighs, cringing a bit at the obnoxious mall-music and over enthusiastic sales people trying to approach him, “I agree with the brat. This is uncomfortable and just… over the top. I know what I’m looking for, and reviews on products help determine if the thing is actually good. There isn’t any reason to be here, Dick.”

“On the contrary, my beloved brothers,” Dick grins, mouth stretching impossibly wide as his eyes land on something in the distance, “There is actually a fantastic reason for us to be here.”

As if deciding on something, Dick nods to himself before quickly turning around and clapping his hands together. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re already here and it would be a waste to drive back after it took us an hour to get here, so we are staying.”

Cue the simultaneous groans.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dick reprimands. “Let me finish. You guys can do anything you want. It’s the freakin mall, so it’s got other stuff than just stores. I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s legal. You could even just hang out in the food court, as long as you’re doing something. I need to do a couple things, but I will call you when I’m done and we’ll rendezvous somewhere.”

“You are leaving me here?” Damian asks, surprised. “With Drake of all people?”

Dick leans down to ruffle his hair again, but Damian moves away, a dark scowl edging its way onto his brow. “No, I refuse to be left alone with this imbecile.”

“As if I’d want to babysit you in the first place,” Tim mutters, glaring at the youngest.

Dick smiles pleasantly, a contrast to the way he squeezes both of their shoulders tightly, pulling them closer to him.

“We’re not going to have any problems, right boys?” he asks sweetly, eyes crinkling. “Because it would be a shame if I had to make use of that lovely return policy on all the gifts I had planned this year.”

“Do you take me for a child-”

“Seeing as this is the last week I have left in Gotham, it would be quite the disappointment if I didn’t get to train surf with either of you before I leave again too.”

Damian shuts his mouth quickly, the idea of banning dual patrol before the eldest’s departure more threatening than lost gifts.

“I don’t like train surfing,” Tim says smugly, crossing his arms in victory, “and I don’t like playing babysitter.”

Dick slowly tilts his head towards him, and the strain in his smile is enough to make Tim wither a bit.

“All I’m asking for is maybe an hour of alone time while I get some stuff done. You don’t have to do anything together, you don’t have to go shopping if you’re so adamant on doing it online, and you don’t have to eat. Just please stick together. That’s all. Please, Tim.”

His resolve lasts all of four seconds before it crumples, and Tim looks to the side as he groans out a forlorn, “Fine.”

“Great!” Dick exclaims, an easy smile blooming back onto his face. “I’ll see you guys in an hour.”

And just like that, Dick disappears into the crowd, leaving behind two very disgruntled boys in his steed.

They stand there, refusing to acknowledge one another’s presence, before Tim sighs again and thinks, Well, might as well be a big brother. Holiday spirit and all that jazz.

“Okay,” he starts, half-way turning to face the youngest again, “Is there anything you want to do?”

Damian doesn’t say a word.

“Any stores?”

Silence.

“They, uh, have a movie theater in here. Any movies?”

Damian still refuses to open his mouth.

Well, fuck me, I guess, Tim bemoans, having the inability to think of anything worse to do than spend his Saturday afternoon looking after the gremlin in his charge.

Suddenly, Damian turns on his heel and begins walking away. Tim frowns, chancing a quick glance behind him to see if Dick was secretly watching them and if he could make a break for it, but decides against it at the last second. A happy Dick Grayson was infinitely easier to deal with rather than a disappointed one.

Everyone knew disappointment was worse than anger.

He follows Damian quietly, keeping his distance and sidestepping the insane amount of people and sellers, all looking to get something. Tim doesn’t hate people, per-say. He finds them fascinating at times, but when he’s not looking to be fascinated, he just finds them uncomfortable to be around. Noisy, touchy, and all around obnoxious. There were precious few people Tim could say he liked to be around, and these strangers in the enormous mall were not them.

Damian walked with purpose, easily evading others and taking turns as if he knew where he was going. Perhaps he did, but Tim can’t recall a time where any of them actually frequented the mall often enough to know where things were. At least without looking at a map or asking an employee.

A minute later and Damian vanishes from sight. In a blink, he’s gone from the endless swirl of people and Tim panics slightly. How does someone lose a child so quickly? How is that possible? He was literally right in front of him, Tim had his gaze locked on the green hoodie, but it’s as if the brat was made of air. Poof, gone.

He pauses, turning this way and that in search of the elusive Wayne. It was unfortunate that the brat was shorter than the average 13 year old, if only by half an inch, but now was not the time to goad over heights. Tim is tempted to just text Dick and say he lost Damian, but hearing that in his head, after literally five minutes of being alone, does not sound like a fantastic idea. He can practically predict the lecture that would follow, words of, “Come on, I know you guys don’t get along super well, but he’s your brother,” and “I was gone for all of two seconds- how did he escape so easily?”

Tim groans, a common thing he’s been doing ever since they stepped into the epitome of capitalism, and resigns himself to continuing the search. Oh, he was so going to beat the brat during their next spar. This entire thing was not worth the discounts.

Damian smirks as he watches Drake fiddle around like a fool, searching blindly for him. If Drake had actually been paying attention, he would have seen Damian step into the small candle store to the right, hiding behind an outrageous depiction of Saint Nick practically shoving some holiday scent down his throat.

As it were, though, Drake was a twit with half the brains of a goldfish, and Damian feels a sense of satisfaction wash over him as the older teen walks away in the opposite direction.

He was free and alone. Perfect.

Well, not really.

Damian had agreed to go to the mall in the first place on the condition that it would just be he and Richard. It had sounded somewhat enjoyable, Richard hinting at some sort of surprise, but he was greatly displeased at the sight of another figure waiting for them in the car. Of all the people in the world to choose from. Of all the available and useless ignoramuses out there, Richard just had to ask Drake to come along.

Of course, he immediately protested because he had been promised that it would just be the two of them, but Richard insisted and used that horribly childish face with wide eyes and saddened sulk and giving in, at that point, was the only wise decision Damian could make from then on. In no way did he plan on spending this hour with Drake, awkwardly attempting conversation and suggestions that sounded boring enough to sleep to.

So, his plan of action was simple and executed flawlessly. All he had to do for the next 50 minutes was stay out of sight of both Drake and Richard, and the rest of that time was his to do with as he pleased.

He had already chosen gifts to present later on in the week, there was no need to do extra shopping, so all there really was to do was explore.

Which is exactly what he did for the next forty minutes before he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out, squinting at the caller ID of Grayson.

He lets it ring for a few seconds, some part of him thinking the wait as some sort of pay-back for betraying his promise, and answers on the last ring.

“Damian?” Richard says, urgency coloring his voice.

Instantly, Damian is paying more attention. “Yes? What is it?”

“I need you to meet me at the center, it’s important.”

“The center?” Damian mutters, scanning the crowded walkways for a map. “Why? What is happening?”

“I’ll fill you in when you get here, okay? Just get here as fast as possible.”

“Affirmative.”

Richard hangs up first and Damian begins searching for the nearest wall-map. He finds one and tsks when he sees he’s in the far west region of the mall, the center, if he walked like a normal person, taking upwards of about five minutes to reach.

He’d been given no details, nothing except the urgent lilt in Richard’s voice, a dead give away to how nervous he was. Nervous about what though? What could possibly make Nightwing frantic in an area like this? It must be something mildly bad, or at least dangerous for civilians, for Richard to call him. Crowd control possibly.

He hadn’t heard anything other than the usual noise of the populace, so Damian rules out a fire or some maniac shooting. There doesn’t seem to be an urgency in the way the crowd shifts, no clear tell for panic.

His phone vibrates again and Damian immediately answers.

“Where are you?” Richard asks, that same nervousness pitching his voice.

“I am near a clothing store: Urban Outfitters,” he responds, picking up his pace slightly.

“Hurry,” Richard pleads. “You need to be here in two minutes or less or else I might- just hurry, please. When you reach the center, there will be a large Christmas tree off to the right. I’m over there. Find me when you get here.”

“Wait, Richard-” but Damian can’t get anything else in before the older man hangs up again.

The vagueness of the situation begins to worry Damian as well, doing as asked and trying his best to weave in between people and their annoying need to create a stiff, horizontal line wherever they walked. He curses when a little girl holding an absurdly shaped stuffed animal darts out in front of him, oblivious to the obstruction she’s caused.

She trips and falls, slapping into the smooth tile. Damian is tempted to walk around her, unmoved by her pitiable cries for her clumsiness, but when he glances back and sees no one else, no parent or sibling or literally any other bystander willing to help her, he rolls his eyes and turns back around. He holds out a hand and pulls the little girl to her feet, her tears silenced by the strange act of kindness.

“Where are your parents?” he asks gruffly, anxious as the precious seconds tick by.

“Uhhhh….I don’t know.”

I should’ve kept walking, Damian thinks to himself.

Tim is practically giddy with excitement. Dick stands behind him, arms crossed and peering over the heads of countless other parents and children, in search of Damian.

After having wandered around in a vain search for the brat, Tim had finally given in and texted Dick, apology in tow, when Dick had told him to meet him in the center of the mall. There, Tim had spotted the eldest standing in a long line filled with kids no older than eight and tired parents, disheveled and attempting to keep their children’s hair neat.

As soon as he’d tapped on his shoulder, Dick had reared around, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he said, “It’s tradition to get a picture with Santa.”

Tim less than fondly recalls his own picture with the infamous mall Santa, the old man smelling of cigarettes and too spicy cologne to mask it. All the bat-kids had taken a photo with the cheap Santa at some point or the other, Tim having been the oldest to do so at fifteen. Dick had taken his when he was ten, and Jason at eleven.

However, once he registers the actual words that had come out of Dick’s mouth, Tim feels something close to euphoria rise in his chest as he now understands it was the brat’s turn to sit on off-brand Santa’s lap and have his picture taken. Oh, would that be a sight to behold. Chaos to be sure. Most likely some screaming as well. A lot of protest and cursing. Maybe even some tears.

A sight to behold.

“I knew you guys wouldn’t stick together,” Dick explains, “So I figured I’d call you over here earlier. Then, I’ll call Damian once we’re close to the front and act like it’s an emergency so he’ll have no choice but to come quickly.”

Tim was impressed. “You know,” he says, eyeing Dick, “You’re a lot more evil than everyone thinks.”

“The term you’re looking for is evil mastermind, Timmy.”

“Uh huh,” Tim jokes, excitement building in his bones as he notices they’re only two spots away from what is destined to be the greatest moment of his life.

“Look! I see him!” Dick exclaims, pointing in the far distance.

Indeed, there was Damian in his green hoodie, half-jogging, half-walking as he headed towards the Christmas tree Dick had directed him to.

“We’re next,” Tim says anxiously, glancing at the teenager dressed as an elf, who was probably wondering why the two of them were standing in a line meant for children.

“It’s fine,” Dick reassures, his own thrill building. “He’ll be here.”

And, as if one cue, because malls are where miracles happen, Damian calls out, “Richard!”

Dick waves him over, compulsion in every movement of his arm. “Hurry, Dami!”

The teenager elf is now guiding them into the “Miracle Circle” and Dick yanks at the sleeve of Damian’s hoodie before he can even register what’s happening. Tim has to keep a hand over his mouth in order to stop himself from snickering at the bewildered look on the youngest’s face, eyes blown wide as he takes in the bright lights and tinsel.

“Richard,” he growl-whispers, “What is this?”

“Tradition,” Dick answers, tugging him closer to the overweight man sitting on the massive throne. “And it’s time you partake in it. I let you get away from it last year because I lost track of time, but not this year. This year, Dami, is where you finally experience,” he leans in closer, nearly whispering, “the joys of a mall Santa.”

“No,” Damian says, aghast as Dick pulls him closer and closer to the center. “No, I refuse. Unhand me this instant.”

He is powerless though against Dick’s firm grasp and excellent navigation skills. Everyone is watching. Everyone is staring.

“Hello there, little one,” mall Santa booms, arms out stretching as he reaches for Damian. “Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you’d like for Christmas.”

“Richard,” Damian pleads, struggling as he eyes the suspicious fake beard, “If you do this, I will never forgive you.”

“I’m sorry, Dami,” Dick amends solemnly, a lie written all over his face. “I have to. It’s tradition.”

Faster than even Damian can react, Dick is sweeping him off his feet and plopping him onto the lap of a complete stranger.

“What’s your name?” mall Santa asks, Damian recoiling at the rank breath.

“Let me go,” he demands.

“Oh ho ho,” mall Santa chuckles, stomach jostling like a gross bowl of jelly. “We haven’t taken our picture yet!”

Mall Santa points a little off to the right, and it is with horror does Damian spot not only Richard, but Drake, Father, and Pennyworth aiming cameras at him.

Drake waves at him, shit-eating grin plastered shamelessly on his face. Richard is cooing through his phone, oo-ing and awe-ing at the scene. Father looks at least a little bit sympathetic, pity spelled out over his face as he watches his youngest son try to free himself from the mall Santa’s surprisingly strong grip. Pennyworth takes one picture, quickly putting away his phone.

Damian is sure that the one picture is enough to spell doom for the rest of his life.

“You know,” mall Santa whispers, nearly suffocating Damian in the vice-like hug he’s trapped in, “Most kids smile when they take pictures with Santa.”

“I am not inclined to smile for a pedophile,” Damian snarls back.

“Well,” mall Santa sighs, voice suddenly less cheery, “I guess that means you’re on the naughty list then, you little shit.”

Damian stills in his struggle, eyes widening as he turns to meet the green eyes of the man who holds him.

“Todd?” he hisses, humiliation rising as the man just chuckles, winking.

“Happy holidays, little boy,” Jason cheers, playing up the act. “If you’re good, Santa might-”

The next morning, the top headline from the Gotham Gazette reads,

Christmas Chaos: Youngest Wayne Punches Santa!

The article gets framed above the tree in their living room, and Damian waits for the day to exact his revenge. Soon. Soon.

#dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson & damian wayne #dick grayson & tim drake #chaos #fluff #santa #fanfiction #prompt #writing #anon #12 Batfam prompts #batfam #my fic

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revan-posting · 4 years

Note

Hi, so I wasn't quite sure if you were asking for prompts to write when you reblogged the ask, but if you were you could do #8: "Don't act so innocent" with Din and Grogu? No worries either way!

Hello uwu no worries 💕✨ Hope you like it 🎉

#8 "Don't act so innocent" from this prompt list

Mando & Grogu, & frogs:

Warmings: none. Just children being children.

The kid was being a pain in the ass every morning. That's what Din says in a lovely way. He doesn't understand many things Grogu does but many of them are celebrated, and others makes Din to want the child to be caged so he can breathe for a damn second.

This was the third time Mando tried to sleep, arms crossed on his armoured chest and head resting on the back of his pilot seat. Din also tried to ignore all the noise Grogu was doing until the silence invaded the whole ship.

"Kid?" Mando was looking for the child still with eyes closed on his seat. No answer.

Usually, the kid never responds but, at least, gave a sign he was listening to the Mandalorian. Or a sign he was still alive.

"Kid? What are you doing?" Still with no answer. The anxiety was starting to embrace him. This is not good.

"Damn it, kid. Where are you?!" Din straightened on his seat sharpening his ear. No, this ain't good, at all.

Within seconds, mando jumped from his seat to the ladders. Searching every corner and dark place of the ship with no success, no hint. Nothing.

"C'mon. This place is not big enough to hide. Grogu, where the kriff are you?"

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." He had to land, he needed to.

----

Who knows where they are now, but it seems safe enough for a quick stop. It was a bit foggy and humid, not a great weather for someone who wears an armor.

"KID?" Din was searching that little green nightmare everywhere, again. Now that the ship was on land and left the door open, Grogu could run away easily, as easily could be robbed. The Mandalorians was starting to consider the idea of putting a tracker on the child, or to hire someone to keep an eye on him while he tries to sleep.

"Hey, kid. Are you hungry?" If one thing the child would might respond with, it's food. He eats like he's been starving his entire life. Sure a kid needs to be feed a lot but this is ridiculous.

Suddenly, there's a sound. Finally he listens to something, like an odd echo disappearing in the distance. Coos and little feather steps on the way but nothing else. Where? He cannot know, but it might be close. Then, the metalic echoes die. Great.

Din opens the little compartment where he and the child sleep, sighing loudly and frustrating. Maybe he should give up for a moment, it's not that bad. Grogu might be a kid but knows how to protect himself... Sometimes. "Who am I kidding? HE'S A CHILD, DAMN IT", restraining the desire to take off his helmet and throw it away, bury his face on the pillow and yell due the bad minutes of sleep and the fear of loosing his baby.

His baby? All this is supposed to be a mission, that's it. Even if he chuckles every time he says his name and the kid looks at him expectantly, or how tender is the curiosity Grogu has about everything around, or when he uses his powers to catch the little metal ball he likes to play with and is so exciting to see this energy that Din probably would never understand nor could explain but watching it is such a beauty and an amazing experience.

Is Grogu just another mission? No, he's not.

Another sound distracts the Mandalorian from his thoughts. A bit away from his current point but clearly. He goes outside the ship looking around desperately, activating his visor to see footprints or something familiar. More he walks, more frogs are singing in the road. The kid must be here, these frogs are little enough to be eated by Grogu, and big enough to fill his stomach for a while. There's a lake covered by mist and full of frogs but no sign of the kid. This is getting worse.

"Damn it".

---

Din spent half of an hour wandering the area. The frogs became annoying and a big headache was taking the best of him in the moment. Tired and frustrated, Din returned to the Razor Crest. Sat down in the ramp and took a while to breath. The weather wasn't helping and the helmet was a damn sauna.

The coos were getting closer and closer. The man didn't pay attention to it until it felt something beside him. Grogu was sitting right beside Din, watching his big partner look at the floor with both elbows on his knees.

Din naturally turned his glance to the small figure and didn't react. He just saw the kid there, holding a little frog.

"Aren't you gonna eat it or what?" Din asks.

The little creature holds the frog carefully to evade its escape and offers it to Mando, cooing looking for his approval.

"I'm not hungry, kid. You should eat it before it runs away", his voice was calm and comprehensive.

Grogu didn't give up on his offer, and lifted again the little frog to Din.

"Don't act so innocent, kid. I thought I lost you, you little womp rat." Took the kid with his frog on his arms and looked for a box in the ship to place the frog.

With the kid still on his arm, went to the lake and picked up more frogs for the trip. Either if Grogu was going to play with them or eat them, it's something to keep him busy during their next stop, or the next minutes of sleep Mando needs.

-----

Now Din wonders if taking a lot of frogs was a good idea now he has to wake up because of them croaking and jumping on his bed.

#you may request #fic request #the Mandalorian #star wars #din djaren #grogu djarin #grogu #former baby yoda #fanfic prompt #pedro pascal #baby yoda #im so sorry if this is a weird fic but I didn't expect a request and im a bit tired #still i wanted to finish it before go to sleep or I'll never write it

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 4: Letter's From No One

Frank had been having a bad day before seven people landed on top of him, this just wasn't improving things.

There were several groans and mutters of yet more discomfort, but even more sounds of relief as one by one they all got to their feet and stretched, glancing around wearily at their surroundings, all wands now drawn in the open space of a house they may never have been in, but from description had a fair idea of where they were.

The plush carpet was thick and white, and smelled strongly as if it had just been shampooed, leading the boys to instantly wish their trainers were dirtier. Directly in the next room was a proper looking telly adjacent to a fireplace, the mantel of which did indeed hold numerous pictures of who must be Dudley. Behind them led into the kitchen, almost hard to look at it was gleaming so brightly in a high noon sun, Alice quite positive she may be able to see her reflection in the tiled floor which was beautifully done in various shades of pink perfectly distributed in a diamond pattern, with a mahogany table polished enough to eat off of sat center stage.

The whole place was almost eerily clean, too sterile, like breathing on the wrong thing would spark dust and send someone into a frenzy.

So the first thing James did was go over to the sideboard carefully constructed on the wall in the living room full of glass figurines, picked the nicest china plate he could with petunia's delicately painted on in ornate blue designs, and chucked it through the window that led onto the open lawn in a mockery of a disc throw.

Lily frowned reproachfully at this behaviour, but turned dismissively away as his three friends followed him curiously into the living room and instead addressed Alice and Frank more directly. "Well, I clearly didn't reverse anything, and I do apologize for that."

"I'm hazarding a guess you somehow made it worse," Alice agreed, not exactly trying to be malicious, but considering they weren't even on the school grounds, or in fact had any clue how they'd actually wound up here, she couldn't bring herself to be in much of a gracious mood either.

"Anybody else at all concerned if those Dursleys are around?" Frank asked with a hint of worry, still glancing around as if expecting a bull to charge him any moment. "I'd not particularly like to meet this Vernon." Especially while watching the elder Black transfigure pictures of Dudley into actual baby piglets upon the mantel where they were now squealing in fright.

"Speak for yourself," Lupin said in disgust, prodding his wand against the television with a calculating look in place. There was a fizzle, sparks for a moment, then it was steaming while also flashing upon the screen images ranging from witches on brooms to, well, more adult channels.

Pettigrew was doing something equally noteworthy they were all sure underneath the sofa that he'd wriggled himself under. It was now levitating a few inches off the ground, only his feet sticking out, and they could hear a faint humming noise as he worked.

Lily was continuing to address the other three without acknowledging any of them, without being able to entirely hide a slightly vindictive glint in her eyes with her back to them all. "Listen, this is getting ridiculous. We need to find some way to get help, maybe figure out a way to get to the Ministry and find a way to reverse all of this."

"I've a question," Regulus spoke up. There wasn't a trace of unease in his voice while speaking, but still he seemed to be having trouble really looking at any one person. "Exactly what year is it?" He was looking strategically around the house. "Petunia should still be your age, yes? Which means she shouldn't even be married to this man yet, let alone this house, and, well..." he gestured to everything around them, and Lily's face paled an extra degree, even the Marauders stopped in their tracks as they fully realized this. "I'm honestly rather concerned if anything we know exists right now."

Lily turned on the spot and tried to go to the door without further ado, but like the cupboard before, no amount of magic or brute force was even putting a dent in it. James tried to climb out the window, breaking the rest of it remorselessly so it was much safer to climb through of course, but could not get so much as a finger out the window no matter how many more objects he threw that managed it just fine.

In a last ditch attempt, Peter ran to the back door in an honest panic and wrenched at the sliding glass that he nearly ran into it was so free of streaks, but it too refused them access to the outside world.

Alice kept at the broken window and began shouting out of it for help, but soon realized she could be doing the same until her voice was no more and no one would come.

"What did we do!" Lily shrieked, clutching fistfulls of hair, her green eyes flashing a sickly color and swimming. "Did we actually manage to break the world!"

"Alright, alright, no panicking!" Frank quickly waved for silence, trying to find some control and still going over to Alice, putting a comforting hand on her slightly shaking shoulder and refusing to let his hand join as he spoke. "Something is clearly happening. Now that, that book," he gestured to where it had been left just inside the cupboard in their haste, "clearly has something to do with it all, getting through it is clearly getting us around. So, maybe, if we finish it-"

"We'll get things back to normal," Alice finished for him, her voice far calmer than her small shivers let on.

There was still hesitation and unease for this, as if no one wanted back near the little book now that the full might of its powers was realized.

Yet Remus had one reason in particular he'd like to not be trapped in this cycle for the foreseeable future and would like to have things done, so he found it in himself to be the one to continue this. It wasn't even hard to find his place, the first chunk of pages were completely blank again. The next chapter, Letter's From No One, and the first sentence were the only thing visible in the book.

"Right then," James nodded at him when he got started, all of them with a good idea what the chapter title referred to considering this was from the point of view from a kid raised with Muggles. Wincing at the idea of being trapped in that cupboard for any length of time considering his recent foray in there, and quickly trying to find something else to do, "you do that then. I'm going to keep myself busy."

By this, he clearly meant continue destroying the house around him, possibly even burn it down if he got the chance before he left. He started by joining Peter in the kitchen and having an interesting conversation with him about what a refrigerator was and why it was stocked full of such odd foods.

Regulus could think of nothing to do but follow Sirius as he went tromping up the stairs, and though he loathed every step he had to take in this Muggle dwelling, it was still better than awkwardly standing there by Lupin. The two brothers could still surprisingly hear every word from up here, though unsure if it was magic making this happen or simply how large and open the house felt without seemingly another soul on earth to hear as well.

Sirius continued making plenty of threats against these Muggles as further mistreatment of Harry continued, though just a small pinch of hope did arrive when Harry's Hogwarts letter was finally in his grasp. It didn't matter the fact this kid was still nothing more than a figment in their head, that was Prongs' kid, his nephew he would still consider him no matter his best mates current feelings towards Sirius, and he couldn't imagine taking this lying down if he'd still had breath, so there was as much a purpose to his steps as there was continuing his revenge. If he kept moving, he'd continue to convince himself he wasn't going to drop dead like this future implied.

Regulus wasn't at all invested in this story past the fact it was having the surprising act of putting him and his brother on the same side of something for the first time in over five years. Ever since Sirius had come back from his first year at Hogwarts Regulus had felt like he'd lost his big brother, but finally their feelings on Muggles were once again made clear. If anything this was only reinforcing Regulus' idea of the whole species, and so it was with childish delight he followed Sirius into the master bedroom and at once helped him start dismantling the area.

Alice, Frank, and Lily were vaguely terrified to step foot in the living room, where the piglets had now gotten down and were actually setting off a few traps that for now weren't deadly, but the three people didn't want to know how far it had gone in there. Nor did Lily have any desire to be back within close range of Potter after such forced conditions, so they remained uneasily in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs and watched Lupin restlessly flip through pages, concern growing the more the Dursleys efforts to hide this from Harry became.

Lily couldn't help thinking how could any child be treated like this, let alone her sister's nephew? The two little girls hadn't been close in years now, but even still Lily couldn't imagine for a second being under the condition of taking in Dudley and doing anything like this. Why then did Petunia feel this was okay to be done?

When things escalated in that the Dursleys even left the house and began trying to find places to hide, her confusion only grew.

"Cokeworth?" Lily muttered in surprise, wondering that of all places, why would the Dursleys think they could return to the town she and Petunia had grown up in to escape magic? Had they possibly some naïve idea of evading the owls by being near an old place they'd have once gone? She couldn't help her mind drifting to just one street over from her house, where Spinner's End began, and how she longed for Severus to be here with her now amongst all of these people, most of whom she loathed. The two best friends may have been on uneasy terms lately with all the people he'd been hanging around with, but he was still her friend, and that would have been nice right about now in such a situation, Potter was lucky in that regards at least.

Speaking of, the man seemed done with the kitchen for now, and none of them had the desire to step in there either when a lingering burning smell was left at the twos heels.

Peter continued right up the stairs, but hesitated in surprise and turned back to see James now hovering in front of Evans. He was struggling with words in front of her for the first time in, ever. His flamboyant nature seemed to be failing him, and his friend hadn't a single guess what he was trying to say to the red head.

Finally, he said stiffly, "your sister sucks."

She kept her hands placed defensively on her hips, but gave a single nod.

It was the first time in their history they'd openly agreed on something, and clearly it was all the two could handle in one moment, as James then bolted up the stairs after his mates.

Peter caught sight of flickering lights and immediately went to see what they were up to, but James began curiously trying to get the rest of the doors open. One flat out wouldn't, like those before, it seemed sealed by a magic he had no hope to understand, and he couldn't figure out why until he found what must be Dudley's room that opened just fine. The other then, was likely his second bedroom, or Harry's, depending. Why was it sealed off, he tried to understand while at the same time pacing with fascination in front of numerous posters he had not a clue of understanding and rows of slim cases. He picked one up and found it of a stiff plastic, with odd little titles across that could have been Greek he understood those no better even if the words were English.

He came to a stop in front of a desk that had a shiny box with reflective glass on the front of it. It sort of looked like the device downstairs Remus had set his sights on, but on a smaller scale, with a truly odd rectangle in front of it that had letters randomly spaced and some little device resting on what may be a cushion with two little buttons that did nothing with something even smaller set in between the two buttons that spun and also felt useless. All of this was set next to a giant black box.

Deciding it looked expensive and important, he shoved the whole thing off and watched with satisfaction as it crashed, not needing to know what it was to be sure he'd broken the majority of it. The glass screen had cracked, several of the little letters seemed to have popped out of the rectangle, and the little spinny thing on the small cushion was rolling away, but it was the box that had gotten the worst, having landed first and having the other things smash on top of it. James cocked his head to the side as the inside was exposed and leaned in closer, noticing it was doing the same thing the contraption downstairs had when Remus had used a spell on it. Sparks were coming out, and as he followed a thick cord sticking out the back of it he saw it was connected to something inside the wall. He couldn't pull that out, he decided, it would be more effort than it was worth, so wanting to pull it apart further he stuck his hand inside right next to a bright red wire.

"I can not believe that place is hospitable," Alice shook her head at the description Lupin was providing of such a shack.

Suddenly Remus stiffened and muttered, "the words vanished."

"What?" Frank asked in surprise just as there was a thump from upstairs, like something even heavier landing than whichever person had just broken something.

At first they just went up curiously to see what could have disrupted this, then they heard shouts of panic.

Remus shoved Regulus aside hard, the book smacking him with enough force to leave a bruise as it left his hands, not even registering Regulus made no move to catch it when he only recognized two voices and saw why.

Sirius had at once jumped forward and dragged him to the opposite end of the room, away from the sparking computer, and was now tapping him on the face and shouting his name repeatedly while Peter crouched on his other side and was all but crying, "oh Merlin, is he dead? Did we kill him? Why did no one realize doing this could get us all killed that much earlier! We shouldn't know any of this, and now we're all going to die-"

He was holding James' hand so hard he looked like he was trying to pull it off and hardly released it when Remus tried to get both of them to move. "Shut up, both of you," he hissed, before carefully placing his fingers in his jugular, and waiting one agonizingly long moment before he felt a soft thump that kept his own going.

His breath of relief calmed the two before he had a chance to even say, "he's alive, though that probably won't feel good," he nodded to James' slightly charred index finger. Peter quickly released his hand with an uttered apology and even took a hasty step back like he thought he was only going to make it worse. Remus fixed him and Sirius with a hateful look while hovering next to James' head before anyone else got any bright ideas. "What were you two idiots thinking? Why weren't you keeping an eye on him?"

"What is he, five?" Sirius demanded, fear quickly giving way to defense though his hand lingered on James' sternum. It was the exact same defensive expression Remus had seen of him for the past three weeks. It was, in fact, the exact same reaction he'd had so many nights ago, the day after the full moon when Remus had last confronted him. The tension between the two ramped up so high for a moment another spark nearly set off between them before James moved restlessly and squinted blearily at the pair.

"You two talkin' again?" He muttered disjointedly, moving as if to fix his glasses on his nose before hissing and curling on his side protectively around his hand.

"Sure Prongs, you got it," Sirius said at once, trying to lean over him with concern, but James was already trying to prop himself upright, using his other hand to get himself back into a sitting position.

His friends tried to help at once even as he tried to shrug them off, hampered slightly by the fact his hand was still spasming slightly. Finally he was resting slightly more dignified with his back against the wall and just gazing blearily around, his hand curled protectively against his chest still, and was distantly pleased to see Evans' eyes glued to him, though her pupils were so wide from shock they nearly covered the green, he noted sadly.

Looking for something to make his friends stop watching him like a mewling kitten for a second, he instead directed his hand towards the still sparking box and tried to pleasantly inform, "don't touch that."

Peter gave a wild burst of laughter that still sounded a bit wet while Remus and Sirius exchanged commiserating looks of exasperation that James had missed so much he instantly smiled.

The moment was broken by Regulus calling, "err, Lupin, the words are back." He was nudging the book with his foot, and Remus' face at once settled into that indifferent mask as he pulled away from Sirius and went over to it, snatching it off the floor and trying to continue in the awkward silence.

He nearly got to the end before Sirius took it upon himself to act on the first moment they'd had in nearly a month. He grabbed Remus' sleeve and tried to drag him away, the ones huddled in the doorway moving aside with looks on their faces like they were seeing a ghost for the first time, for whom Sirius didn't care. Remus ignored him, letting himself be dragged along only so he could keep reading, hoping the magic from finishing this would stop Sirius before this could get started, but was distracted by the bathroom door closing and Sirius whispering in genuine horror, "What if we never make up from this fight Moony?" The idea hadn't even occurred to him until this moment, and he was seized with what it would mean for him. "You weren't mentioned by McGonagall there at the beginning! What if we died! We never went and got Harry out of there!"

"I mean, maybe we just-" Remus failed to really get his head around this idea. He kept trying to let his eyes linger on the words instead of Sirius, tried to convince his mind to be more curious what a boom could be doing around Harry, but it was no use. "Like we're equipped to handle a kid!" He grasped on the part he could still make sense of.

"You think Prongs is?" Sirius demanded, an actual smile on his lips even as he pictured it, there was no force to the joke.

Remus opened, and closed his mouth for that one.

"We have to find a way to fix this Remus," Sirius said, grabbing his arm, looking right into his face, determined to stay on track and make him see this. "We can't let Harry grow up, like I did!"

"You're talking nonsense," Remus tried to scoff, tried to push his hand away without looking at him. "The bloody kid's not even born yet, I'm still not really believing Evans actually does fall for James, the idiot." It was hard though, to keep pretending like this was all just some story, when he did take a peek and see how deeply that had hurt Sirius, like he was playing off what had happened to him as well. He struggled to swallow for a moment, speaking of the real matter when whispering, "I don't know how to forgive what you did."

Sirius released him and took a hurried step back, seeming to have forgotten himself for a moment, that he was supposed to be angry with Remus, why he suddenly couldn't even remember. His face closed off, he now had the same cruel twist to his lips Regulus had while speaking of the Muggles while still in the cupboard. "Right, well, that's that then."

He walked back off without another word, leaving Remus more confused and miserable than ever. He didn't have long to dwell on it, as he looked down and read the final lines aloud, even to himself, Harry's final feelings felt all too appropriate. The second he finished, the feeling began again.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Lily Evans #Marauders #Reading the books

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years

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Summary: Mahiru is accused of a crime he didn’t commit and hides in Kuro’s home. (KuroMahi, Historical Western AU)

“Mornings are troublesome.” Kuro muttered to himself as he dragged his legs to the barn. His family owned a ranch and he would have to wake up early to tend to the animals. He worked hard to provide for his siblings but the repetitive chores made the days blend together. Due to that, he was surprised to find a stranger sleeping in one of the stalls.

He assumed the man was homeless and trespassed onto the ranch for shelter. Kuro walked into the stall and knelt next to the hay bed. He reached out to wake the man but then he noticed that there was blood on the man’s forehead. Questions about the man and how he had been hurt started to race through his mind. He knew he had to help the injured man first and pushed the question aside.

Carefully, he slipped his arms around the man to carry him into the house. His brother was a vet but he hoped he could treat the man’s wounds. He started to lift him but the motion woke the stranger and he opened his eyes. The light in the barn was dim but the man had bright brown eyes. Fear entered his eyes and he tried to escape his arms. “Let go of me!”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you. If you don’t stop struggling, I might drop you. You’re already injured and falling will make it worse.” Kuro said but he didn’t know if the man heard him as he continued to push on his chest. He set him down on the hay again and the man immediately backed away from him until he was pressed against the stall wall. He looked like a scared cat as he watched him wearily.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other and waited for the other to speak first. Kuro wanted to help him but the man was obviously frightened by something. The man finally broke the silence and asked him: “Aren’t you going to arrest me?”

“Well, I’m not an officer or a bounty hunter so I can’t arrest you. I’m the owner of the ranch you’ve decided to hide in. Did you get that nasty injury from a bounty hunter?” The man didn’t appear to be violent or a criminal. He knew that appearances could be deceiving though. “My brother’s a doctor and he can treat that wound for you. Can you walk to the house or should I bring him here?”

“I have to go. Those men will come searching for me and I don’t want you to be pulled into my mess. The only thing I ask is for you to not tell anyone that I was here.” Mahiru was surprised that the man continued to be kind to him after he told him that he was wanted by the law. He winced as he stood. “I should go before they find me here.”

“You won’t be able to run far in the condition you’re in.” Kuro said and his words were confirmed when his legs collapsed next to him. He caught himself against the stall’s wall and sank to the ground. A small book fell out of his bag and Mahiru quickly picked it up. He worried his lower lip with his teeth and debated what he should do. He planned to go to his uncle for help but he doubted he would be able to reach him.

Mahiru looked into Kuro’s kind eyes and wondered if he could trust him. “My name is Mahiru. I was a nanny for a wealthy family. The wife and children of the family were murdered and I know the father did it. When I was cleaning his office, I found these letters he wrote to his brother. He confessed what he did in these. The letters have his seal and signature so I know these are real.”

He opened the book on his lap so Kuro could see the stack of letters he had hidden in the pages. His hands began to tremble over the book as he recalled the night the police knocked on his door. “I wanted to give these to the sheriff as evidence. But my employer went to the sheriff first and told him that I stole his wife's jewellery. It’s a lie and I tried to tell them the truth but they wouldn’t listen. I had to run.”

Unconsciously, Mahiru touched his temple where he was struck by a bounty hunter. He had been evading the sheriff and his men for a few nights but now he was tired and hungry. “My uncle is the sheriff of another town and I planned to go to him for help. He must be worried and confused if he heard about what happened.”

“Your uncle will believe you once you explain what happened.” Kuro reassured him and placed his hand over Mahiru’s. Gently, he closed the book between them and Mahiru looked up. Their eyes met and Kuro couldn’t help but feel pity for Mahiru’s situation. His family were once chased by a bounty group as well. “You can stay here until it’s night. Then, I’ll take you to your uncle. It’s safer to travel under darkness.”

“Thank you but I can’t ask you to do so much for me.” Mahiru said and shook his head. He wasn’t able to argue further before they heard someone knock on the barn’s door. They both peered out of the stall and Mahiru stiffened when he saw that it was the sheriff. From his reaction, Kuro quickly understood the situation. He took off his jacket and draped it over Mahiru’s shoulder.

He pulled the hood over his head so it would hide his face. Kuro pressed his finger against his lips and whispered, “Hide in the hay and I’ll deal with those men. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them that you’re here.”

With that promise, Kuro left the stall. He kept his emotions from appearing on his face as he greeted the men. His eyes lingered on the gun hanging on the sheriff’s belt and palmed the knife on his belt. “Is there something I can do for you men? This is private property and my family would prefer if you knocked on the door before entering.”

“We’re here to track down a criminal.” He told him and Kuro feigned surprise and concern. His brother was a better liar and actor so Kuro tried to imitate him. “He stole from the Tanuki family and he has a bounty on his head. We lost his trail so we’re searching places he could be hiding. Have you noticed anyone strange on your ranch?”

“My brother and I have been milking the cows since sunrise and we haven’t seen anyone. Maybe he crossed the river to evade you. I can show you where that is if you want.” Kuro offered. He was glad when the sheriff shook his head and left with his men. He watched the group disappear in the distance and he only walked back into the barn once he was certain they were gone.

Kuro stepped back into the stall to tell Mahiru that the men were gone. However, the stall was empty. The sheriff would’ve seen him if he left the barn so he should still be inside. He didn’t hear the stall door open either. A small creak above him caused Kuro to look up and he found Mahiru perched on a ceiling beam. He didn’t know how he managed to climb onto the beam without making a sound or being seen.

He decided to ask him later and climbed onto the upper floor of the barn so he could reach him. Kuro held out his arms to help him off the beam and Mahiru slumped towards him. He caught him and held him close against his chest. He couldn’t help but notice how he fit in his arms as he leaned his head against his shoulder. “How did you get up here from the stall?”

“I liked to climb trees when I was a kid.” Mahiru told him and he smiled for the first time since they met. There was a hint of pain and regret in his smile that tugged on Kuro’s heart. He could see that Mahiru was trying to be strong despite how tired he must be. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay hidden in the stall but I was afraid they would search the barn. I feel a little lightheaded after climbing though.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that. Let’s go into the house where my brother can treat your wounds.” Kuro said and lowered him to the ground. He stumbled slightly and he let him lean on his shoulder for balance. He wrapped his arm around his waist and they walked out of the barn.

“I thought we gave up our days as outlaws and thieves, Nii-san.” Hyde whispered to Kuro later that night. He had explained the situation to his siblings but Hyde had to voice his concerns. The family once had to resort to stealing to eat and they were chased by bounty hunters. They left their life of crime when they bought the ranch and had a simple life ever since.

“He didn’t steal the jewels they’re accusing him of. I’m just taking him to his uncle so he can prove his innocence. I’ll be home tomorrow.” Kuro reassured him. After everything the siblings had been through, they were close and loyal to each other. On the other hand, they could be distrustful of others who might endanger their family. “I won’t do anything dangerous. I promise, Hyde.”

A knock interrupted their conversation and Kuro looked over his shoulder to see Mahiru in the doorway. He wondered if he overheard their conversation. “It’s time for dinner and Wrath asked me to get you. I helped cook it. I wanted to thank you for housing me and everything else.”

“Thanks, Mahiru.” Kuro said and the three walked to the kitchen to eat dinner.

His siblings were already eating at the table and talking animatedly. They fell silent when Mahiru sat in a chair and Kuro reasoned that they felt cautious like Hyde. None of them knew how much they could discuss with a stranger present. Mahiru also said that his uncle was a sheriff and he might learn about their past.

Mahiru noticed the awkward atmosphere around them but he assumed the family thought he stole the jewels like the sheriff claimed. He couldn’t blame them for being distrustful and he did his best to be kind and open with them. Eventually, they fall into a casual conversation and Mahiru smiled as he ate. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a pleasant meal with so many people.

“This is nice. I’m an only child so I eat dinner alone most of the time. Watching you today, I can see that you’re close and love each other. You’re all very lucky.” Mahiru glanced to Kuro sitting next to him. He placed his hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?”

“You already made us this delicious dinner.” Kuro blushed.

They continued to eat their dinner and Mahiru helped clean up after they finished. While his time with the family was short, he came to learn that they were good people. He was glad that he hid in the barn and met them. They helped him a lot in one night and he didn’t think a simple dinner would be enough to repay them. He thought of what he could do for them.

“It’s time to go.” Kuro said when he saw that the sky had become dark enough to travel. He handed his jacket to Mahiru. While it was night, he was worried that the sheriff would be nearby and recognized him. Mahiru seemed to read his thoughts as he slipped on the jacket. “I know a secluded road we can use. We shouldn’t run into a bounty hunter.”

They walked outside and the cool breeze made Mahiru hug the jacket around him. Kuro made a low whistle and a horse trotted out of the barn to answer his call. At first, Mahiru didn’t notice the horse because its coat was black like the night. He was taken by surprise when the horse nudged him with its nose. The way it tickled him caused Mahiru to giggle softly.

“Hello. Are you this friendly with everyone you meet for the first time?” Mahiru greeted the horse and stroked the horse’s mane. “Your horse is beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Ash,” He answered. Kuro held out his hand to help him onto the horse. “Have you ridden a horse before?”

“No, but I once had a cat named Ash.” He took his hand and then Kuro lifted him onto the horse’s back. He was surprised by how strong he was to be able to lift him. Mahiru placed his foot on the stirrup and adjusted his position so he was sitting on the horse properly.

Kuro grabbed the horn of the saddle and pulled himself onto the horse. He sat behind him and reached around him to take Ash’s reins. He looked down at Mahiru to see if he was comfortable before he kicked the horse forward. Since it was his first time on a horse, he thought Mahiru would be stiffer but he was relaxed in his arms. “Your uncle’s town is only a few hours from here. But, tell me if you need to stop for anything.”

“Thanks, Kuro. I think I’ll be fine though. When we reach my uncle, I’ll talk to him and tell him to free you from any crimes you’ve committed in the past. It’ll be my way to thank you.” Mahiru felt Kuro’s heart start to race through his clothes. He looked back to see his shocked expression and grinned at him. “My uncle is a sheriff so I’ve seen a few outlaw posters. Your family has unique red eyes. I didn’t realize who you are until dinner though.”

“Most people would turn me in.” Kuro probed for the reason Mahiru would help him.

“I’m sure you had your reason for what you did. Your family is full of good people and I don’t want you to be thrown in jail. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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mysticdragon3art · 4 years

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@pegoryuweek #pegoryuweek2020 day1: “Soulmates” A poltergeist, reincarnation, and a demon working penance.

Akira's feet landed gently onto the creaky floorboards, as he folded back his red and black wings. He glanced around the deck, wandered past splintered sail masts, and peered through the musty night and cobwebs hanging from rotted wood. The ship beneath his feet swayed slightly.

"Hello?" He called out gently into the empty hull.

The darkness creaked in reply.

He began exploring the floating wreckage. From a distance, he had sensed an entity haunting the old ship. It explained why the humans stayed away, not even clearing the wreck from the bay's rocks. Akira turned over another piece of broken furniture. Everything seemed shattered or cut by blades, more than decay.

The sound behind him was more than a creak.

Akira fell back, evading the swish of a cutlass.

The disembodied sword suspended in midair. As Akira watched from his fallen position, he could see an apparition slowly fade between view and invisibility. He stretched his senses and could hear him now.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhgh!"

Akira propelled himself backward with a pump of his wings and continued to dodge the sword.

The ghost came more clearly into view, with each graze of his blade. He was a sailor. No, the Captain. He wore the distinctive hat of decades ago. Sharp, blond hair. His swipes were a succession of blind furies. His voice was angry, but tinged with desperation. He grit his teeth. He had tears.

Akira slipped past one of the Captain's more reckless swings, and grabbed the sword, before knocking the entity off balance.

"What the hell?!" The ghost was too flabbergasted to pick himself off the ground. He watched the living being who had somehow managed to touch him, toss the sword away.

Akira crouched down to his level, folding his wings back again. "What are you doing here?" He asked gently.

The ghost Captain lunged forward, screaming and clawing his hands towards Akira's neck. His wrists were easy to grab, but his strength was something to contend with.

"What are you doing?" Akira asked again, struggling to keep his calm tone through their arm wrestling.

The Captain kept screaming, kept forcing his hands, in vain, to clamp around the intruder's throat.

It was to be expected. They were always like this. They always screamed and tried to harm, haunted and threatened. Sometimes they killed and cursed. But Akira had been trained to see past that.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

Maybe there was hesitation in the Captain's attack.

The second the Captain's strength wavered, Akira threw his arms open and grabbed onto him.

Unable to move, the ghost still wailed and struggled.

But as Akira unrelented with his calm presence, he reclaimed the psychic space. "Shhh..."

The ghost Captain began to calm, assimilating into Akira's serene psychic dominance.

"It's okay..."

"I-It's not okay." A cracking murmur came from the Captain. "They all turned against me..."

"Was it a mutiny?"

The Captain nodded into his shoulder. "Then they killed me."

Akira could feel dangerous memories arising in the Captain again. Anger could revive his rampage. He remembered those tears. He took the Captain's face in his hands, and wiped at the wet trails with his thumbs. "They're not here anymore. Everyone who hurt you is already dead and moved on. You don't have to stay here."

The Captain failed several times to mouth words. "I don't have to stay here?"

Akira shook his head. "No, you don't have to stay here. You don't need to keep feeling this way. You can go anywhere you want. Once you move on, you can do anything."

The Captain looked at the strange winged being's gray eyes and gentle smile. "I don't have to stay feeling this way anymore?" His tone finally began to veer off from his previous mono-directional speech patterns. The ghost began to solidify. There was an amorphous succession of new expressions passing behind his eyes. And more emotions than just rage. But he seemed incapable of comprehending this new ability to choose any of these new thoughts.

"Is there something you wish for? I can grant you a wish."

The Captain's brown eyes snapped back to the present. "I want to be far away from here. I want to be on land. And run far away from here."

As soon as he spoke those thoughts, they were both lifted out of the night wreckage, and suddenly into bright clouds.

The Captain glimpsed the shrinking ship below his feet, a lock-box of his bad memories, crumbling into the bay. And suddenly, there were only bright clouds.

The Captain could feel a tug on his arm, as he stood.

Akira guided him to stand behind a human figure. Behind another human figure, in an endless line. All of them half-faded or glowing, like apparitions.

Akira's hand on his arm, slipped away.

"Wait!" The Captain reached out into the bright light.

The blurry silhouette paused. Akira stepped back towards the Captain, his form and features becoming more clear. "Just stand in this line, and you'll be okay."

"Wai---Wha? What is this?"

"This is where you'll move on. When you get to the front," Akira pointed towards the presumed beginning of the line, "you'll be reincarnated and have a second chance at another life. Then you can have your wish." Akira reassured with a smile.

The Captain bounced up on his feet, trying to see ahead of the line. "It's all blurry clouds! Is this line forever?!?"

Akira's eyes went wide, watching the formerly-haunted ghost Captain hop up and down like a child. He shook his head into focus and tapped the shoulder of the spirit ahead of them. "Excuse me. How long have you been waiting here?"

"Hm..." The spirit seemed hazy as they turned. "Hard to say...But seems like a very short eon."

"A VERY SHORT EON?! AN EON?!" The Captain whipped back towards Akira. "WHAT DOES A *SHORT* EON EVEN MEAN?!

All the spirits in line audibly shuffled to peak over at the Captain's outburst.

He quickly clasped both hands over his own mouth.

Akira chuckled. Maybe for the first time in a century. His wings flitted. "Time isn't something you'll be able to really measure here. So if a spirit describes the time here as 'short', then that's probably what it will feel like, more than anything else."

"Short, huh?" The Captain seemed to calm, though glancing around curiously.

"Good luck then." Akira turned away.

"Hey!"

Akira felt a hand on his arm.

"You're going to leave? Just like that?"

"I have to purify more spirits."

"So that's what happened to me, huh?" The Captain murmured to himself. "So are you an angel?" He eyed Akira's bat wings, a mix of blood red and pitch black.

Akira dropped his guard enough to grimace. "Maybe after a few centuries."

The Captain craned down to catch his aside.

"I'm a demon doing penance." Akira stated more clearly. "If I can purify enough souls, help out the angels with their jobs, they might let me ascend or reincarnate."

"What'll you do once that happens?"

Akira went blank for a moment. "I don't know. But at least they'd stop making fun of me for these." He pointed backwards at his flapping wings.

Their stark bloody red and endless midnight blacks frankly left Ryuji awestruck. "I think they're great." The Captain unthinkingly said aloud, while continuing to admire Akira's wings.

The compliment caught Akira off guard.

"Then why don't you come see me?" The Captain grinned.

"What?"

"You said you don't know what you'll do after your penance is done. I'm getting reincarnated, right?" The Captain pointed a thumb to his own chest. "I'm guessing I might get a lot more reincarnations, even after this, but it'll all be on Earth, right?"

Akira nodded.

"So when you finish your penance---however long that takes---come to Earth and see me!"

Akira blinked. But he couldn't hide the unconscious excited flutter of his wings.

Maybe that was the reason the Captain's face beamed. "So come see me! I'll show you what I did with my wish!"

Something inside Akira's chest welled up. If he could see that smile again at the end of his penance, he'd get through it, no matter how many centuries. "Here." He pulled an invisible thread out from between his fingers. After it glowed red, he tied part of it to the Captain's own finger. "No matter where we are, we'll meet again."

The Captain stared at the glowing thread suddenly connected to his finger. "What's your name?"

"Akira." .

There it was again. Ryuji glanced out the corner of his eye. A flickering hint of red came in and out of view as he jogged. No solid objects to explain it. And if there were, then it must have been following him all around the school's track. Maybe it had something to do with the flickering red he sometimes imagined on his finger.

He slowed to a walk and eventually came to a bleacher where he had left his sports bottle. But soon after shaking it, he cursed to himself, with visibly frenzied irritation.

A gentle laughing distracted him.

"Here." The team's student manager handed him a fresh water bottle.

Ryuji's tensions immediately melted way. "Akira, you're an angel!"

"Thanks, I worked hard at it."

They laughed, an invisible red thread between them.

(Author notes: Sorry it’s a day late. It's been a long time since I've written a narrative; please go easy on me. ~_~;;;;;; )

#akiryu #fanfic #pegoryuweek2020 #pegoryuweek #demon akira #pirate ryuji #reincarnation #writing

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thepineapplejuicer · 5 years

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Imagine...Loki choosing you as his queen because of your understanding and talent of magic

Words: 1551

Warnings: extremely slight sexual mention. Mostly fluff

The violin orchestra livens up the room and the colors of the shimmering stained glass windows bounce off the golden drapes, sending the candlelit ballroom floor swirling like a kaleidoscope. The gem incrested chalices are filled to the brim with aged wine that stains the teeth of the guests, who are too busy foolishly laughing with rival families to notice.

This gathering was for the eligible princesses, and their parents, of Asgard to be pinned against each other in beauty and skill to win the heart of Sir Loki and Sir Thor. The families of each royal tree thought it a great honor for their daughter to be chosen so they flocked to Odin’s castle to ensure their family place on the throne.

You stood with incredible posture, burned into your spine by tedious balancing exercises. Your corset squeezed your small body, keeping your breathing slow and quiet while giving your form the most beautiful shape. Your eyes droop from the exhaustion of the journey and the slight sting in your kidneys. You listen to the girlish whispers gossiping about the princes and wondering about their interests, their fancies in a woman, and... more risque topics.

“I hear Thor is incredible in bed!”

“No, I hear Loki is!”

You roll your eyes with grace as you try and tone out the inappropriate squeals of the princesses you once grew up with.

“Would it kill you to smile, Y/N?” Your mother whispers while trying to keep her own well placed wrinkled smile.

“No, but this corset might.” You groan, picking at the wire digging into your hip.

“Don’t you dare, that took all day to get you in.” You mother swats your hand, “Have you practiced what you are going to say?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good, do not ruin this. Either one of the princes will do, so long as you act accordingly. And please, no magic. He can find out after the two of you wed.”

You sigh quiet enough so it sounds like you are only trying to breathe. Your magic had manifested as a child, but you were forced to keep it hidden- along with most of your personality- to assume the persona of the perfect bride. You always had a way of scaring off suitors; their fear of witchcraft was more powerful than their desire of your beauty.

“All bow before the princes of Asgard.” A woman says as she leads the curtsy.

You feel like your ribs will snap if you move, so you hide behind another princess to shield your fake curtsy.

Thor walks in first, smiling pridefully from all the attention and the women at his becking call. His long red cape is grazed by dark leather boots, seemingly fighting the urge to stomp on the fabric.

Loki’s dark hair sways slightly, falling from behind his ears. His brow arches as he doesn’t really look at the women, but mostly at the spaces between them. His long green cape drags behind him, somehow evading all dust and grime. His long-horned helmet has been shinned and his thin armor looked painted on.

The princes take their place in front of the young women who desperately try to catch so much as a glance from them. They all stand perfectly still as Thor and Loki walk around each of them; examining them like fine art, and appreciating each of their assets as someone enjoys the smell of sweet wine.

Thor smiles at each of the ladies in order to gain their smile back and see them at their happiest. He stops at each one, dancing with them and thinking very intensely at his options. He knew that his future queen must be strong, beautiful and above all intelligent.

Loki, on the other hand, hated this. The ladies looked to Thor instead of him. His broodish demeanor frightened them and made them self conscious enough to fix their hair or their dresses. He tried to smile as Thor did but always seem to time it when the ladies looked away. The way the princesses moved subtly towards Thor made Loki tighten his jaw, holding back his insecurities. He looks down, now drifting pointlessly between the women who wait for Thor to display their strengths and talents to him when he asks them for a dance.

Loki begins to walk towards you unknowingly, his mind somewhere else, until he stops, his chest nearly touching yours. “My apologies.” He whispers in a breath that smelled like hints of wine mixed in with licorice. “Think nothing of it, my prince.” you smile.

Loki smiles back, finally able to show a beautiful woman his true nature. It disappears just as quickly as Thor makes several young women giggle with joy. “I will... get out of the way.” He whispers as he sees Thor moving towards you.

“If I may be so bold, my prince. I’d rather you stayed.” You take Loki by surprise, but this does not scare him off. He wanted to ask you to dance as Thor did with the others, but his self-esteem was too low that he’d rather carry our conversation to break the ice.

“What Family do you hail from?”

“The Andels, My Lord.”

“Ah yes, the Andels own mining land. We use some of their Ores for many things around the palace. You are their only child?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard rumors that no one has ever been able to court you for long. Your beauty is unmatched, but I do not see why you still have not married.”

“My talent is... unconventional.”

“Oh? Might you show me?”

You look around the room at the parents lined near the wall, your mother trying to get a view of Loki’s reaction to you.

Loki turns and sees your mother’s performance, “Perhaps if we went somewhere private?”

You could not resist, something about Loki’s gentle nature that hides a fierce and deadly type of ecstasy, fascinates you.

You follow him to the balcony, away from the party, your mother close behind. You turn and see her mouth quietly, “No magic!” you tighten your grip, sending the glass doors to shut in a white and pale pink glow.

Loki turns, alarmed by the sudden bang.

“Must have been the wind.” you shrug.

“Yes..” he trails off knowing very well that there is not even a breeze during this lovely sunset. “Is your father present tonight as well?”

You look away from Loki, “My father passed away some time ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It is alright. Many would prefer I not speak of him.”

“I remember the rumors. He was a sorcerer?”

“Yes, he duplicated most of the Ores in our mining caves to help stock neighboring kingdoms.”

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t only inherit his kind nature?”

You hold your hands behind your back instinctively.

“Tell me. What do you think about being the queen of Asgard?”

“It is a great honor to-”

“No, no, I did not ask what your mother thinks.”

You clear your throat, “I think,” you decide to throw your script away. “I think that magic has been shunned enough in our lands and must be embraced, even taught to the children. It could be used as a line of defense or a way to teach our community how to socialize without the need of brutish force shown in the arenas.”

“An interesting view, not many people share.”

Loki shifts closer to you, pinning you carefully against the stone balcony. You press your hand on the stone, but wince as a rose thorn pricks your finger. Loki grabs your hand in his. His Ice-y cold touch shocking your fingers numb. A green flare strings around your wound and Loki brings your finger to his lips, laying a single kiss on it as the skin heals over.

“Not all magic is a curse...” It seems like he is saying this to himself rather than to you.

You can see the hurt in his eyes, perhaps he knew what it was like to be outcasted because of magical superiority. Perhaps he had the same aches and pains in your wrists from long periods of time without spell casting. Perhaps he knew the same look of fear others gave you.

You cup his hands in yours and allow the pale pink and glittery white magic to whisp like sand above his hands, letting him feel your power. You control it calmly and create a ballerina, twirling and leaping across his palms before curtsying.

He looks at you with eyes filled with acceptance, something you’ve never seen. The ballerina takes a still form in your hands before a green shimmer of dust creates a small man dressed in the clothes of a prince, asking for her hand. The two small, magical figures dance across your palms, pieces of their ashy bodies thrown into the wind as they twirl. Finally, the pixelized figures mimic how you and Loki are holding hands, and the male figure cups the ballerina’s face, kissing her gently.

Loki looks up from the magic in your joined hands and stares deeply in your eyes.

He cups your cheek and snakes his fingers behind your neck, pulling you into a cold, gentle kiss.

“Asgard will be lucky to have you as its queen, Y/N.”

-Thank you for reading and your support.

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bucky-is-a-hero-fightme · 5 years

Text

Royals (4/8)

ROYALS MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Universe: Mobsters!1940′s!AU

Timeline: Early 1940′s, but I’m gonna gloss over the war, I’m sorry, I just can’t see a Steve that wouldn’t want to join the fight, so…I’m glossing over it.

Word Count: 5000 approx.

Summary: When someone from your past you weren't expecting comes back, too many of the Siren’s words become lies, but so do Y/N’s

Warnings: Mentions of violence and misogyny if you squint, mentions of drinking (not alcohol abuse). Lemme know if there’s anything else you would like tagged

A/N: Okay, after a long break I’m back, but I can’t promise when or if I will come back. I know I write for myself, but I fell out of love with Marvel a lil bit and I feel a little alone lately when I post my writing. Idk, also, the summary sucks, i’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking so long to upload.

Would love hearing from you, and thank you for reading.

Taglist (If you wanna be added or removed, lemme know): @amandamartinez3568 @champagnejoker @aunty-peggy @itsbuckysworld @mooniightbucky @whimsicalatbest @catvader1o1

You open the door after sprinting clumsily to it, your free hand still attaching the end of your earring in place.

A sharply dressed man is waiting on the other side. He smiles your way politely,

“Miss Carter is waiting for you, ma’am.”

You tell him it will only take a few moments, going back to the guest room in your apartment you took as a temporary closet and fetching your shoes. On your way out, the phone starts ringing, though, so you make another stop.

“Good morning.” You greet cautiously, well aware your apartment’s number is not known publicly.

“Hello, sweetcheeks.”

Even through the line, even despite the distance, a part of you hardens, and you straighten your back and make sure to keep your emotions out of your expression and your tone.

“Brock.”

“Miss me?” He drawls out, a hint of the influence of alcohol in his voice, but not enough for you to think you can thread without care.

“You know Manhattan will always be my home.” You answer instead, ensuring you sweeten your tone even as you evade his question.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seemed pretty at home running with Barnes’ people these last few weeks.” He states simply, making ice run down your spine.

“You have people on Brooklyn?” You ask before you can think twice about it, giving away the truth behind his accusations and giving him an opening to think that you have anything to hide.

Which you don’t. A smarter, more battle-worn part of you wishes you did, wishes you had spent your time gathering information about Bucky’s intentions, about the real power of his people in Brooklyn, about how much of that power could translate into a war with Manhattan.

A colder part of you, a part of you that sings men to their dooms, wishes you would move again to try and seduce Bucky back into compliance, wishes you could ignore the painful beat of your heart after the night you spent together and try and get him on your sheets, if not your side.

You have ignored those parts of you, though. You have ignored what makes you the Siren and focused on getting to know what makes you Y/N again.

Lunch dates with Peggy and Steve, visits to the diner of your teenage years. You get to know the soldiers forged in the wake of your departure, they try to learn to trust the Siren that danced with their sworn, although secret, enemy.

Brock doesn’t ask why you got so defensive though, and instead laughs mockingly.

“I made it clear you are not indispensable, baby.”

“And here I thought you loved me.” You state dryly in response, sitting down on the armrest of your couch.

“And here I thought you were on my side.” He spites back, startling you at the hidden rage in his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The hiss in your voice is not lost to either of you, but this is the most controlled you can muster. The words ‘I was never on your side’ try clawing their way out of your heart, but you don’t let them.

Not yet. Not until your empire is yours again, and you hold the barrel of your father’s gun against his head.

“If you weren’t so busy rolling around with Barnes, sweetcheeks, you would be aware I know everything you do in that city of his.”

Clenching your jaw so tight you fear for the state of your teeth after this, you force the seductive yet emotionless mask of the Siren back in place.

Your voice is a purr when you state, “You knew when you hired me what I am willing to do for the Bratva.”

The threat, the controlled power Brock Rumlow holds in his clenched fist is not lost on you as he dangles his temporary superiority over your head when he says, “I hope that doesn’t include betraying us, Siren.”

But your response is measured, calculated. A risk you are willing to take, because the day you swear your allegiance to Brock, however fake it would be, is the day you give away the last piece of resistance your family has left.

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

Oh, but he has, and he knows it very well.

A few moments of silence, and you hear the faint sound of ice clinking on a glass as Brock presumably drains the rest of his drink.

“I want reports on my desk come tomorrow morning, then.” He orders simply.

“Reports of what?”

“Of whatever you got Barnes to confide you with, of course,” Brock replies, “Am I to assume you have spent time with him for something other than power, girl?”

“Because I love him.” You reply easily, but the boy forced be a man in front of you scoffs, dismissing your answer.

“He can’t offer you what I can,” He drawls out, smirk on his lips. “Nothing but a shuk-”

Your hand makes contact with his cheek before the word is done leaving his lips, a faint trail of blood left behind on his cheekbone from the scratch of your mother’s ring.

“Bucky is twice the man you are, Brock.” You spit back, turning your back to him and readying your heart to harden in order to handle the party still happening outside the room.

He grabs your forearm before you can move far, though, and forces you to stay still. Although, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around to face him.

“You won’t want to do that again, sweetcheeks.”

“You won’t want me against you, Rumlow. I suggest you get your hand off me.” You spit back, and after a second, he releases you. His words make a shiver run down your spine as they follow you out of the room:

“I’ll have you begging for scraps, Y/N. Mark my words.”

“Of course not.” You answer through the phone, and you hear rustling on the other side, as if Brock is getting comfortable.

“Then you better get working on those reports, sugar.”

The door to your apartment opens slightly, forcing you to hide a wince when you see Peggy peeking through and finding you on the couch.

Keeping your eyes on hers, and begging whoever is willing to listen that she can forgive you for this, you concede,

“It will be done.”

____

You are walking down the street towards some diner with Peggy and Steve when a shriek of your name puts you all three in high alert.

You have barely a second o recognize the schoolgirl running towards you is not a threat before she is wrapping her arms around your midcriff, brown hair mussed against your face and fast-paced babbles reaching your ears.

"I heard the rumors you were back, but you know, people gossip about-..."She interrupts herself, seemingly catching another train of thought and deciding to run with it, "But then I saw Bucky when he took me out for lunch and I knew, ya' know? My brother is only that miserable or happy when it comes to you and-..."

"Rebecca!?" You finally gasp, taking her in. Long gone is the eight year old child, and now she stands in front of you in highschool outfit and heeled shoes.

"Well, duh," One of her friends call out to her, and she turns to them before looking back at you, "Can we catch up? Maybe come to a family dinner? For old times sake?"

You want to say no, you want to sever ties and run back to your family’s estate, you want to start over, you want to run.

But that is not what is useful, you remind yourself. That is not what the Siren needs, that is not what you must. What you want cowers under the weight of the responsibility of being the head of your family.

You learned that over eight years ago.

You agree with vacant eyes and plastic smile, trying to ignore the tug at your heart when the girl hugs you tightly and whispers how she is glad you are back before scurrying off to her friends.

A family dinner, that is all there is, you tell yourself. A few Captains, more than enough Bratov to keep the Captains on edge; a few mandatory ceremonies during the night, but just enough to keep Bucky from noticing you. You will get some intel, forward some useless bits of it to Brock and keep him off your back.

It has to be this way.

“It has to be this way.” Your mother admits, her eyes on yours when a lesser woman would have lowered her gaze.

You swallow back your tears, your anger, your pain.

The youngest of the Rumlow’s offers you his hand, and you ignore the way your friends, the people you grew up with, watch you take it with the eyes of someone that doesn’t know you at all.

You try to ignore your childish heart breaking for the boy with grey eyes and charming smile, that watches dejectedly as another man leads you on the dance floor.

You walk the plank, and the sailors bury you at sea.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Steve asks, making you jump at his comforting touch on your shoulder. You nod swiftly, not even trying to make eye contact as you propose silently the three of you keep walking.

Peggy calls you back, though,

“That girl really cares for you.”

“I know, Peg.”

“You better not…”

“Not what?” You interrupt, turning to her with a cold stare. Peggy doesn’t back down, though, and raises her chin as she finishes,

“Disappoint her again.”

Giving in, you sigh, and pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, you say,

“You know Bucky doesn’t want me there, Peggy.”

“Well, it ain’t just his home,” Steve states simply, arm around your shoulders and a gentle squeeze in his hug before continuing, “It’ll be fun. We’ll pick you up, be with you the whole night, and get blind drunk with ya’ if you want.”

“You can’t get drunk, Steven.” His fiancé mutters, rolling her eyes.

“You are right, doll. But ya’ can, and it is fun as all hell to watch.” Steve teases back, easy smile on his lips as he watches her give a reluctant smile his way.

Trying to ignore the pang of nostalgia, the pang of pain and jealousy and regret, you shake off his arm gently and agree to the diner with a somewhat sincere smile.

___

Once Peggy and Steve drop you off in your family’s estate, you force yourself to gain back the control running into Rebecca took away from you. The girl’s warmth and innocence, the obvious way she was so different from the eight-year-old you left behind but also so much like her, like the girl that teased her brother and called him ‘sunbeam’ because that was in her opinion his expression when someone mentioned you; she rattled you to the core, made you realize how much of who you remain to be is jagged pieces, masks and moves in the Game.

You take a shower, and face your bare face in the mirror. Without the make-up, with the tiredness and stress of the last few weeks clear on your face, without the edge of the Siren or the nostalgic joy of the girl that came back from the depths of the cold sea; you can’t help but see a certain emptiness.

Or maybe emptiness isn’t the right word. Maybe something like hesitance, like a space in between life and death, where you don’t exist on one plane or the other.

You wonder if it is a destiny somehow worse than death.

A chorus, a mix of angry spats, of short acknowledgements, of awed greetings greet your ears.

Nayada.

Siren.

And she is called forth, with the rage of a thousand women buried at sea; so you take a deep breath, and ready yourself for the diner at the Barnes’ estate.

You sharpen your claws,

“Green does look good on ya’, doll.” Bucky mutters, leaning back on his elbows as he sits on the bed, eyes following the trail of your stockings as they go back up your thighs.

You smile, “I’ll keep it in mind, Barnes.”

The dark green fabric falls over your curves like satin. You have to avoid your own eyes in the mirror, but you can see the allure of the Siren in the way your body moves.

And you bare your teeth,

The Carter Matriarch looks you up and down, a smirk growing on her worn face as she reaches your eyes with her own.

“You have fire within you, girl.” She states softly, but you cannot miss the steel underneath, the sheer strength and courage. It is with that same strength that she takes your chin between her fingers and orders, “Do not ever let them extinguish it.”

The lipstick paints your lips with the taint of the blood the words coming from them have had spilled. You still smile, and remind yourself of the stain of your father’s blood on your mother’s skin to relieve the guilt.

Something changes in Peggy’s open expression when she sees you take a seat next to her on the car, and you throw her an inquisitive glace, but she says nothing, signaling for the driver to speed off into Brooklyn’s night.

“You look good, Peg.” You mutter, shifting uncomfortably in your place.

The British woman turns to you for a second, then focuses her attention on the streets passing by you.

“You look like the Siren.”

You bit your tongue, and swallow your words, but they are still branded over your heart.

The Siren is what I have to be.

Your car moves expertly through Brooklyn’s streets, but you pay no mind to it, your mind focused on the dinner ahead of you.

Nerves churn at your stomach, tremors take over your hands, as you try and secure in place the mask of the Princess of Brooklyn, of the Siren, of the Bratva Captain, of the Matriarch bereft of her title.

You walk down the steps, the thousands of times practiced movements not swayed by the weakness in your muscles, the apprehension in your heart.

You smile despite the cold hate in their eyes, because it’s what they told you to. You swallow the bitter disgust as men older than your own father leer at you like a prize, because it’s what you are supposed to do.

But you are your mother’s daughter. So you take in their posture and their expression, because they are too arrogant to consider masking their weakness in front of a girl. And you watch the room for evidence of the words your mother placed in the right ears, because no action is taken within the Bratva without the Game.

A couple of hours later, sitting on one of the corners of your father’s ballroom, you have to clench your hands into fists to stop them from shaking, you have to close your eyes tightly to keep the tears at bay.

A cold glass is pressed into your hand, and you open your eyes to watch as your mother takes a seat next to you, nursing a glass of scotch just like the one she set in front of you.

She motions to your glass with her head.

“Bottoms up,” She advises, “You will need it.”

You search her eyes desperately, sure yours are as full of fear as they can be.

“I can’t do this, mom.”

She just smiles, something cold and dead in her eyes as she states, “You can, and you will.”

The car turns into a too-familiar street, stops in front of a too-familiar driveway. A thousand memories flash before your eyes, and you can only follow Peggy numbly as she gets out of the car.

Steve’s head peeks from the wide-open front door, a big smile settling on his lips as he spots Peggy’s car.

“Hi, baby.” He greets softly, an arm wrapping itself around her with ease. He turns to you and greets you with more kindness than you deserve.

“Y/N!” Rebecca yells, and you have barely a second before the lithe brunette has her arms wrapped around you in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you made it!”

Your lips curve into a smile without you meaning for them too, but you take a step back and regard the teen.

“Rebecca, you told me…”

“Yeah, mom sets up family dinners every week, you know that!” She scoffs, taking your hand with ease and tugging you into the house. Panic grips your heart.

Winifred’s reluctant smile as Bucky presses a kiss on her cheek. Rebecca’s loud complaints of his brother’s ‘sunbeam’ face. Steve’s drawings managing to find a home in every flat surface of the house.

The lovingly chaotic family dinners the Barnes’ household submitted itself to, even if only to share a piece of old bread.

You catch Peggy’s confused stare, and watch in real time as she realizes the kind of diner you were agreeing to join.

Her smile turns devious, “Hurry, Y/N. Winnie has been dying to see you.”

Rebecca tugs harder, and you switch your panicked eyes between her and Steve.

Your tone is final and terrified as you squeak, “She will kill me.”

“You are a Bratva Captain.”

“I am her baby boy’s ex, Margaret.” You reply with a hiss, prompting a snort to leave Peggy’s lips, her smiling face turning to hide in Steve’s chest as he regards you with a mix of guilt and amusement.

Apparently, Bucky is running late on some Bratva business, and the household busies itself arranging the dining room and porch for dinner and the aftermath outside on the cool Brooklyn night. You wish you didn’t hold that routine to heart, you wish it wasn’t something you missed dearly.

“She knows who I am, doesn’t she?” You ask, unconsciously resisting Bucky’s pull as he guides you to his house by the hand.

“She knows you’re my girl, yeah.” He answers, a small, proud smile curving his lips upwards. And for a moment, witnessing the light behind his eyes that ahs been there since the moment you both decided whatever was going on between you deserved a name and a promise, you forget your fear of walking through the door of the Barnes’ household.

“Can I help?” You ask meekly, standing near the kitchen but never entering it. Not eight years, not eighty, could erase from your head Winifred’s threats of bodily and mental harm upon those that enter her kitchen while she is cooking.

The woman scoffs, and doesn’t turn your way.

Rebecca rolls her eyes from where she is sitting on the island counter, peeling potatoes carefully, “Mom.”

Her mother heaves a sigh, and turns to face you for the first time since she regarded you with hatred as you walked through her front door. Her silver eyes take in your attire, going up and down your body in a clinical-like scrutiny.

“Stevie here says he trusts you.” She states.

“Not yet. I did say I love her.” He corrects from his place on the bench on the front porch, the open window giving him access to the conversation.

“Many have made that mistake.” Winifred hisses, but disregards whatever she was planning on saying next, and shoves some cutlery in your hands. “Set the table, girl.”

You say nothing more, and busy yourself in the dining room. There has been an iron grip on your stomach and heart ever since your car pulled up in the familiar driveway. You expected a Bratva dinner, full of poisoned smiles and siren songs.

You didn’t expect to be back in the house where some of your happiest memories were made.

You grumble to yourself as you search through the tablecloths stored in the lower cabinet of Winnie’s dinning room.

Too dark the green to match the napkins. The next one is too bright. The other one is a nice shade of yellow, but it wouldn’t match the curtains, even if it would the palette of the napkins.

“Need any help?” Bucky asks from the doorway behind you, startling you.

“Yes! Get in here!” You whisper, motioning wildly with your hand. “I can’t find a tablecloth.”

Bucky’s grey-blue eyes move carefully and slowly from your face to the armful of linens you hold in your hands. When his gaze returns to you, you catch a glimpse of mischief, even if he tries to hold back his smile for your sake.

“Doll…Imma need ya’ to talk me through this one.”

Gritting your teeth, you hiss, “They don’t match.”

“The tablecloths.”

“Yes.”

“With the…table?”

“The napkins, Buck!” You sigh, nervous hands soothing over non-existent wrinkles in the folded linens. “I want Winnie to like me, and I’m messing this up already.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” He says, hands folding over yours and soothing the nervousness in your system, if only for a second. “My Ma’ is a hard cookie to crack, but she likes ya’, alright?”

“How do you know that?”

“She only lets people she likes stay for dinner,” Bucky presses a kiss on your hair, and helps you to your feet, taking the linens from your hands as he does so. “C’mon, I’ll help you with the table.”

Shaking your head, you focus on the task at hand, ignoring how the ghost of the past guides you through the steps of readying the dinning room for the Barnes’ family dinner.

Suddenly the conversations in the other room end swiftly, and the hairs in the back of your neck stand stiffly to attention.

You are facing the small cabinet where you were tidying and decorating with a small tablecloth to match with the one in the dinner table, and you keep your back to the entrance as you hear Bucky’s fast and determined footsteps approaching the room.

“What are you doing here?” His words have never sounded more like a snarl than now. Understandable, though. The one thing he would do anything to protect, and you are standing in their dining room.

“Rebecca invited me over.” You reply without missing a beat, your back still to him as you straighten the tablecloth a few times before taking a deep breath.

Bucky doesn’t answer for a few beats, and the silence rings in your ears, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of your head you recognize Steve teasing Peggy about helping Winifred in the kitchen, to which the Barnes’ matriarch responds with a playful grumble of how not even Boulestin could teach that girl to cook.

Problem is, you can’t tell if it’s just a memory or if it is happening right now.

And you are not sure you want the answer.

You turn around, and the cold anger, the betrayal, swimming in Bucky’s grey eyes make something within you break.

Resting your hands on the table between you, you force a sigh.

“If I knew…I wouldn’t have-…” You let out a frustrated breath, “I was here on business, Bu-…Barnes.”

“Was?” He questions, his eyes betraying that something in him gives up the fight at the same time as you.

You shrug in response, “This…family has a way of growing on me.”

A shadow of what once would have been a smile crosses his lips, but his eyes are still distant, his voice guarded when he motions with his head to the backyard.

“Walk with me, Y/N.”

You straighten your back and lead the way out of the house.

You stifle a giggle against Bucky’s lips as he lifts you up against the dining room wall, ignoring your whispered protests.

You can taste the satisfied smile on his lips as you melt into the kiss, bringing your arms up around him and angling your head to deepen the embrace.

“Girl, woul-…James Buchanan!” Winifred bellows, making Bucky step away from you with a sheepish smile directed at his mother. She narrows her eyes, not giving in to his pleading eyes. “I swear, I raised barn animals.”

You laugh quietly at her exasperated words, but freeze when she sets her eyes on you.

“Y/N, you were supposed to be better than this, girl.”

You offer her a shrug, “Your son is very convincing, ma’am.”

Finally, a small smile cracks Winifred’s façade, and she rolls her eyes, ushering you two out of the room with grumbled words.

“Fine, we’ll take a walk before dinner.” Bucky agrees, arm wrapping around your waist with ease.

“Oh, no you won’t!” His mother is quick to respond. “You will be staying here and tidying up, and you Y/N, help me in the kitchen.”

The woman leads you with a hand on your back, more motherly than you have felt in your own home, and points to some uncooked yams sitting in the counter.

You set to washing and peeling them, while Winnie bussies herself on the slow cooker.

“My boy cares about you, Y/N,” She states, a threat and a compliment all mixed in her blunt statement. With a deep breath she continues, “By the way he talked about ya’, I would think you hung the moon and the stars. Then he brought me to meet ya a few months ago, and I noticed the damn fool looks at you like you do.”

You hide your smile as you duck your head, busying yourself with the dinner. You could swear a smile curves Winnie’s lips upwards as she continues too.

You follow his guide to the small backyard, and sit next to Bucky on the wooden stairs that end the porch. Silence spreads over the air, a mix of calming and unnerving, like the breeze flowing around a cliff.

There’s something within you keeping you from being the one to break the silence, and you keep your gaze to the small backyard, trying to discern between memories, what if’s, and the cruel reality.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Bucky’s broad shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

“Why are you here? Really.”

Your answer is automatic, rehearsed, and it burns your tongue like acid as it comes out, “My family sti-…”

“The real reason.”

Breathing out a bitter laugh, you lean to the side, resting your back on the railing and facing the profile of Brooklyn’s Captain as you answer, with whatever truth you can manage,

“I spent so long lying to…everyone. Brock, Natasha, their guests, their enemies. There was always a new mask to be worn, a new lie to be told and I…I got tired of it.

Bucky turns to look at you, really look at you, for the first time in what feels like forever. So close to him to those grey-blue eyes that haunted you for eight years, you cannot help feeling closer to the girl you were, to the life you had, to the memories you made.

Your eyes remain locked on his, facing with your own uncertainty and pain the distrust and betrayal in his.

“I suppose…when you lie for so long about who you are, you forget to tell yourself the truth.” You finish in a breath, shrugging, and forcing your gaze back to the space ahead of you, and away from him.

Maybe because it is easier not to. Maybe because the sharp pain of the lie is better than the slow poison of the truth.

It takes a while before any of you speaks again, but the silence somehow feels less like an absence and more like the very real and notable presence of your past selves, like forgotten songs being brought back if only for a second, if only to remind you of what you had, of what you lost, of what you want.

“Y/N,” He starts, making you wonder for a second why it feels like this is the first time he has said your name since…since before. You turn to face Bucky, and his eyes find yours without pause, searching and searching and searching. “I need to know I can trust you.”

“We both know you don’t. And you won’t, no matter what I say.” You reply with ease, no trace of accusation in your tone, no anger, no resentment. Truth tastes your lips, for the first time in a while, and it unsettles you.

He huffs, running a hand through his hair in a gesture you remember with fondness. Knowing he is trying to gather his thoughts, you stay in silence, enjoying the simple sounds of your city at night.

“I have people I need to protect, doll.” He explains swiftly, the endearment nothing more than a compulsion, a result of the blurred lines of past and present in the never-ending night of Brooklyn.

You find his eyes when you answer, “So do I, Bucky.”

Bucky regards you for a few seconds, his eyes searching your own; and you cannot help but notice how close he is, and how you can notice the slight tinge of red in the tip of his angular nose at the cold of the night.

Finally, he takes a deep breath,

“Are you working with Rumlow, Princess?”

You find his steely eyes with ease, and for a second too long, you want to close your eyes and move with the liberating melody of having truthful words leave your lips, but the woman made out of the Princess forces your strings and makes you dance to a different song.

“No, I am not.”

___

I know, it sucks, I’m sorry. I just had to get back to it, and yeah, sorry.

Hope you stayed till the end, thank you for reading, please leave some feedback. Love ya.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky x reader #mobster au #mobster!bucky

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fablemonger-ao3 · 5 years

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Me-Oh, My-Oh, What a Girl!

There_Was_A_Star_Danced

Summary:

A little over two weeks after bringing home their first child, Emma Bernadette, Marinette wakes up to hear her husband serenading his “other girl” and thinks back.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Marinette thought it must have been the floorboards creaking that woke her, but she couldn’t be sure in the first three seconds after coming to consciousness. She stayed still, knowing how light Adrien slept, and that if she moved she would wake him. Emma was quiet for the moment, but Marinette had a new mother’s radar that knew when her child was awake and was just waiting for Emma to realize that she was hungry before Marinette herself moved.

Wait. Floorboard?

She shifted silently onto her back and looked towards the crib where, to her relief, Adrien stood smiling down at his “other girl”, his golden head shining in the moonlight from the window. A second or two later and the cooing baby was in his arms, being shifted onto his shoulder as she liked.

‘ Barely over two weeks old and she already prefers being tall. ’ Marinette thought wryly in her sleepy state. Whenever she wasn’t being fed, Marinette’s fussy infant enjoyed being held, the higher the better, and so when Grandpa Tom wasn’t around preferred her Dad’s arms over her mother's.

Adrien started humming as he walked around, nothing set at first, just something to send vibrations through his chest and so keep Emma calm. He brought her over to the window and stood looking out over Paris, a little golden spot above the blankets where his daughter’s head rested on his chest. Gradually his humming gathered strength and rhythm until she recognized it as an old Dean Martin song they’d translated into French for a project in high school. They’d both preferred the original version in the end though, and it was a staple for a little while when they dated. What was it called again? She listened.

What started out as humming changed to singing when the little one had gotten fussy again, Adrien shifting over with a quiet “Oh, you want to hear the words to it too, huh? Well okay, if you promise to go to sleep.”

“ The naughty lady, of shady lane, has hit the town like a bomb; ” Adrien began,

Marinette thought back to when she found out she was pregnant, and how she had told Adrien, her parents, Alya and Nino, Tikki, Plagg. Adrien had been thrilled beyond measure to learn he was gonna be a Dad, his “positive waves” as Nino called them easing any fear Marinette had that she was gonna be a good Mom.

Tom and Sabine had been equally supportive, and ecstatic they were finally gonna have a grandchild. Alya and Nino practically put Marinette under house arrest when they had found out, not letting her do anything until she had finally blown up (hormones, everyone agreed) and said if they didn’t stop smothering her she would transform and climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Everyone stopped smothering her.

Tikki and Plagg had been happy too, though worried for Marinette and Adrien’s safety as was everyone else. But in the end, they pacified themselves and set about making themselves useful. From Tikki, that meant a lot of practical advice and rationalizing with Marinette, and from Plagg that meant, well, he tried not to bring Camembert too close to Marinette while she had morning sickness.

“ The back fence gossips ain’t been this good, since Mabel ran off with Tom; ” Adrien went on, his voice soothing in the otherwise quiet of the room.

Marinette remembered the gossip that went around when Ladybug didn’t show up as usual to fights. She was there, of course, but hidden, cautious, generally hiding and dodging and telling Cat Noir what to do. Eventually, She stopped coming out at all when she started to show, and she had her loyal partners (Thank you, Master Fu) handle it and only call on her when she was needed. The Press had had a field day until Ladybug’s partners had shown up to a press conference with some hints being thrown out about a secret mission that required Ladybug’s attention for a matter of some months and she wasn’t likely to be back in circulation for a while yet. Marinette sighed in her mind. She wasn’t ready to go back into the fights that came their way. Did Superheroes take Maternity leave?

“ The town was peaceful and quiet, until she came on the scene. The lady has started a riot, disturbin’ the suburban routine… ”

She certainly had. Marinette thought to the early days of having her Miraculous and how everything grew since then, and yet stayed the same. And then suddenly being a superhero wasn’t the most important factor in her life anymore with a little plus sign on a plastic stick and the doctor’s words: “Congratulations Mrs. Agreste! You’re a mother!” Then it was a flurry of excitement and planning, talking with her mother and getting advice, being teased by Alya and Nino, setting up the nursery… actually, that one had evaded them for a while, which is why for the first month or so until the finishing touches could be done and the air purified of the residue of carpentry and painting, the baby was sleeping in their own bedroom.

“ Oh, the naughty lady of shady lane, has the town in a whirl!” Adrien went into the chorus, petting his daughter’s head against his chest, “ The naughty lady of shady lane: me-oh, my-oh, what a girl!”

Marinette smiled. Adrien had fallen head-over-heels with their little angel the moment she had been placed in their arms, and looking at him now, he hadn’t fallen one jot out of love. Of course, it had been easier for two people who were used to only sleeping half the night each anyway to adjust to having to wake up every hour to feed a little cooing bundle, so maybe that helped to dull the usually sharp disenchantment pains that most new parents felt. Marinette was grateful for that. In fact, she’d found it a little bit of a cushy assignment, and now she knew why.

As Adrien hummed the interlude between verses, he moved away from the window and to the new mini-fridge still awkwardly installed by the crib, pulling out a pre-made bottle and sticking it under his arm. ‘Sneaky little cat...’ , Marinette thought, with a smile as he began singing again.

“ You should see how she carries on, with her admirer’s galore. She must be giving them quite a thrill, the way they flock to her door.”

Marinette giggled softly, thinking of the near-constant flow of their many friends in the hospital and when they had gotten home. Even Chloe and Sabrina had stopped by once or twice to hold Emma, and Sabrina had gotten a little kick out of feeding her. Aunt Alya and Uncle Nino had almost moved in, and Tom and Sabine weren’t much better. But Adrien and Marinette liked the company, and it was well known that the Agreste's kept an open house, to “Aunt Nathalie’s” complete unamusement. Poor Nathalie; when Gabriel went missing, Nathalie wasn’t sure that Adrien would ever want to see her or his bodyguard again. But to her surprise, Adrien had relied on her as much as his father had, and Marinette had welcomed the extra protection that his bodyguard provided.

“ She throws those come hither glances, at every Tom, Dick, and Joe! And when offered some liquid refreshment: the lady never-never says no!”

Emma Bernadette might have been born with her father’s coloring and strong head of hair, (the doctor’s first words upon seeing her had been: “Look at that hair!”) but she had inherited her mother’s eye shape, and consequently “Marinette’s look of doom™”. It was physically impossible to resist loving those eyes, and Marinette dreaded with a passionate fervor the days when she would learn how to turn on the “baby-doll eyes”. And she certainly never turned down “liquid refreshment.” Sabine said she’d never seen a baby that greedy, but Nathalie swore she got it from her father.

“ Oh the naughty lady of shady lane, has the town in a whirl! The Naughty Lady, of Shady Lane: Me-oh, my-oh, what a girl!” Adrien sang the refrain again, and deeming the milk warm enough, began feeding Emma. Marinette swore that man could heat the whole room on his own if he tried. She’d often curled up with him on the colder of their runs around Paris, saving herself from frostbite through his warmth, and after many many trials (though less errors) Nathalie had finally agreed that he didn’t need to keep too close an eye on his diet and Marinette could finally stop having to sneak her own husband his favorite foods. Marinette smiled again, drinking in the sight of her Adrien and her Emma in the light of the window, Emma sucking greedily on the now warm bottle, and Adrien grinning and continuing his song.

“ The things they’re trying to pin on her, won’t hold much water, I’m sure. Beneath the powder and fancy lace, there beats a heart sweet and pure.”

Marinette had to hold back her habitual groan as she heard the puns coming from her husband’s mouth. She had known he was Cat Noir the first time they had heard the song together, but couldn’t understand why he had cottoned onto it so fast, especially that last verse. It wasn’t until a few days later, when they were talking about the project alone in her room that Adrien had let himself go, singing the puns at the top of his voice and suddenly it made sense why he had chosen this one. She had groaned heartily at it then, and she almost groaned now; but as in the first instance, a reluctant smile had pulled itself onto her face as she listened to her dorky husband.

“ She just needs someone to change her, and she’ll be nice as can be! If you’re in the neighborhood, stranger, you’re welcome to drop in and see-”

Marinette rolled her eyes silently and grinned.

“ The Naughty Lady, of Shady Lane! So delightful to hold! The Naughty Lady, of Shady Lane! So delectable! Quite respectable!” Adrien was forcing himself not to sing it in its usual way, but to sing it as a lullaby which in this last verse was hard. But he pushed through and finished and Marinette smiled.

“ And she’s only nine days old!”

Emma was cooing contentedly now, her bottle gone a couple of seconds ago, and Adrien stayed in the window with her for a while, re-singing snatches of the song as Emma burped and calmed down from the bottle, cooing all the while. Eventually, she fell asleep, and Adrien laid her down in her bed, whispering softly to her.

“Que des vols d'anges te chantent à ton repos, ma petite dame,” he whispered, kissing his daughter on the head before heading back to bed himself, crawling in beside Marinette. (“May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, my little lady.”)

His hand came around her waist and he curled around her (she chuckled to herself) like a cat. She was almost sure she’d gotten away with seeing the whole thing unnoticed until he spoke softly in her ear.

“You should be asleep too, my ‘bug’ lady.”

Marinette opened her eyes and spoke drowsily, a smirk on her lips. “Who are you calling ‘bug’? I’m not ‘bug’ anymore. And whose fault was it in the first place?”

Adrien snickered.“ ‘Bug’ is relative to ‘little’, mon dame. And two puns in twenty seconds? From you? That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Marinette snorted. “Hardly. Using the same pun twice when you are half asleep doesn’t count. And anyway, I’ve done better than that.”

Silent laughter from her husband shook the bed, and his rapid breathing tickled her neck. She broke into stifled giggles.

Adrien got up on his elbow and slowly kissed her shoulder, her jawbone, her cheek, her lips, and her forehead. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear: “Je t'aime mon dame.” … Then he promptly collapsed over top of her, and cuddled into her to never let her go while saying sternly, but not harshly: “Now go to sleep.” They both fell asleep to her breathy giggles into his shoulder. (“I love you, M’lady.”)

#fanfiction #fanfic #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #marinette agreste #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #miraculous fanfic #babyfic #the naughty lady of shady lane #In honor of it's almost 500 reads #I am finally crossposting to Tumblr #sorry guys #these last couple months have been busy #hope you enjoy

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singing-robot · 5 years

Text

re: Dead Cells/Undertale

And why it would be the worst crossover ever.

First off, I have not finished Dead Cells, and I’m trying to play it as blindly as possible, so please do not add anything further than what I mention right here in this post!!! This includes tips, runes, locations, and unseen dialogue. I’ve recently acquired my first stem cell, and have only gotten to the Concierge once in the many games I’ve started in hard mode, sodo please be mindful of that. And now, the promised content.

This started off as a fun mashup between the two games, but the realistic side of my brain kicked in and said, “How would this actually go?” And, quite honestly, that one seemed more interesting, both in terms of how this hypothetical game would be played (I wish I could show you guys instead of just talking about it), and in the potential angst that would be held.

The first thing I feel we need to address is how the game starts. Dead Cellsman (as I so often see him called) has a beheaded prisoner to crawl into each time you start over. Who is supplying these? I have no idea. However, I’m going to say that these bodies are either thrown down there by the same being each time you start, or Mr. Prisoner Sir finds his ride off-screen, and we only see him fall down.

“But Robot!” you cry. “That’s so unnecessary and specific!!! Why would you bring that up?” Good question!! Because the alternative is diggging his way underground and taking over the dead body of the first fallen human. Only works once, and that’s so horrifying and disgusting that I immediately hated it as soon as I considered it, and wished I never had. The concept of eventually unlocking the other previous humans would be pretty cool if they weren’t, you know, way past their expiration date.

Disgusting and terrible, but I needed to address it. Next section: actual fighting.

Mr. Cellsman does not have the time for extensive dialogue and conversations. He’s thrown into prison, given a couple of weapons, and his tutorial covers a total of maybe 20 seconds between three deaths. Everything after that is a line of destruction and occasional smart remarks about something poorly lit by a blue candle. A speedrunning, monster-hacking, hilt-happy creature does not bode well for the residents of the Underground.

He does not have much sympathy for the dead, and he criticizes those in charge of the living. I don’t blame him, honestly, but it makes me wonder how he would react to something that begged when he’s already supposed to kill it. Or if he would even give them time to do so. For the purposes of this post, he doesn’t. He sees it, he hacks it, he gains whatever coin they had on their person. All things considered, I’d say he would start off with a fairly high Level of Violence, so it would be much easier to go through the game.

The boss fights would be very interesting. Toriel wouldn’t have any sort of connection as to a child, and would not hold back during her fight. I almost want to see it. The dogs would be the equivalent of Elites, probably. Papyrus would be absolute hell to fight, with his constant ground attacks; not to mention that you’re supposed to hit him in the middle of all of it. He’ll make it a fair fight, of course, but according to even Dead Cells logic, he will be on par with you. I think Undyne would be very similar to the Time Keeper, except you couldn’t simply break out of her hold.

I did this in my sketchbook and I’m so glad I can make it again with real context.

To be fair, I’ve only gotten as far as Undyne, so I won’t go much farther on that topic, except on the specifics of the next section dealing with Sans, since I won’t ever play that run, anyway. (So, basically, I lied.)

Encountering Sans at the end would be... very frustrating, to say the least. Either his fight would be very similar to the Hand of the King, or he would simply disappear every time you tried to hit him, until you figure out that there’s actually a secret passage to bypass him entirely and you’ve wasted so much time, there goes your speedrunning record. The difference here might actually count on either the time it took you to get to the end, or how thoroughly you took out the monster population. (He would probably deal more damage than Frisk ever could; getting held up so often allowed for more people to escape.)

Wow. So. Here we are. Are you still reading this? Have you done this all in one big chunk? Please take a moment to look away from your screen, stretch, and do five real good blinks. Take in a deep breath and hold it. Hold it. A little longer. And out. Yeah, man. Breathe some of the outside stuff, too, for bonus refreshment. Maybe get some water while we’re here. This post is a little long, might as well add in a break time paragraph. I’m certainly using it as a time to stop writing, before I get into the next segment and lose 30 more minutes. Also??? Thanks for sticking through this far, it really means a lot. Especially since I haven’t edited a single bit of this so far, and probably won’t from this point on.

All right!!! Have you stretched? Have you had some water? Did you take a big whiff of your surroundings so as to not get too lost in the sauce of this crazy post? I hope so, pal, because here comes the fun part: The Aftermath.

When you fight Sans, he makes his accusation: you’re the anomaly in his research, and you need to be stopped. But here’s the thing: he doesn’t say that on nothing. He says that in almost full confidence, and suspected it in other runs. What gives you away? Not entirely sure, but I bet defeating the Captain of the Royal Guard without dying, or openly having zero interest in things that should be interesting, hints at it. And unless something is lit by a blue candle or offers the promise of cells and upgraded weapons, Dead Cellsman has very little interest in anything at all.

So you could imagine that someone speedrunning through the Underground, killing everyone in his path while hardly stopping to glance at the scenery, would be waving a big red “time anomaly” flag. And if Sans managed to evade him until the end, and even had the time to overcome any shock and actually do something, that would be one horrible, inescapable fight.

Here’s where my idea splits in two:

1. Sans dies. You receive a special item to take out Asgore in one hit, you win, you finish the game. There is... little point in restarting it, because I’m logical and boring and the remaining monsters of the Underground wouldn’t come out of hiding for... a very long time. Longer than it’d be worth Mr. Cellsman to consider coming back for.

So when Frisk falls, there is nothing and nobody. The place is a little dusty, a little bloody, there’s a few spare coins on the ground, but everything is utterly abandoned. The towns, the stores, the homes you can’t explore, anyway; they’re empty. It’d make for a boring game, honestly. There’s Flowey, but he’s so distracted by recent events that he doesn’t even show up when you first fall. There’s not point in “kill or be killed” when there’s no one around to fight you. He’ll talk to you, sure, but because you’re another entertaining attraction. Your SOUL would be great, but what’s the point if the others are almost completely inaccessible, now?

Perhaps he’ll tell you the tale of the genocidal killing spree he witnessed for fun.

2. (This ending applies to ones with and without a Sans fight, with or without total monster destruction.) Not to add another angst story featuring the Sans man, bUT... Sans does not die. You get past him, you take out Asgore, you win the game, whatever. You get to move on.

And Sans was wrong. Nothing resets. He thought he was right, he was so positive, but here he is. And there are so many people who are dead. It must be hard to deal with, when he hardly has anyone to blame it on. He can’t even curse the murderer to his face. So imagine what it must be like to watch another monster kill so many of its own kind, only to have a human fall after that. The creature that banished them all underground is now here to either finish them off or send them to the Surface, but I doubt anyone thinks it’s the latter. The angel has returned to free them all.

I accidentally made a super metal and symbolic image to go with this, I will post it separately because, holy cow, did not expect it to turn out like this.

Frisk has to face the most scared, enraged, and depressed monsters they could ever have encountered. Some of them will attack as viciously as they can. Others will beg for mercy, or run as quickly as possible. More will just wait, confused and perhaps upset if they are spared. There will be some who are simply NPCs, as per usual, but they will be very different. There will be fewer. Frisk’s mission to save monsters and encourage their character development will be vastly different and very difficult.

I... made the mistake of waiting over 24 hours to type out the second half of this and lost some of the steam I started with, but I’m also bad at simply describing how bleak and depressing it would be without getting too much into it. So!!! To conclude, a semi-realistic Dead Cells/Undertale crossover would be extremely sad and depressing, since it’s basically coming in on the aftermath of almost-genocide. I will definitely accept further questions and, possibly, requests regarding this post, especially since you actually read through the entire thing and endured through everything in this post even after my enthusiasm died down in my writing. Sorry to disappoint after hyping up The Aftermath, but I was writing that at midnight and probably lost some of my good points. Definitely had a better version in my head.

I also super ignored almost everything involving Flowey for Mr. Prisoner Sir because uhhh I didn’t want to write around that too much, so please don’t call me out on it because I definitely am aware of it and only have weak justifications for doing so. And, since we’re both here,

UnderCells - a little catchy, I like it, but it sounds like the main story itself would be focusing on Dead Cellsman going through the Underground. While it would, to an extent, ignoring Frisk’s presence would simply make it a new level and brief one shot thing for the man. I really like the sound of it, though.

DeadTale - far more appropriate for Frisk’s leg of the journey (as well as all of monsterkind), kinda funny in a sick sort of way, definitely used somewhere else.

It doesn’t matter if you use either of these terms, I thought I’d address it since it’s already a super long post :’D

You made it to the end!!! Congratulations!!!

#this is a BUTTS long post and I’m posting at a bad time again #so I expect very little attention from it #esp since dead cells doesn’t seem to be a crazy popular game #but I wrote and golly I’m going to share it with you #as per usual: my weird thing about providing a ridiculous amount of context is based on point deductions in brit lit #so Shannon if you’re reading this - you’re a nerd and you ruined my fun time essays to also be taken seriously #gosh how do I even tag this #undercells #that tag doesn’t seem taken? but call it whatever #I just want to refer to it in the future #which I hope I won’t have to but... yeah #imma stop rambling in the tags now #this is just afterthought mess from writing so much and I think I should continue lol #nervous before posting I guess #singing robopinions

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quagmireisadora · 6 years

Note

For a prompt can you do an ot5 with a sheltered prince jinki wanting to see the world and his 4 guards breaking him out to go on an adventure.

A/N: OOOOHH such a cool cool prompt!!!

Minho is soft. He carries no malice in his words, or in his heart, of this Jinki can be sure. The man is gentle in appearance, and disposition. He makes for good company on long expeditions—when His Majesty is hunting tigers with his party, and the Crown Prince is deeply uninterested, he orders a blanket to be spread onto level ground and lies upon it to gaze at the stars, summoning Minho to lay by his side and point out the constellations.

Minho is soft and kind. But his sword is keen, and his swings are powerful. He does not hold back when he attacks Jinki. When Minho brings his weapon down, the prince must dig his heels into the ground, as if he is pushing back against a bull. He turns on one foot and moves out from under the other’s arm, pulling away and attacking from another direction. Their swords meet again, and spit points of fire until they slide to reunite at the hilts.

Jinki lets out a groan at the strain, a groan that turns into chuckle. He shakes his head in compliment. “Yah... Minho goon,” he grinds from between grit teeth. “Am I fighting you still, or have you shot a cannon at me?”

Minho blushes but maintains the severity of his assault. “You must conserve your breath, Jeoha,” he instructs.

The Crown Prince opens his mouth to reply when there is a whine through the air behind his head. He lets out a sound of surprise, then jumps back from Minho.

Jonghyun arrived at the court as a zither player. The first time he played a song in full court, it is said that the entire city of Hanseong came to a standstill, simply so they could listen better. He is a man of precision. He neither misses a beat, nor misplaces a note. His voice is sweet and flows quietly through the halls of the palace. When the Crown Prince cannot sleep at night, he asks for Jonghyun to sing him a lullaby or two.

Growing up without a mother, Jinki feels like a child again in Jonghyun’s presence. The precision does not rest at the music alone, however, for the zither player’s arrows never miss their mark. Jinki runs to one side as he perceives the man racing toward him on a horse. He finds the grip of an upturned shield and snatches it, pulling it over his chest in time for three arrowheads to be embedded in it all together. The archer is almost upon him when Jinki regains his balance. On his feet again, he notes Jonghyun turning his horse around.

The Crown Prince waves his sword and cuts the arrows away by their stalks. “Ohot!” he exclaims loudly. “Is this a duel or a contest?” he demands, and another arrow sings past him. He lurches, fending off a volley.

“Why must you loose so many at once?” he demands as he runs to remove himself from range.

“Jeoha!” Jonghyun yells. “You mustn’t move in a line before an archer! They will shoot you through the heart!”

The Crown Prince growls and abruptly changes course, racing toward trees to hide until he could catch his breath. When he is prepared to step out, a dagger glides to snap onto the bark next to his ear.

The sea was always a mystery to Jinki until Kibum related a story from his past. For a time, the man had been captain of a pirate ship that traveled between Goryeo and Yamato, raiding every port it could catch unawares. In his retellings Kibum was a deep man, and sometimes the depth frightened Jinki. He had first learnt to fight from Kibum, using his very own arms and feet for weapons. On days when he was angry at himself, at his father, at the entire kingdom, they would hold a bout.

Jinki knows how Kibum thinks, how crafty he is and how he unerringly attacks from the worst blind spots. The pirate is just as powerful as Minho, but twice as cunning. Jinki slides to face the other side of the tree, keeping his back pressed against the trunk. He crouches to look up at the branches, and with no hesitation, a handful of daggers rain down to land at his feet. He runs, catches some against his blade and slashes his way out of the undergrowth.

Away from the foliage, he turns to look back and finds Kibum pursuing him with haste. Jinki throws his sword away and braces his arms up in front of his chest, preparing himself for the impact. The other scrapes to a halt before him and slams Jinki’s legs out from under him.

The Crown Prince nearly falls but throws a cartwheel and stands upright again. “Never take your eyes off the enemy, Jeoha!” Kibum warns.

Jinki sweats, but nods in acknowledgement. He resumes his combat pose and waits for Kibum to lash out again. The pirate circles him slowly, and suddenly gives way for a blade-tipped staff to jab at Jinki from behind him.

Taemin is filled with mischief. He is never seen on the training grounds, yet beats all his opponents with the ease of a Master. Oftentimes, the Crown Prince has nothing to entertain him, and the chief eunuch is too ignorant to play riddle games with. On days like that, he quietly pads out of his chambers and climbs over the south wall of the palace. Taemin is always ready and waiting for him with a horse and a disguise, leading the two of them towards the bustle of the marketplace and the flower district. The boy fights like he looks, with unpredictable scampering and attacks that have no pattern.

Duelling with him is like dancing with him. Despite himself, Jinki grins. He evades every stab towards his face, walking backwards until they are nearly where he wants them to be. In a flash, he bends and reaches behind him for his sword. When he has it in his grasp, he somersaults forward and slashes at the other. Taemin jumps to dodge and continues his strikes.

The Crown Prince laughs as they parry each other, equally matched at last. He makes to pierce the other’s midriff, and Taemin simply skips backwards with a giggle, spinning the spear in one hand. Jinki shakes his head and charges forward.

“You’ll never catch me, hyungnim!” the boy teases, allowed the informality as a way of partial favor in the prince’s eyes.

Jinki is ready to chuckle and catch his breath when Minho thumps him from the right. Blade scrapes against blade once more and Kibum, in a moment of charity, flings a shield for the prince to catch. He does so just in time for Jonghyun to dart an arrow at his unprotected neck. The pirate loses sense of all his previous generosity and aims a punch at Jinki’s stomach. The prince in turn whirls and avoids the strike, coming face to face with the trident end of a long staff. He swiftly sidesteps, knocking the stick aside and turning again to bring his blade to Taemin’s throat. Minho draws the fight towards himself by blocking the hit, tangling their swords again and pushing Jinki away. Kibum aims a kick at Jinki’s back. His foot nearly misses its mark when the prince squats low, kicking his own leg out in an arc behind him. The pirate bounds backwards onto his hands. The musician orbits them all on his horse, occasionally shooting an arrow at Jinki’s shoulders when the prince least expects it.

They continue their torrent for a while and Jinki holds them back with admirable speed and stamina. They continue until they sense the sun getting lower on the horizon, and the sweat gathering on the prince’s collar. Unexpectedly, they all halt their attacks at the same instant. Jinki frowns, taken aback at the sudden change in stance from them all. He looks around him--at Minho’s long hair now looking disheveled, at Jonghyun’s face covered in a layer of dust, at Kibum’s eye patch creased from his tired squinting, at Taemin’s bruised shoulders from a deliberate scrape.

“The hour escaped me!” Jinki apologizes to them. They bow to him in unison. “So engrossed was I in our sport that I noticed not how weary we all are!” he chortles. “Come! Refreshments await us in the pavilion,” he makes to head toward the closest building. Servants bustle about, preparing cooling drinks and rosewater when they sense the duel ended.

“Jeoha,” Kibum interrupts. Jinki turns to him with half a smile and half a frown. “This nothing must...” he looks around their circle, hesitating uncharacteristically. “We must all profess a crime, Jeoha.”

The Crown Prince takes a breath. He is not angry by the possibility such a confession holds. “Speak,” he says in a voice he hopes is kind.

“Jeoha, we...” Minho bites his lower lip but continues all the same. “We have been training you with a purpose.”

“A purpose we imagined honorable and... and yet, bold,” Jonghyhun explains with a bow that appears to border on ashamed.

“We have a dream for you, hyungnim,” Taemin states with a calm smile. “A dream we dearly wish to be a part of. A dream that we hope you can share with us.”

Jinki sighs. “The hour is late. Must you all speak in puzzles?”

“I once believed that the Joseon kingdom is the biggest kingdom in the world, Jeoha...” Kibum adds. “I believed that in the world, and the world is Goryeo. But when I first went to sea,” he shakes his head with a hint of nostalgia. “When I went to sea I comprehended my folly, comprehended the width and length of this world.”

“I wish to listen to your story, Kibum,” the prince replies. “But I am weary. Can we not prolong this any more than it must be?”

“Jeoha, what we mean is,” Jonghyun says. “There is more to this life than a crown,” he bows again. “There is more outside these walls than duels and feasts and zither recitals. There is more beyond the war with Yamato and the treaty with Yuan. There is more to the world than Mongol invaders and marriage alliances. There is so much more and Jeoha... we want to give all of that to you.”

“What... what mean you?” Jinki inquires with confusion.

“We want to gift you the world, Jeoha,” Minho gives a shy smile. “We have trained you to fight your own battles, but life is bigger and more challenging than anything we could teach you. Even Confucius had to see it all in its glory before he shared his wisdom with the world.”

“You mean me to leave... the kingdom?” Jinki raises his eyebrows. “By myself?”

“Not by yourself,” Taemin assures with an impish grin. He looks at the rest of his accomplices. “I’ll get the horses ready.”

#30 day challenge #with soapy #ot5 #shinee #Anonymous

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bashfulbrilliance · 6 years

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au. ( deadlords of future past )

[ This is WAY longer than I thought so it’s going to be under the cut. ]

It’s mentioned in awakening ( or strongly hinted at ) that most of the parents end up becoming deadlords, resurrected by presumably Grima. It is also noted that some Risen actually retain previous memories from when they were living.

Memories.

In the case of Olivia ( v. undead marionette ), I believe she retains memories of her time with the shephard’s and so forth with vague pockets of time previous from then. It’s strange that memories of her parents would fall as more vague memories and here are some reason why ( this is based on headcanons because you know, they gave us like no backstory on her ):

► Her younger years were more of exploration. Discovering all that the world has to offer through traveling with her parents and gaining everything from experience. More or less, just enjoying the wonders of life. ► Only her strongest memories of that time will be remembered as those were ones she learned the importance of her own morals, ideas and beliefs of life. Naturally, from her parents ( namely her father ) and from individuals she crossed paths with. ► Time amongst the Shephard’s was a HUGE game changer in her life. Excluding the people she met, Olivia herself changed and blossomed. Please keep in mind that if Olivia never marries, then she remains the same shy performer and never breaking away from that ( though I believe it just happens much later ) while if she does, she develops her style, grows more courageous and thoughtful and is just simply recognizing her own strength and the influence she has. ► In terms of her marriage, those would be the most vivid of memories. Time with her family, her child(ren) are the most cherished.

Thus, I will note that whom ever she weds and whatever siblings Inigo/Laslow has, she’ll recognize them however it’ll take a bit of time before she completely acknowledges who they are. Even within the state that she’s in if her family is in unconquerable danger she’ll more than likely act on impulse. Not to be confused with her willingly doing so, it is impulse of wanting and needing to protect them.

Overall Mannerism.

Olivia’s mannerism as a deadlord is more or less best described as creepy, unnerving really. Her motions are very corpse like with broken movements but there’s a consistent fluidity that presents itself as something very mesmerizing and alive. There is no way for her to ideal stop moving and must remain in constant motion for unknown reasons.

Idle waiting would be a gentle sway back and forth to unheard music or the moving of lips speaking a silent song. One way or another, something on her person’s must remain in motion. The possible ideas that I thought of for the need would be:

► The subconscious fooling that the vessel is still alive and not at all dead ► Creation of friction reduces chances of her joints locking up or her body stiffening and thus falling apart from lack of use.

She speaks through singing, often in cases, riddled songs that are gently uttered. It’s the kind of voice that is motherly ( soft, gentle, inviting ) and disturbing ( overtly playful & light, stalking, constantly sounding close ). The only times she will not be doing such is when screaming in some level of agony or weeping.

Atk/Def & Strategies.

Her defense takes a major nose dive while her speed and luck improve. Landing a hit is a challenge as there are many ways for her to evade assaults. Brute force will not work and a strategy will be necessary to trap and defeat her. I imagined her attack to be rather average or a little below -- reason being that her speed will allow for multiple hits to be made, slowly chipping away at guarded foes or because she plans to escape.

The thing is when she ‘escapes’ it’s never too far away. The idea is to ambush when your guard is let down and your cross paths within a 2 foot radius of her hiding place. Although, this would be considered rare to occur as either she’ll take an opponent down before that or she’ll be forced to pull back. She will never approach an opponent that would not guarantee her victory. Consumption is necessary but the number 1 innate priority is to stay alive.

Weapon of choice is of course a long sword, but I’d imagine she’s also have claws that are adorned in gems and jewels that she’d use as a weapon. Probably when she’s REALLY hungry.

#v. undead marionette #I have more I want to put but I'll add them later here or in a new post #what do ya'll think #reincarnation. (au ideas)

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pocket-luv101 · 5 years

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Summary: Norman leaves his palace and meets Emma. (Norman and Emma, Aladdin AU)

Norman stared up at the wall that circled his palace and pictured what was beyond it. He placed his hand on the aging tree that stood next to the wall. He gave the branch a light tug to test how durable it was. The tree could be his only opportunity to climb over wall but it was dangerous. If he stepped on the wrong branch, he could fall and break his leg. He had to try though.

The moon peaked over the wall and beckoned him to climb to it. As the prince, Norman could never leave the palace. He would often see the city from his bedroom’s window. Tonight, he would explore the land beyond the wall. Norman gathered his courage and gripped a tree branch. Before he could pull himself up, a voice startled him. “That one won’t hold your weight.”

He studied the guard’s patrol schedule and he was certain that they would be in the east wing. Norman let go of the branch and peered around the tree. He saw Ray leaning against the wall. He hadn’t noticed him when he approached the tree because he was standing in the shadows. Ray pushed himself off the wall and they faced each other. “I thought it was strange when you said you wanted to go to bed early. So, where are you planning to go in the middle of the night.”

“I want to spend a day in the city.” Norman told him. He knew that it was pointless to lie to Ray but he hoped he could make him understand his feelings. “In a year, I will turn eighteen and become king. Yet, I don’t know a thing beyond this wall aside from what I’ve read in books. If I am to be a good leader, I need to understand their problems and needs. Please, just give me one day outside.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re sneaking out in the middle of the night. You can arrange a day where the public may come to the castle and voice their concerns. That’s the safest and best solution.” Ray pointed out and a part of Norman knew that he was right. He added, “It’s dangerous to walk through the city without your guards. Even if you’re disguised as a peasant, thieves and bandits might target you.”

“A formal audience might be safer than my plan but it feels too distant. Trust me, Ray, I know what I’m doing. I’ve planned for every possible detail and I spent a month preparing everything.” He opened his bag to show Ray its contents. “I found a map of the city and I already planned out my path so I won’t get lost. I have money for lodging and food as well. This is going to work.”

“You’re book smart but that will only help you so much. We both know that.” Norman couldn’t disagree with him. He was confused when Ray took off his pendant and held it out to him. “If you get yourself in trouble, find someone wearing this pendant. They’ll help you. I’ll tell the servants that you’re sick and you want to rest in your room undisturbed. But I’ll only cover for you until midnight tomorrow. If you aren’t back by then, I will send every available guard after you.”

“I promise I’ll come back. Thank you, Ray.” Norman smiled brightly and took the pendant from him. He hugged him tightly. They had been friends since they were kids and Norman considered them brothers despite their different stations. Ray let him go and watched Norman climb towards the top of the wall. He still felt uneasy with his plan but he doubted he could stop Norman once he made up his mind.

“I wonder if you know that you’re lying to yourself.” Ray muttered. Even though Norman had a birthright to the throne, he took his responsibilities very seriously. He was dedicated to his studies. There were times Ray noticed him staring at the city though. A part of him likely wanted more freedom but he never voiced that to his mother. That self-sacrificing side of Norman frustrated Ray sometimes because he wanted his friend to be happy. He hoped he would have fun in the city.

At the top of the wall, Norman tied a rope onto the tree trunk and tossed it over the other side. He used the rope to climb down the wall. He landed safely on the ground and glanced around his surroundings. The rope was pulled back up and he guessed that it was Ray. He was grateful for his friend’s help.

Norman took a deep breath and then walked into the world he only saw from his balcony.

Norman wanted to learn more about the people in his city. He reasoned that the best place to start was the marketplace. With a destination in mind, he walked through the crowd and scanned the stalls. He stopped next to a merchant’s stall and waited for him to finish bartering with a customer. In the corner of Norman’s eyes, he noticed a child staring at the apples on display.

The child appeared nervous and it was painfully obvious that he planned to steal an apple. Norman couldn’t see an adult accompanying the boy so he was likely a hungry orphan. He felt sympathy for him so he decided to buy food for him. Before he could reach into his bag, the boy grabbed an apple and tried to slip away. The merchant caught him though. He gripped the boy’s arm with such force that Norman flinched slightly. “You better be able to pay for that. There is a steep punishment for stealing.”

“Wait,” Norman rushed to stop the merchant the moment he saw him aim the cleaver at the boy’s hand. “I will pay for him so there’s no need for violence. How much does an apple cost?”

“No one steals from me. Street Rats like this brat needs to learn respect. If I don’t teach him now, the guards will throw him in jail later.” He snarled and pointed the knife threateningly at him. Norman didn’t have the strength to pry the boy from his grip and he tried to think of another solution.

A new voice cut through the tension of the situation. “There you are!”

A woman with bright copper hair came between them. She didn’t seem to be fazed by the knife he held. The merchant was surprised by her sudden appearance so she was able to slip the knife from his hand. She stabbed the knife into the wood. Then, she shook his hand vigorously to stop him from grabbing it again. “Thank you so much for finding my friends. I will be taking them now.”

She left as quickly as she appeared so Norman could barely react when she dragged him away. She was carrying the child as well yet she ran quickly. He struggled to keep up with her. Admittedly, Norman wasn’t the most athletic person. He could hear the merchant yelling after them. He did his best to run along with her but it was clear that she was far faster than him.

She must’ve noticed that as well because she slowed her steps. The merchant was still chasing them and she pulled him into an abandoned building. She guided him to the window and then she untied the curtain. The thin fabric wrapped around them and kept them hidden. They had to stand close so the curtain could hide all three of them. He felt a little flustered.

Once he was gone, set aside the curtain and she stepped away from Norman. She stopped when she noticed that their necklaces were caught on each other. They likely became entwined when they hid in the curtain. She placed the boy down and started to untangle their necklaces. She introduces herself, “My name is Emma. Thank you for helping Charlie. We should leave before that merchant returns. Would you like to come with us, Norman?”

He stiffened when she said his name. Emma could guess his thoughts. She chuckled and pointed to their necklaces. He realized that her necklace had the same pendent as the one Ray gave him. She explained, “Ray and I are friends. I recognized the necklace he gave you. Musica likes to give everyone in our family these good luck charms. He sent me a letter this morning and he told me about you.”

“Hopefully, he didn’t say anything mean about me.” Norman laughed nervously. He trusted that Ray wouldn’t tell her that he was a prince but he had to be cautious. She didn’t seem to notice how nervous he was as she freed their necklaces. She went on to help the boy climb out the window. They were on the first floor so he could easily climb down by himself yet she took the time to help him.

“He told me that you’re a hopeless, idealistic man.” She answered as she climbed out the window. She turned to Norman with a smile. “He says the same things about me. You and Ray are close so you probably know that he’s critical of those he cares for. He also asked me to help you if anything happens. I never expected to run into you like this though.”

Norman reasoned that accepting her help would be the best way to learn more about the citizens and their specific needs. She must know the city well since she was able to evade the merchant through the streets. He climbed out the window and jumped to the ground. “I’m passing through the city but I would love to see more of it. Will you help me?”

“Okay.” Emma took his hand and tugged him forward. “Even if you’re just passing through, hopefully we can become friends, Norman.”

“So, what do you think of the city?” Emma asked Norman later that day. They sat on the roof of the orphanage she lived in and they looked over the city. The sun was setting and Norman knew he should return to the castle soon. He was exhausted but he had a lot of fun playing with the orphans. He enjoyed his day more than he expected.

“There’s a lot more to it than I thought. This orphanage is wonderful too.” His answer made Emma smile. He saw a hint of pride in her green eyes as she watched over the children. Norman told her, “I never played tag before. Growing up, Ray was my only friend. We didn’t have enough people for tag so we would play chess most of the time.”

“Have you ever been able to beat him?” She gasped when he nodded. “I could never do that!”

“You seem like someone who follows their instincts. That’s not a bad thing but Ray can predict your moves. I can teach you a few strategies that might help you beat Ray the next time you play chess with him.” He offered before he remembered that he couldn’t stay for much longer. He thought over the possibility of writing down the strategies for her.

Norman thought he would be satisfied with a day but he wished he wasn’t a prince. He chastised himself and wish he could be more selfless. Emma noticed his expression change and tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He gave her a reassuring smile and tried to brush her worries aside. “I’ve read about the city and a few of its problems. I want to help change this city into a place where everyone is safe and happy. You run an orphanage where children are happy. Do you have any advice?”

“We don’t have much here and life can be difficult. None of us chose the situation we’re born into and it can you feel trapped.” A subtle longing entered Emma’s eyes. She took out an apple and handed it to him. “We can try to fly free though. I teach the kids how to read and write and other skills so they might find better lives in the future. Unfortunately, I’m just one person so I can’t do as much as I want.”

“You’re a wonderful person, Emma.” He whispered. Norman had to respect her strength and compassion. He wished he could help her and his gaze fell onto the palace. “I should go back home. Ray will yell at me if I’m late. Thank you for showing my around, Emma.”

“It was my pleasure! Do you still have time to say goodbye to the kids?” She asked as she stood. They continued to talk as they climbed down the roof. Norman’s footing was a little unsure so she held his hand the entire way down. “The kids like you. Will you come visit us again?”

“Yes. I might come back with a surprise though.” He said. Norman hoped Emma would accept him.

#yakusoku no neverland #the promised neverland #tpn #noremma #tpn emma #tpn norman #tpn ray #norman and emma #fanfiction

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delicrieux · 7 years

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amortentia [young!tom riddle x reader]

premise: two students start developing feelings for one another despite having too many secrets to count. tws for this chapter: implied childhood trauma word count: 2.8k

amortentia masterpost | masterlist | music

1. the boy from the train

A light breeze caressed the back of your neck as your fingers dug into the hard red cushion of the train seat. Ever so slightly, you leaned forward to stare at the blurring scenery behind the window.

Echoes of chatter and muggle songs reached your ears from outside the compartment, muted and muddled by the shut door. In the swaying autumn flowers, the last notes of summer already fading, you saw the delicate arch of your mother's hand as she waved you goodbye.

There was something haunting about that memory, new as it was. Just as August gave away to September, so had you traded childish slacks for a prestigious uniform. So young, yet slowly coming with the grips of tweenhood. Realizations boiled there, somewhere in your mind, along with your mother's strange smile -- neither kind nor forceful, it was a perfectly imperfect, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the still and waxen medieval portraits created by muggles.

It was an honest goodbye made by a dishonest person. So young, barely eleven, and yet you knew as much. Without her shadow looming above you, the possibilities were endless. The prospect both frightened and excited you.

Finally, London houses blew by and nothing but plains of dewy green vistas greeted the window. You pulled away and shifted, hitting the back of the seat and feeling the whole train pleasantly rumble down your spine. Lonely but not alone, you sat with three other soon-to-be Hogwarts students - housemates even, perhaps? - that were just as round-faced and doe eyed and joyful as any kid at the prospect of learning magic.

All but one.

The boy beside you, reserved and appearing somewhat cold, was excluded from the buzz of shared happiness, from the forming sense of camaraderie that would fall apart as soon as the Sorting Hat dispersed the fresh crop among the four Houses. Was it a conscious, self-excommunication you could not yet phantom, nor the strange swirl of feelings the boy inspired within you. Somewhat restless, somewhat uncertain of your balance on the seat, you pressed yourself close to that cold window, as if to shy away from the boy and the sense of something that lingered in the air around him. As if inhaling it would be poisonous.

If you could return to that moment, you would recognize those feelings as trepidation. But in 1938, it was just confusion with a clumsily racing heart.

You tried acting graceful with your subtle retreat, not too obvious lest he notices and thinks ill of you somehow. Mother always said that manners were most important and distancing yourself completely would surely displease her. Even if her watchful eye evaded you then, she would know. She always knew. It is a mother's horrible burden to know the failures of her child.

The first quiet snicker between the two boys in front of you grew louder - their hushed whispers no longer hushed nor whispers - and their heads, previously drawn close together conspiratorially, then faced you and the boy by your side without hiding wicked grins that implied nothing but trouble.

Your heart stood still for a moment, rendered useless by overwhelming fear. A thought sprung to you that they knew, that they had noticed somehow, and instantly you reeled onto what could have betrayed you: your eyes, your nose, the way you carry yourself? Where had the resemblance between you and your mother manifested so strongly to earn their ire?

Shall they hate you without so much as a word exchanged?

'We are not very much alike.' You wanted to inform them, soothe their anger with you, 'Father says so, too, and my father has never lied. No, we are not very much alike at all, I assure you.'

But their eyes never strayed in your direction, rather narrowed down on the pale-faced child sharing a seat with you. There was relief when you realized they meant you no harm, that your secret laid hidden behind a linen shirt and a cashmere sweater. And then there was a sickly uncomfortable feeling rooted deep within you, one that made your mouth dry and cower in your little corner. Later, this feeling would be given a name and easily recognized: shame.

"We were just talking," One of the shorter boys spoke up, accent thick and freckled cheeks red with mischief. Scottish, you thought, warily glancing between the two, "about who might be the strongest wizard here."

"'S me, of course." The other piped up, beady eyes gleaming with pride, "Mum said I started reading runes at three. Said I got that talent from my father. He works at the Ministry."

"Sounds like a big fat lie to me, else my father would know yours." The first replied with a playful nudge, "I cast my first spell when I was two. Nearly set the house on fire."

"Nearly? Nothing to brag about if only nearly." The second chimed. With the agility and poise of a poor actor, he suddenly asked, "Oi, you." Not in reference to you, no, you were blissfully excluded from this equation, "What of you, then? Which do you think is stronger?"

There was a slight, tense pause. It was obvious from their demeanor and their harshly sculpted words that the boys did not care for your companion's opinion; that they only spoke to him to tease him; that they, somehow, figured he is less than.

"Neither."

Words could be cruel, yes, but just how cold they could be always surprised you. A single word, uttered in that rasp, unimpressed tone chilled you. It was the first time you had heard him speak, confined to his indifferent silence as he was. You glanced at him on instinct.

And when you saw him, you could not look away.

He was pale, somewhat ill, missing the golden sheen children had when playing outside in sunlight for hours. Not even a blush or a hint of rose anywhere on his sharp features--cold and unfriendly, just like his voice, just like his whole presence. It was slightly off putting, but not enough to deter your inspection. You trailed the outline of his clothing, catching a few loose seams and fried fabric around the shoulders – they were not new, presentable, but hardly fashionable. You understood why he would come under scrutiny by the two.

Perhaps he felt your probing stare because his eyes flickered in your direction, evergreen and glimmering, the only remotely lively thing about him. Instantly you were transported to the dark forests surrounding fortresses you had seen in fairy tales of moving pictures -- how dark they were in the shade until first sunlight warmed them, making them appear almost inviting. They grew in mazes, spirals, uncanny shapes to lure the unsuspecting into deadly adventure.

You were the lost traveler and he the omnipotent nature basking in its private secrets. How terribly your heart tumbled when those eyes connected with yours. You could only look away so quick.

"What did you say?" One of the boys leaned closer, pretending to have misheard, "Couldn't quite catch that."

"No, I think we heard him right," the other said, "see, I think he thinks he's so clever. Probably thinks he's stronger, too."

A fake gasp, "He wouldn't! Scrawny thing like that, can barely cast a spell I recon."

"Can't cast spells if you're almost mute, too, now, can you? Oi! Know any other words, or just one?"

A shared laugh between the two and taut silence from your end. If this affected your companion at all was impossible to tell. He revealed nothing, sat silent with a bored expression, and it was that expression that seemed to egg the boys on to continue their jeering.

Perhaps he really did not care. But you did. You were uncomfortable with listening to insults and even more uncomfortable being invisible. The sight of this verbal violence wounded you. Could they not shed their daggers and wait for the Sorting to end at the very least? Must they begin their tyranny now?

"Leave him be." You finally snapped, surprising even yourself: where had such strength come from? "I am the strongest here, obviously, for I had to listen to this nonsense and not say a word. Now what I think is that you should go ask someone else's opinion, from a different compartment, of course. I am sure there you will meet an insufferable match." A pause, "Well? Go!"

Perhaps it was your harsh tone that prompted them into action, perhaps it was the stomach-churning embarrassment they felt that showed so evidently on their faces, but with one last deadly glare directed at the boy - as if he was the problem, not them - the two slid the compartment's door open and left in a cloud of incomprehensible angry huffs and whispers. The door clicked shut. Silence engulfed the two of you again.

"...That was not necessary."

His voice was unmasked, yet when you looked at him you saw no change in his elusive expression. Despite the hint of relief, a little promise of 'thank you' hidden somewhere in his dismissal, something was still not quite right.

But you were content with a slow yet rocky start, and gave him a shy smile, not meeting his eyes in fear of another delirious tumble of your heart.

"It was," You insisted, though not unkindly, "...they fancy causing a ruckus, I can tell... I am (Name) (Lastname), by the way." You introduced, daring a glance into that evergreen forest that stories are made of, "...Pleasure." You extended your hand for him to shake, hoping he would ignore the slight quiver of your fingers. For a moment all he did was examine it, as if contemplating should he touch it or not. Lastly, he hooked his fingers around yours.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

1943

The windows are tinted dark with black clouds. The small room is drowning in hot, white fumes that smell like lavender and incense and coffee grounds; an occasional rosy flash of colour makes the classroom swim, as if it is going vertigo. Light drumming of cold rain reaches your ears, but what melody it sings you cannot tell – no one can bear to keep their mouth shut in Divination.

A hard nudge on your shoulder and your head slips from your hand, "Did you see?"

Sleepy from the heat and with a mild headache from overlapping scents, you throw a lazy glance at your friend sitting on the other side of the small round table. Briefly you wonder how can Katherine be so chipper on such drowsy weather. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, the question was repeated, and possibly not once.

Wordless, you sweep the classroom to find what she is referring to. Seeing you at a loss, Katherine leans in, crossing her arms over her chest, her clever features illuminated by the bleak pink glow of the crystal ball, "Over there, by the fire..." She trails off quietly, urging you to observe your housemates closer lest you miss out on something inconsequential yet scandalous.

The Slytherin House is seated among piled books, haphazardly thrown about colorful shawls, Indian rugs, and potted greenery. Closest to the fireplace and entirely drenched in sweat, some of your housemates sit on plush pillows by coffee tables. Only those that were never late to class managed to find a spare table with proper seats.

By the windows, on the other side of the classroom, Hufflepuff made its home. Hardly an interesting topic, even less worthy of your sleepy attention.

You scan your surroundings, not particularly caring if anyone was to notice your stare through the tangle of smoke. Nothing out the ordinary, "Who?"

Katherine gives a whine, half annoyed half excited to deliver the news, "Who else if not Tom?"

"...Tom?" You question, turning to her. "Tom Riddle?"

Katherine nods, her dark brown curls bouncing around her sun kissed face. She leans closer and whispers, "He was looking at you again. In that wistful way he does...Oh, you are so lucky, (Name). I'd curse you if I was any more jealous." She add in a playful jest, "Me and, well, the rest of the school, I suppose. You're most lucky we are such good friends." She finishes with a wink.

She was always a character: playful, snobbish, a bit mean but in a harmless way. Coming from a rich family from Austria, Katherine is familiar with expensive views and handsome boys attending her family's annual balls. A feast of grotesque grandeur and posh personalities, or so you were informed.

Someone as Tom Riddle fits beautifully into Katherine's polished life, like a lost puzzle piece returned to create a magnificent paysage. She is a pretty girl, if not a tad dense. Her delusions often spark terrible rumors that shake the whole castle for months. She revels in all of it, that notoriety. As fitting for a Slytherin.

This is why Katherine's insistence on Tom's secretly harbored affection for you feels more like a joke rather than an actual possibility; a glass bubble that was always meant to shatter. How happily she snickers at the absurdity at the thought, and how she craves for you to buy into it, if only for a moment.

But you never do. And today, you are too tired to even humor her, "He was not." comes your dry reply, yet your eyes stray in his direction anyway. It is not difficult to locate him in the crowd of students. You always possess a vague idea of where he is, as absurd as that sounds. It is like a six sense you had acquired that chilly morning years ago, on the train, sparked by a handshake and eyes that kept wandering back to one another.

Over the years you spoke with him little, confined to your world as he was crafting a whole new one around himself. By the time any meaningful friendships could form, he was already out of reach.

You can feel Katherine roll her eyes, and with a curt sigh the shorter girl leans out and crosses her legs behind the table, softly hitting you in the process.

"Oh come now, don't be so glum. I would never lie to you, now, would I?" The lopsided smile she gives you informs otherwise, "Well, perhaps..." She says with a heavy sigh, as if divulging some terrible secret, "Perhaps he was looking at me, and I was mistaken. If so, my (Name)," Her hand snatches yours and squeezes gently, "I am terribly sorry."

Her gaze on you is short lived as she tilts her head to the side, keen on admiring him, "He is most dreamy though, isn't he?"

"Dreamy? Yes, but..." You murmur, "Can you not feel it?"

"Feel what? The discontent glares of my rivals?"

You crack a smile, "No, not that...It is just...something about him...something different." You glance at him, sat with his dearest friend, laughing quietly about one thing or another, "Would you not agree?" Katherine's expression turns thoughtful and after a brief pause she nods.

"Oh yes, completely different..." She says, "He's so perfect it's hardly fair." Then, she, releasing her hold on you and leaning back in her seat, smiles in a ditzy, love-sick way; the same way you used to grin as a kid dreaming of Prince Charming, "Tom...Tom Riddle...Katherine Carlotte Riddle? How does it sound, (Name)?"

"Sounds like a symptom of hysteria. Inform your mother, or shall I send her an owl instead?" Your playful words are met with a scoff and a good natured chuckle.

But curiosity quipped, you cannot help but sneak a glance at him, only to find him staring right back. There is a barely notable smile on his lips, head dipped downwards listening intently to a tale weaved by his seatmate. Perhaps Katherine had been right about him looking – your eyes connect, the only thing truly clear through the curtain of fumes being his magnificent green irises that halt all thoughts you had had prior. You offer him a shy smile before pulling away.

"Just you wait, though." Katherine mumbles, missing this small exchange as she flips through her coursebook, "I'll have him confessing his love to me in no time."

"Are you certain it will not be the other way around?" You ask with a raised brow. You can tell it takes everything she has in her to not smack your arm or throw her teacup in your direction.

"You are terrible, (Lastname). "

"Yet you love me still."

"Merlin, that I do. The most, in fact, well-...After our dearest Tom, of course."

"Certainly," You answer, gazing down into the depths of your teacup where your impending future lays written in tea leaves. Somehow, even if their meaning is lost on you, you know it is intertwined with him, "would not want it any other way."

onto the next part?

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serenlyss · 5 years

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Don’t Thank Me Yet Chapter 8

Rating: M (blood, canon typical violence, attempted murder, child neglect/abuse) Pairings: ritshou, ritsu&shigeo, ritsu&reigen, ritsu&teru, teru&shigeo Summary: “Alright then. I’m Shou,” he says, introducing himself more properly this time. “I’m an esper, like you, the first in existence to be forcibly awoken by Claw’s crazy torture machines. They kidnap kids with potential latent psychic powers and break them, over and over, until either their powers emerge or they die. It doesn’t matter either way to them.” His expression hardens as he speaks, clear distaste and outright malice evident in his tone. “I could really use your help here, you know. A partner of sorts, someone to watch my back. What do you say?" Ritsu hesitates. He isn’t a fighter by any means, and the psychic powers now churning beneath his skin are still very new and frightening. It’s all very overwhelming, but Ritsu can’t help but feel a sort of sickening hope at Shou’s promise for revenge. It did have a sort of dark draw to it. In which Claw is a lot worse than they seem and Shigeo isn't able to find his brother after he's kidnapped. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 8

Chapter 7 // Chapter 9

This chapter is an absolute monster, even after splitting the previous chapter this one still reached uuhh nearly 10k total words BUT I don't want to split it again so here you go!! It's a doozy, prepare yourselves. In other news, this is the penultimate chapter! Next week will be the ending and epilogue, so keep your eyes out for chapter nine next Wednesday!

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Ritsu hits the ground shoulder-first and rolls over twice before his beaten body stops moving, face-down in the rubble. His ears ring impossibly loud, drowning out voices and footsteps with its intensity. His vision swims in and out of focus, dark spots threatening to overwhelm him, and he has to fight to keep from losing consciousness as pain erupts belatedly in his head. He’s sure he’s hit it at least once on his way down, but he can’t form a coherent thought in his mind to tell himself that he needs to get up, take stock, see what’s bleeding and broken and find a way to get himself out of here, because Touichirou has proven definitively that neither he nor Shou can go up against his kind of power.

Shou! His cloudy mind screams at him, and with a groan he pushes himself off of his stomach and onto his hands and knees. He blinks rapidly as his body protests every movement, arms and legs barely strong enough to support his own weight as he shakily lifts his head and searches for that familiar splash of red hair among the rubble all around him.

A foot or so back, Ritsu spots him, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He’s conscious, but he looks even worse off than Ritsu feels. There’s blood on his lips and on his forehead, blending into his hair and disappearing into his scalp. His favorite varsity jacket is coated in dust and has been torn in places, but the wounds themselves don’t look all that bad, thankfully. After a moment, he follows Ritsu’s lead, sitting up with a groan and letting his head fall into his hands. “Damn it,” he curses, rubbing away a dribble of blood that leaks from his mouth and trails down his chin. His voice is hoarse and thick with pain as he grimaces into the sleeve of his jacket. “Still with me, Ritsu?”

“Yeah,” Ritsu replies, wincing as his lungs protest his words, “yeah, I think so. But, that explosion--”

“Yeah, I know,” Shou interrupts bitterly, drawing his bloodied sleeve away from his mouth. Behind his split lip, his teeth are stained pink. “It shouldn’t be possible for his body to contain so much energy. It would have erupted and killed him years ago, so how?” He grits his teeth and slams his fist into the floor, angry and drained and backed into a corner he knows he can’t crawl out of.

Touichirou lowers his hand, and the aura around him fades once more. “Perhaps I went a little too far,” he sighs, but there isn’t a hint of regret in his face that Ritsu can see. “I’m sure you understand, but power like this is difficult to control. I have to be careful not to let it run wild, or it would destroy me, as you said.” He brushes the concrete dust from his suit jacket, lips pursed in displeasure before he returns his attention to them. “I must say, I’m disappointed. Shou, I had thought about letting you inherit the world I’m going to create, but it would appear that you’ve become a failure.”

“Hey--” Ritsu starts, feeling a rush of anger and protectiveness well up in him for a moment, but the words die in his throat when Shou reaches out and clamps a hand around his wrist. When Ritsu turns to look at him, his heart drops into his stomach: Shou’s eyes are wide and his whole body is trembling. It takes Ritsu a moment to recognize that he’s terrified, undeniably, and clinging to Ritsu in search of comfort. Ritsu’s never seen him look so afraid, not when the Scar had threatened to send him home before he was ready, not when Ritsu’s anger had consumed him in the living room of his burning house. It’s the sort of visceral terror that Ritsu’s felt before, but has never seen expressed so clearly on the face of his partner. Sometimes, he forgets that Shou can feel fear at all.

Ritsu wants to say something, anything, to make that expression of fear go away, but words evade him as Touichirou takes another few steps toward him and Shou and holds out his hand, palm open and pointed in their direction. “Perhaps someday, you’ll grow to understand why I’ve done the things I’ve done,” he says, ominously solemn as another ball of energy gathers in his outstretched hand.

“President!” Serizawa exclaims, reaching out a quivering hand as though to grab Touichirou, but he seems to think better of it partway through. “There’s no need to hurt them any more, right? They’ve learned their lesson.” His eyes flick uncertainly from Shou and Ritsu, prone on the floor, then back to his boss, his self-proclaimed savior.

Touichirou turns on him, fixing his icy blue gaze on Serizawa. “This is a necessary punishment. When a child misbehaves, they must be disciplined,” he insists. “If you have qualms with my methods, you can watch the stairs and make sure no other stragglers make it up here.”

Serizawa lowers his gaze and clutches his umbrella tighter, effectively shut down. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and hurrying toward the open stairwell doors. He closes them with a click behind him, leaving Touichirou alone with Shou and Ritsu once more.

"Serizawa always has been too soft for his own good," Touichirou sighs once the doors have firmly closed. In his hand, the ball of energy he's been amassing shifts and flares like a star, its nucleus burning a bright, blinding white. "Now then," he adds, fingers twitching.

Ritsu jerks forward on unsteady hands and feet and manages to put himself halfway between Shou and his father. "Wait!" he calls, desperation causing his voice to crack against his will, and he holds out a hand as if to shield himself. His pride is screaming at him, begging him not to make himself a fool in front of his enemy, but protecting himself and Shou comes first. "Your bodyguard is right, we've learned our lesson, so just let us go, please. We won't... we won't fight you anymore." The words taste like ashes in his mouth, and it feels almost physically painful to say. Part of him wants to vomit from the humiliation of admitting defeat, but his sense of self-preservation wins out this time.

Touichirou quirks a brow at him, amused. "How noble of you. You'd throw away your mission just to protect someone you're attached to? This is exactly why you could never hope to defeat me," he says, tilting his chin up ever-so-slightly. It makes Ritsu want to punch him right between his cold, condescending eyes, but he restrains himself, common sense outweighing his primal instincts. "Despite the hopelessness of your fight, however, I can't allow even a sliver of your little rebellion to survive. You might still try to challenge me again, and I cannot let that happen. For all of Shou's weaknesses, the fact that he was able to amass a force to rise against me is unacceptable. The two of you will not get in my way any longer."

"You'd kill your own son?" Ritsu snarls, digging his fingertips into the ground at his side and clenching his teeth furiously. "You don't have anyone you'd give up anything to protect? No one, not even your own family?"

"No, I have no such weakness," Touichirou responds, low and calm, not a flicker of remorse or regret passing across his face to let Ritsu know that his words have had any effect at all. "The entirety of Claw could be disintegrated right now, and its loss would cost me nothing but manpower. Do you understand? I am the ultimate being, and there is no one on this Earth who can resist my power."

Ritsu feels Shou tighten his grip on his wrist, shaky fingers digging into his skin in a way Ritsu fears might leave marks later on. "I understand now," Shou speaks, quavering voice low and hoarse. When Ritsu turns to look at him, there are tears in his eyes, welling up and spilling down his cheeks. "You're not human, are you? You can't be, not after all this. Mom was right about you, you're a monster." His voice trembles as he speaks, his breathing interrupted by strained hiccups.

Shou hangs his head, hiding his face in his arm, and for a brief moment, nearly too quick to catch, Touichirou's expression shifts. For half a second, Ritsu can see the look of utter shock on his face, the regret, the grief, and then as quickly as it comes, it's gone, replaced with a cold fury that chills Ritsu down to the marrow in his bones. "I've had enough of this conversation," he growls, and squeezes the ball of energy in the palm of his hand until it bursts. As he does, Shou releases his iron grip on Ritsu's wrist and instead reaches for his hand, squeezing it tightly. Faced with nothing else he can do to put off the inevitable, Ritsu squeezes back.

Bright white fire envelopes Ritsu's vision, and he squeezes his eyes shut against it, feeling Shou's fingers tight and quivering around his palm, but his unavoidable end doesn't come. He hears the explosion, but feels none of it, not a hair on his body harmed even as it rages all around him. After a second, he peeks one eye open, staring through his lashes, and his breath catches in his throat. He and Shou are surrounded on all sides by a barrier, thick and dense and shifting with now-familiar shades of purple, and in front of him, standing between him and Touichirou, is his brother.

"Shige?" he gasps, eyes fixed on the back of his hoodie, the one he'd borrowed from Ritsu's closet that morning.

Shigeo lowers his hand as the explosion around them ceases and the dust settles, his barrier still flickering unscathed around them. His face is set in stubborn resolution, an expression Ritsu's never seen on his brother's face before. "You broke your promise," he says, without preamble.

Ritsu almost laughs. "I'm sorry, I thought we could handle it ourselves," he breathes, feeling some of the tension drain from him in relief.

Shigeo looks down at him over his shoulder and offers him a small smile. "You can apologize to me properly later. For now, go with Reigen and meet up with Hanazawa and the rest," he instructs.

"Reigen?" Ritsu echoes, and as he speaks, he feels a hand grip his arm, urging him to his feet. Glancing up, he finds himself face-to-face with the aforementioned man, who's looking back at him with a mixture of concern and relief. "What are you doing here?" Ritsu sputters.

Reigen grins at him, hefting him to his feet with one hand while his other grips Shou by the forearm. "Hey, kiddo, long time no see," he greets. "Can you walk?"

Ritsu wants to say yes, but as he is now his legs can barely support his weight. "Not exactly," he answers around gritted teeth, and he hears Shou give a grunt of agreement at his side.

Shigeo frowns, worry clouding his gaze. He drops his barrier to leave space for them to leave, turning his hand in their direction. "Will this help?" he asks, and immediately, slivers of his aura shoot from his outstretched hand and envelope both of them.

Ritsu feels his strength return to him, at least enough to stand on his own two feet without keeling back over. Beside him, Shou stares down at his hands, at the purple aura that surrounds them, looking similarly baffled. "Yeah, that feels much better," he says in awe. When had he learned that power? Reigen releases his hold on his arm, and Ritsu holds firm, sore but standing. "I think we can walk now. Shige, let's get out of here while we can."

Shigeo just smiles at him, like he always does, and gives his head a little shake. "No, you all go on ahead, I'll settle things here," he insists, voice firm and unwavering. "This might be hard to hear, but you'll only get in my way, so you should wait at the bottom of--"

Shigeo's instructions are abruptly cut off as Touichirou suddenly surges forward and sinks his fist into Shigeo's face, sending him stumbling to the side a few feet.

"Shige!" Ritsu exclaims, moving to follow after him, to offer his help, to do anything except sit on the sidelines and watch, but Reigen grabs him by his arm before he can go far.

"You idiot! You were just nearly killed, you're in no shape to fight!" he snaps.

Shou, who had been fairly quiet since Shigeo had shown up to rescue them, makes himself known now, whirling Reigen around by one shoulder. "We can't leave now!" he insists. "This is what we've been training for. I've spent three years of my life waiting for this moment, I can't just walk away!"

"I get that you’re mad, and you have every right to want revenge, but you're up against someone who wants to kill you! It's bad enough that Mob won't give it up, I'm sure as hell not going to let you two go into a fight you know you can't win!" Reigen snaps right back, already turning both he and Shou toward the doors that will lead them back down to the foot of the tower.

Ritsu tries to protest as Reigen crowds them toward the railing at the edge of the room, and cranes his neck to get a look at Touichirou and Shigeo. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees his brother go down like a rock, blood splattering on the ground from where Touichirou's fist has caused his nose to bleed profusely. "Shige!" he cries again, scrambling against Reigen's grip on him, but his brother doesn't move in response to his voice.

Reigen freezes, eyes fixed on Mob's beaten body face-down on the floor, and he meets Touichirou's gaze from across the room. Shou's father looks outright angry, now, his attention turned to them now that Shigeo had seemingly been dealt with. "Hey, you'll keep your distance if you know what's good for you!" Reigen bluffs, but he's sweating, even as he pushes Ritsu and Shou insistently behind him.

"You idiot, get out of the way!" Shou cries, but Reigen holds firm, his hands caging Ritsu and Shou in on either side of him as Touichirou turns and takes a few steps toward them.

Reigen doesn't reply to him, eyes fixed on the approaching Touichirou. "You can't be serious about killing a bunch of kids?" he stammers, and Ritsu can see the sweat that beads on his forehead and the back of his neck, unwilling to move from his protective position even if it means putting himself in the line of fire.

"I will not allow you to interfere with my work any further," Touichirou says icily in response, leveraging a ball of energy in their direction. "I will become this world's ruler, and there is no one alive with the power to stop me!" The energy surrounding him surges forward, the brightness of it reflected in Touichirou's bright blue irises.

Ritsu squeezes his eyes shut and clings to the back of Reigen's suit jacket, even as he hears his brother's terrified yell cut through the noise of the explosion. Shou presses against his side, shielding his face, as though his arm might offer enough protection in this moment that he won't be killed by his father's released energy.

Ritsu's long bangs whip away from his face, and he hears the ground beneath his feet cracking dangerously. He knows that if the explosion itself doesn't kill him, the fall from this height definitely will, but before the strength of the blast can lift him off his feet and send him flying through the shattered windows behind him, the wind cuts off abruptly.

When he dares to open his eyes again, his view is blocked by a striped orange robe and a pale, translucent umbrella, which is open and brandished like a shield in Serizawa's shaking hands.

The umbrella's protective top shreds under Touichirou's psychic power, leaving only tatters clinging stubbornly to its metal frame, and Serizawa lowers it quaveringly. "President, this is going too far, let's stop," he pleads, even as his shaking voice gives away his fear and desire to run.

Ritsu finds himself unable to speak, the shock of Serizawa's apparent betrayal of Touichirou leaving his brain struggling to determine if this is even real.

"Serizawa, you disappoint me," Touichirou growls dangerously. "I had such high hopes for you, too, but if you have decided to turn your back on me, I have no choice but to punish you as well." He snaps a hand up and points a single finger in their direction, a beam of energy shooting from its tip like a laser.

"Stop!" Ritsu finds himself yelling, scrambling against Reigen's arm, still pinning him up against the railing at his back, but before he can get past it, it explodes. At the same time, Shigeo finally moves from his spot on the ground, leaping forward so quickly he almost appears to teleport, and puts himself in front of all four of them. He's crackling with energy, his hair lifted away from his forehead as though a wind has lifted it up, and his dark red eyes shine brightly as his power forms a wall around him and collides with the blast Touichirou directs their way.

The explosion is deafening in Ritsu's ears, the shock of it ringing long after the noise of it has died down. His vision blacks out momentarily, and for a moment he's afraid he might pass out again, and then he's freefalling, the ground beneath his feet pulled out from underneath him and leaving him with nothing to grab onto anymore. He gasps in a sharp, fearful breath, heart leaping into his throat as he feels the adrenaline rush straight to his head and he finds himself suddenly staring at the sky, wide-eyed as his back plummets for the concrete below.

Next to him, Reigen screams, and if he hadn’t been falling to his certain death Ritsu might have found the noise amusing, but as it is it’s all he can do to keep himself from screaming himself. He twists frantically in the air, trying to get his legs underneath him as though landing on his feet will negate the force of his inevitable impact. The wind in his ears drowns out nearly every other sound, and the world is filled with colorful blurs of clouds and buildings and wreckage and the other people that are falling with him.

His eyes catch a flash of red, and there’s Shou, just barely out of his reach, eyes closed and body unmoving as he falls. The explosion has knocked him fully unconscious, and the sight of it sends Ritsu’s heart pounding all over again because if he doesn’t wake up, he’s going to hit the ground and splatter along with the rest of them.

“Shou!” he cries, voice straining to be heard over the rush of the wind. “Wake up! Shou!” No matter how he yells, though, or how he screams his voice hoarse, Shou doesn’t stir. Ritsu grits his teeth and stretches his hand out as far as he can, desperately searching for a part of Shou he can grab onto. His fingers graze Shou’s and then miss, his hand closing on empty air, and damn it, he’s never felt more frustrated than he does in this moment. Please, if anything goes right today, let it be this! he prays feverishly, and he stretches.

Shou’s hand twitches, and when Ritsu reaches for him this time, he meets him halfway, bleary eyes barely open but open nonetheless. Ritsu grabs on tightly and refuses to let go, yanking on Shou’s arm until he can cling to him with both hands. There are tears in his eyes, tears that are yanked away by the wind before they can touch his skin, and Ritsu blinks against the harsh bite of it as he tucks Shou’s head into his shoulder and squeezes him tightly. Weakly, he feels Shou embrace him back, hands latching onto fistfuls of Ritsu’s yellow hoodie with tired fingers.

Ritsu’s mind descends into incoherent static noise, his thoughts coming to an abrupt standstill, and past Shou’s shoulder he sees the ground fast approaching. His breath catches in his throat, feeling a potent terror seizing up within him as he screws his eyes shut and holds Shou impossibly tighter. He’s never been one to believe in a god, but, he thinks, if one does exist, he’d really like for a miracle to happen right about now. But he knows that waiting for a miracle won’t solve his problems, and it never has, and so he turns within himself for the answer. Please, I just need a little more strength, he prays, and he pulls.

His aura seeps out of his back, sluggish, like it's been woken from a long sleep against its will. It surrounds him and bleeds into Shou, and Ritsu wills it to move faster, then faster, until it envelopes them both completely. He sucks in a breath and buries his face in Shou’s shoulder, closing his senses against the roaring of the wind and the stinging of his tears and the ground fast-approaching beneath them, and he pulls with all his might.

The wind starts to blow a little less loudly every second, the rushing in his ears becoming more and more bearable as he clings to Shou with everything he has and refuses to let go. He dares to open his eyes after a few seconds of this, feeling a tear slip down his cheek, undeterred by the previously strong winds that had torn his bangs away from his forehead with their strength. He’s still falling, but it’s as though in slow motion, his aura lessening the burden of his and Shou’s weight. Against his shoulder, Shou’s slipped unconscious once more, and Ritsu could cry again, because he may be unconscious, but he’s safe, and alive, and Ritsu’s going to make sure they make it safely to the ground. He dares to look around, his stomach twisting into knots when he sees how high they still are, and he spots a panicked-looking Reigen and Serizawa hovering not far away from him, also surrounded in his own teal aura. He’d reached out to them, apparently on instinct, and the thought lessens some of his anxiety even as he feels his head begin to throb in protest. He’s never lifted so much weight with his telekinesis before, at least not intentionally, not when he’s been in control of it. He grits his teeth and refuses to let his grasp on them slip.

His feet touch solid ground again and he manages to stay standing just long enough to get Reigen and Serizawa down before he falls to his knees, Shou’s weight and his own exhaustion dragging him down. When Ritsu finally reels his aura in completely, his headache persists, and he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing. His other arm holds tight to Shou’s unconscious form, cradling it as gently as he can against his shoulder. When he looks down at Shou’s head again, he sees a fresh wound there, just behind his hairline. His stomach lurches at the sight of it; it’s bleeding a lot, but he’s seen enough head wounds in the last few months to know that they’re prone to heavy bleeding. Gingerly, he lifts his hand from the concrete beneath him and presses it to the wound, uncaring if he gets a little more blood on him now. At his side, Reigen and Serizawa find their footing, and immediately Reigen is at his side, hands on his shoulders, speaking to him in a quiet, concerned tone.

“Ritsu, kiddo, are you okay?” he frets, pushing Ritsu’s bangs away from his forehead and accidentally brushing against a gash there.

Ritsu hisses in pain, jerking against Reigen’s insistent touch. “I’m alright, I’m okay,” he says quickly. Reigen’s staring at the gash on his head anxiously, his other hand weighing down Ritsu’s shoulder in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Ritsu’s never much enjoyed Reigen’s company, but he can’t deny in this moment the way his chest warms slightly at the feeling of someone fussing over him. It’s been a long time since anyone’s worried over him like this before, like a parent would worry over their child. Still, there’s only so much of Reigen’s hovering he can take before it starts to make him feel stifled and trapped. He reaches up and pushes Reigen’s hand away from his head, maybe a little harder than is necessary. “I’m fine, okay? Stop crowding me, I’m fine,” he snaps, glaring.

Reigen jolts, recoiling somewhat at Ritsu’s words, then he cracks a smile and lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s good to have you back, kiddo,” he says, giving Ritsu’s shoulder a little pat before he stands up and gives Ritsu the space to move around. “We should meet up with Teruki and the others and see what we can do about those injuries. The two of you look like crap.”

Ritsu winces at the suggestion; he has no doubt that he must look like he’s been to hell and back, and he feels like it, too. He’s sore all over and there’s blood on his face and his hands, staining the neck of his hoodie and his jeans where shrapnel had pierced denim to cut the skin behind it. Still, he nods, and reaches down to give Shou’s shoulder a little shake. The other boy’s still unconscious, and Ritsu doesn’t want to wake him up, really, but he’s not strong enough to lift Shou on his own and he’s too drained to rely on telekinesis anymore. “Hey, wake up,” he murmurs, his mouth just inches from Shou’s ear with his head leaned into his shoulder like this.

Shou stirs, just slightly, letting out a breath that tickles the side of Ritsu’s neck as he turns his head and eventually moves to lift it away from Ritsu’s shoulder. Then he winces, one hand snapping up to cover his forehead where blood had previously dripped from the wound under his hair. “Oh god, are we dead?” he groans. “I feel like shit… guess we survived after all, huh?” He meets Ritsu’s gaze, and despite the pain and exhaustion written all over his face, he’s grinning.

Ritsu just laughs breathlessly and nods. “Yeah, barely. My brother saved us,” he admits, turning to cast a worried glance up at the top of the tower. He can’t see inside to see what’s going on inside, but the occasional flash of red or purple light and the thrill it sends down his spine as he senses each flash of power is an indicator that the battle rages on without them. “I’ve never seen him be so persistent. Normally he’d do everything he can to avoid a fight.” He gives his head a shake; as much as he’s worried about Shigeo’s safety, he finds himself at a loss for what he can do to help. Touichirou had beaten him and Shou with basically a single blow, and even though he knows Shigeo is far stronger than he is, it doesn’t stop the way his heart starts to race imagining all the terrible things Touichirou could be doing to him right now. He desperately wants to race back into the tower and drag his brother out, even if it’s by force, but instead of doing that, he just shifts his feet underneath him and takes hold of Shou’s arm. “Can you walk?” he asks, ducking his head under Shou’s arm in hopes of offering his support.

“Yeah, I think so,” Shou replies, grunting as he gets his feet underneath himself and stands up alongside Ritsu. He leans heavily against his side, letting Ritsu half-carry him.

Ritsu glances around, spotting Reigen a ways away talking to a rather meek-looking Serizawa. Ritsu frowns, conflicting thoughts battling for dominance in his head. Serizawa is--or rather, had been--a member of Claw’s highest echelon, a direct henchman of Touichirou himself, but he’d also put himself in front of Reigen to keep Touichirou from killing them. For all his naivety and lack of understanding of what he’d actually been doing, he’d been genuinely reluctant to kill or even hurt children. He tears his eyes away from the curly-haired man and focuses instead on Reigen, who’s chattering as animatedly as he always is while reaching into the inside pocket of his ruined, bloodied suit for a business card.

Well, it’s none of Ritsu’s business what Reigen says to Serizawa. He tugs Shou’s arm a little higher on his shoulder, attempting to take as much of the smaller boy’s weight as he can handle, and turns to address Reigen. “Where’s Teru?” he asks, his voice coming out a little quieter and hoarser than he’d imagined it might.

Reigen glances away from Serizawa so he can look at Ritsu. “He and the others aren’t far. They’re just behind that building over there,” he says, pointing out the aforementioned building to Ritsu. “Some friends of Shou met up with us over there, so that’s where everyone’s been resting until we figure out what to do next.”

Ritsu nods his head as Reigen comes over to stand at Shou’s other side, picking up the slack Ritsu can’t quite accommodate for. “Here, let me help you with that,” he offers, even though he’s a little too tall and Shou hangs off his shoulder at an awkward angle this way.

“We don’t need your help,” Shou insists, but he’s obviously still recovering and can’t do much in the way of struggling against Reigen’s insistent help as Reigen ducks under his other arm and practically lifts him off the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for later,” Reigen retorts, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he and Ritsu half-drag Shou the short distance to where the others have set up their temporary camp.

Ritsu spots Teru first, his bright blue track suit a beacon against the dark red-gray sky, and he has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at the boy’s unusual fashion taste. At least he’s ditched the wig, his hair now pleasantly short-cropped. He meets Ritsu’s gray-eyed gaze with his own dark blue eyes and immediately stands up. “You guys are alright! Thank goodness, looks like your brother got to you in time,” he calls, moving to meet them halfway. “Come on, sit down, you both look terrible.”

Against Ritsu’s protests, Teru loops an arm around his shoulder and tugs him out from under Shou’s arm, leaving Reigen to support him while he leads Ritsu to the edge of their camp. He sits Ritsu down on the ground, up against the remains of a building’s broken wall, and Reigen deposits Shou at his side.

“Wait here, your friend wanted me to get him when you two finally showed up,” Teru says, and Ritsu lets his head lean back against the building’s solid surface for a moment as Teru calls for Fukuda and Reigen settles himself down on Ritsu’s other side.

“You boys really gave us a scare, you know that?” Reigen says, but there’s amusement behind his words as he speaks. “I thought you brother was going to have a fit when he found out you two didn’t wait for him after all.”

Shou snorts, one hand clamped over a scrape on his opposite arm. “Yeah, well, this whole thing ended up being kind of a fucking disaster, anyway,” he says bitterly, blinking a few times. He seems a bit more lucid, now that he’s able to rest, but the wound on his head is still concerning. His bright red hair is dyed dark in places from the blood that had seeped from it, though it seems to have slowed to a stop for now. Shou cranes his head up at look at the tower, biting his lip. “That was supposed to be us up there, taking down my old man… this sucks.”

“Well, at least we’re alive,” Ritsu murmurs in reply. “Still, I’m worried about my brother.” Though it feels like it’s already been forever since he’d been thrown from the top of the cultural tower, it’s only been a few minutes, and he can still feel the pulses of power that erupt in waves from the hole in the side of it.

As he stares at the top of the tower, the ground beneath him starts to rumble. It’s soft at first, barely noticeable, and then the tremors grow stronger, until those standing and walking around have to pause to keep their balance on their own feet. Fukuda, on his way over to check on them, stumbles and nearly falls over before he steadies himself on against a wall.

Immediately, all eyes are on the cultural tower. An explosion sounds from the top of it, a cloud of dust tumbling from it and obscuring it from sight. Ritsu stops breathing for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. The only thing reassuring him that his brother is still there, still alive, is that his aura is choking the air itself, its power almost tangible in the space all around him. He’s never seen his brother give off so much controlled power before. “Shige?” he whispers to himself, and as the dust settles and he sees that the tower itself has broken and it now rising into the air with every second, he knows that it can only be his brother’s doing.

At his side, Shou reaches for his hand, his clammy fingers fitting between Ritsu’s and holding tightly. No one can take their eyes off of the destruction ensuing in the sky above the ruins of the cultural tower as the buildings surrounding it lift off of the ground and form a ball around a simmering Touichirou in its center. If Ritsu hadn’t been feeling so terrified in that moment, the light show could almost be mistaken for fireworks, beautiful flashes of Shigeo’s cool-colored aura bouncing off of Touichirou’s dark red sunbursts. After a few minutes of watching, Shou stands, and Ritsu stands with him, and he holds tight to Shou’s hand with shaking fingers as everyone in the little makeshift camp watches the fight with baited breath.

The tower comes crashing back down to earth, eventually, along with all of the other buildings Shigeo has levitated in an attempt to trap Touichirou with them, and for a moment, everything is eerily quiet.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Shou in front of the demolished building, but there’s a bright flash of light that lingers just beyond the rubble that marks the edge of their camp, and suddenly Shigeo is there, rocketing toward their group with urgency. “Shige?” Ritsu gasps, as his brother stumbles from the wreckage, wild-eyed and bleeding heavily from one arm. The sleeve of his hoodie has been ripped to shreds and stained red from his own blood, which dribbles from numerous cuts and lacerations beneath the soft fabric.

“Run away, all of you!” Shigeo cries, desperate and fearful. “His power, it’s overflowing! You all need to get away, before it explodes!”

Reigen hovers over him, hands held out like he wants to grab Shigeo by the shoulders but is too afraid to actually touch him. “Mob, what’s going on? You’re bleeding like crazy!” he exclaims, voice quivering with worry and concern.

“Please, you need to run!” Shigeo insists. “All that’s left of him is pure energy now. There’s going to be an explosion, a big one!” His gaze flicks anxiously back and forth between Reigen and Ritsu, frozen in place, and his eyes are wide, the emotion in them unwithheld. Ritsu can’t remember the last time he’s seen his brother willingly show so much emotion; not since the incident all those years ago, anyway.

Eventually Shigeo’s gaze lands on Teru, pleading, and Teru lets out a nervous breath. Despite his clearly shaken state, though, he’s quick to turn on his heel. “So even all of us together won’t be able to contain it… in that case, we’d better hurry,” he says, in as authoritative a voice as he can muster, and waves for the rest of the group to follow as he turns away from the mounting explosion in the distance.

Ritsu bites his lip, his own feet itching to get as far away from Touichirou as possible. “Yeah, let’s hurry,” he echoes. He turns to face Shou, hand still tightly clasped in his, and sees him staring stone-faced across the rubble. Swallowing, Ritsu lifts his other hand and lets it rest lightly against Shou’s jaw, tugging his gaze away from the scene of Touichirou’s demise. “Hey, let’s get out of here,” he pleads, gentle but insistent.

Shou musters up a blank, empty smile. He tugs his hand out of Ritsu’s grasp and claps him on the shoulder instead. “Yeah, it’d really suck to get caught up in that,” he agrees, but his voice is heavy, weighed down by thoughts he refuses to speak out loud.

He sticks close to Ritsu as they turn and run, and only casts a single glance over his shoulder as they go. When he does, though, his eyes widen in surprise and he nearly stops in his tracks. “Wait, where’s your brother?”

Ritsu skids to a stop, whirling around on his heels, and sees that Shigeo is nowhere to be seen. “Shige?” he calls, dread creeping into his voice. Where did he go? Where’s my brother? His eyes scan the wreckage, desperately seeking out his mop of dark hair, the bright green of his borrowed hoodie. He spots a flash of green as it disappears behind a mountain of rubble, heading back in the direction of the growing explosion. “Shigeo!” he screams, and lunges so quickly that the soles of his shoes skid on the gravelly ground. He pitches forward and only barely manages to keep himself going with one hand, wincing as rocks and broken glass dig into his scarred palm through his glove.

“Ritsu, stop it!” Shou yells, catching Ritsu by his wrist before he can go too far. He pulls, hard, hard enough that Ritsu hears his shoulder pop in protest, and suddenly Shou is spinning him around and staring up into his face intensely. “You can’t go after him, you’ll die,” he cries, pushing Ritsu insistently toward the rest of the ground, already far ahead of them. Even Serizawa has passed them, half-stumbling as he scrubs tears from his eyes.

“Shou, let go,” Ritsu seethes, but Shou’s grip is tight on his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh between his hoodie and his gloved hand.

“You think I don’t want to go back too?” Shou snaps, and the way his voice cracks makes Ritsu freeze in his path. It’s enough for Shou to crowd him back down the path, the hand not tightly holding Ritsu hostage shoving against his shoulder with every step. “I’m not gonna let you kill yourself over this.”

Ritsu has to clench his teeth and blink furiously to keep from crying, hopelessness settling over him like a weighted blanket and drawing him down into the ground with every heavy step of their frantic feet. He starts to run, away from Touichirou, away from his brother, away from the scene that could potentially mark the site of both of their deaths, and as he does Shou releases his hold on his wrist. It’ll be fine, Shige is strong, he reminds himself in his head, over and over, and it’s the only thing that keeps him moving, even as the intensity of the situation threatens to knock him right back down again.

In the end, they don’t make it very far. The energy that’s been building around Touichirou’s fallen form erupts in a massive burst, and a wave of energy explodes from its epicenter in a rush of heat and powerful wind. It hits Ritsu square in the back and tears up the concrete beneath his feet, lifting him up and throwing him with force. He screams, vision blurring as he’s ragdolled through the air with the wave of force, and he hears the frightened, pained cries of the people all around him as they, too, are uprooted and thrown at the wind’s behest. For a few quick, frightening seconds, he’s weightless, scrambling to figure out which way is up and which is down, and then his back hits the ground and his breath leaves his lungs in a loud, pained gasp. He feels his head collide with something hard, hears the crack of his skull against solid rock, and stars erupt in his vision, narrowing his line of sight until everything turns black and his body goes limply unconscious.

---

The first thing Ritsu feels is the pain in his head, intense and overbearing. He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and he doesn’t even try, just moves his head tentatively from side to side just to prove he can move at all. He can’t hear anything but the loud ringing in his ears, the noise grating on his eardrums and intensifying his headache. He twitches the fingers of one hand and then curls them into a fist, giving his arm an experimental tug. It bends at his bidding, and he shakily reaches up to feel the back of his head where the headache spreads from. His fingers come away damp and red. That’s not good, his brain supplies unhelpfully. He knows it isn’t good, bleeding heads are never good, but he can’t manage to form any other thought.

He moves his legs slowly, testingly, and finally cracks open his eyes. He hisses as a bright street light flickers overhead, stubbornly rooted into the ground despite the fact that the street has been almost entirely uprooted, chunks of it strewn at random. It’s miraculous none of them had managed to land on him in his tumble. He rolls onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright light, and tugs at his other arm, freeing it from a pile of concrete rubble that had half-buried it. It aches, and there are fresh cuts there from where shrapnel had torn through the sleeve of his hoodie and left it hanging by flimsy shreds. He braces his hands on the ground and, with some effort, pushes his torso off the ground, getting his knees beneath him so he can prop himself up somewhat. His lungs burn when he breathes in, his breath coming shaky and inconsistent with every new inhale, but despite his breathlessness he forces himself onto his feet. He staggers as he does, his vision swimming briefly before it clears again, and the throbbing in his head intensifies. He groans, covering his eyes in hopes of lessening the pressure behind them, and once it’s subsided enough for him to form coherent thoughts again, he takes a look around and surveys his surroundings. The street he’s ended up on looks almost empty, but in the distance he can see beaten bodies fishing themselves out from under the rubble as some of Teru’s esper friends wake up alongside him.

“Reigen?” he calls, unable to spot a head of familiar brown hair anywhere nearby. “Teru? Shou?” He shuffles forward a few more steps, peering around corners and under piles of rubble. Where were they?

“I’m okay, little brother,” comes a familiar groan from just behind Ritsu, and he turns to see Teru pushing himself to his feet alongside Reigen. They both look beat to hell; Teru’s clutching a nasty-looking gash on his upper arm, and blood is dripping into Reigen’s eyes from a laceration on his forehead. They’re alive, though, that’s the important part. Teru glances around, like Ritsu had been just a moment before, and adds, “Where’s your friend?”

Ritsu bites his lip and tires not to let show how worried he is that Shou hasn’t answered his call. “I don’t know, I haven’t found him yet,” he replies, venturing a little farther down the road. He winces as his ribs ache painfully, and he wonders if he’s bruised them in one of his many, many tumbles. He drifts to one side of the road while Teru and Reigen venture to the other, dark eyes searching frantically for a splash of red hair or a glinting blue eye or a sliver of pale, freckled skin. “Shou?” he calls again, hoarse voice cracking with the strain of it and from his own mounting worry.

“M’over here,” comes the strained reply, and Ritsu jerks his head to face it. There’s an arm, lifted sluggishly from beneath a pile of rubble that appears to be the remains of a collapsed brick wall of a nearby building. The freckles on the arm are dark and instantly recognizable as Shou’s, and Ritsu can’t help but feel a rush of relief. He feels like the two of them have dodged death so many times in just one day that they must have broken some sort of cosmic record.

He quickly skirts the pile of rubble, approaching the waving hand, and reaches down to take it in his own. When he pulls on it, Shou comes with him, shakily pushing himself up into a sitting position as broken bricks and dust and glass roll off of him like sand. “You okay?” Ritsu asks, giving him a quick once-over to check for anything potentially life-threatening.

Shou pats himself down with his free hand, eyes drooping in exhaustion but looking to be in otherwise stable condition. “Yeah, I think so,” he replies, and Ritsu helps him to his feet. Both of them are covered head to toe in dust and dry blood, and Shou’s varsity jacket is destroyed beyond repair, full of holes and irreparably stained. He turns to look at the site of the explosion, where a massive dust cloud is slowly settling.

Ritsu feels like his stomach might eat itself with the force of his worry. He can’t see anything through the thick dust, not a sign of movement, and everything has gone deathly quiet aside from the voices of the people stirring all around him. Then, as the dust begins to disperse, he starts to see splashes of dark green poking out of the wreckage. At first he thinks it must be some kind of huge tree, but the more he stares the more it starts to look more like…

“What the fuck,” Shou mumbles passionately under his breath, draping his arm over Ritsu’s shoulders for support as the two of them stare up at what is, unmistakably, the head of a giant broccoli tree. Its trunk is easily as wide as a city block, and its thick branches curve outward like a mushroom cloud and reach high over the tops of every building in its vicinity.

Ritsu can’t help but agree with Shou’s particular sentiments, caught somewhere between awe and intense bafflement as he struggles to make sense of the fever dream he’s experiencing. “Are you sure we aren’t dead?” he asks after a moment.

Shou chokes on a manic fit of giggles, free hand clutching his ribs. “Stop, it hurts to laugh,” he complains, his arm heavy and comforting around Ritsu’s shoulders. He bites back a grin, looking up at the towering broccoli. “Guess we should go dig ‘em out, huh?” he says after a moment, unraveling himself from Ritsu’s grasp and stretching his arms over his head. He’s clearly still exhausted, but he’s keeping his footing, so Ritsu lets him go.

“They’re in that thing?” Ritsu exclaims in disbelief. Now that he stops to stretch out his senses, he can feel an intense psychic energy radiating off of the broccoli. It’s his brother’s aura, mostly, but there’s an unmistakable tinge of Touichirou’s presence in it, too, the bloodlust and killing intent drained from it completely. “Are they alive? Can you tell?” he asks Shou, unable to distinguish his brother’s location within the swirling storm of psychic residue.

“I think so,” Shou responds, squinting his eyes as though that will help him sense his father’s presence more easily.

At Ritsu’s side, Teru approaches them, arms crossed as he stares up in befuddlement at the huge broccoli. “We’ll help,” he says immediately, jerking his thumb at Reigen, who’s trailing along behind him. They both look similarly beaten and battered, but Teru, at least, looks as energetic as he ever had when Ritsu had previously met him.

“Thanks,” Ritsu murmurs, comforted by the thought that he won’t be on his own in this endeavor.

They take it slow, their sore bodies too drained of energy to do much of anything else. Fukuda, Higashio, and Ootsuki go with them, intent on finishing the job before they head back to the hideout, and Ritsu makes a mental note to thank them for everything once this is all over.

They pause just in front of the giant broccoli, and Reigen shines a flashlight into the chasm that opens up in front of them. He’d snatched it up off the ground on the walk over; it’s emblazoned with the logo for Seasoning City’s police force, so Ritsu figures it must have been dropped by an officer in their rush to escape the area.

“We should split up,” Shou says suddenly from Ritsu’s side. “Me and my guys will go take care of my old man, the rest of you can go find Shigeo.” He jerks his thumb toward the other end of the broccoli, to where Touichirou supposedly would be waiting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out a ring of keys, pressing them into Ritsu’s palm. “We can meet back up at the house, alright? You guys take the car, we’ll get a taxi or something.”

Ritsu blinks, opens his mouth, and closes it again. It feels like a rational plan, and in reality there’s nothing keeping him from agreeing to it, but it feels weird to split up now after everything that’s happened. He and Shou have been practically joined at the hip all day, watching out for each other, keeping each other alive, and he doesn’t want to stop now. Instead, he just blurts, without really thinking, “You promise?”

Shou fixes him with a wide-eyed stare, and it’s one of the very few times Ritsu’s managed to catch him entirely off-guard. For a moment, everything is quiet, and then Reigen coughs into the elbow of his ruined suit jacket. He’s biting back a wobbly smile, pretending he hadn’t just been about to laugh. Shou lets out a little chuckle and pats Ritsu on the shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Promise,” he replies, vaguely amused. His touch lingers on Ritsu’s shoulder a little longer than usual, and after a second of quiet deliberation, Shou pulls Ritsu in for a brief, tight hug.

Ritsu returns it, a little surprised but not displeased by the sudden display of affection. Shou’s never really shied away from touching Ritsu, but there’s something undeniably intimate about this rushed moment that’s over far too quickly, because Shou pulls away after just a second and whirls around on his heels before Ritsu can even get a good look at his face.

“Make sure you get your brother out of there, okay?” Shou calls to him over his shoulder with a final, half-hearted wave.

Ritsu watches him go for a second longer, and then turns to Reigen and Teru. Reigen seems to have composed himself once more, and is peering into the darkness that pervades the space beneath the broccoli’s thick trunk. “Let’s go,” he says, ducking under the arches of the broccoli’s root system.

Teru nods and follows behind him. Reigen keeps a pace ahead of the younger boys, leading them with the beam of the flashlight so they don’t trip over any wayward roots or cracks in the destroyed ground. The psychic residue here is so strong that Ritsu can hear it buzzing in his ears, a constant, rather annoying noise.

“You hear it too, right?” Teru murmurs to him after a moment, leaning his head in Ritsu’s direction as he speaks. “It’s loud.”

Ritsu grimaces in response. “This whole place is giving me feedback,” he grumbles, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Oh yeah, it’s really annoying, that noise,” Reigen chimes in, in a manner that is wholly unconvincing. Ritsu shoots an unimpressed half-glare at Reigen’s back and decides not to respond.

The group lapses into silence for a few minutes as Ritsu’s eyes scan the darkness for signs of Shigeo’s presence and Reigen whips the flashlight back and forth in search of danger. Eventually, it’s Teru’s voice that breaks the silence. “So, four months, huh?” he says breezily, but even with his confidence, the statement comes across clunky and forced. “Kageyama--er, your brother, I mean--he filled us in on some of what happened, but we didn’t get a lot of time to talk. So it was Claw after all, huh?”

Ritsu shrugs, his shoulders drawing up around his ears in a distinctively protective manner. He keeps his gaze stubbornly fixed on Reigen’s back, his expression carefully neutral. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It was only a few days, though. No big deal.” The lie slips off his tongue like poison, and in his pocket his right hand reaches for his left, fiddling with the fingers hidden beneath his dark gloves.

Teru looks away from him, glancing upward to the spots in the ceiling where the plants give way to starry night sky above. “A few days is still enough time, though,” he says simply, and the words hit Ritsu harder than they probably should.

“Four months is a long time to be off the radar, regardless,” Reigen points out, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you had a really good reason, but still… we were worried about you, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” Ritsu denies on instinct. “I did have a reason, I just… let’s not talk about this now. I just want to find my brother.” His voice drops off into a quiet plea, and his gaze turns downward, the toes of his shoes swinging in and out of his vision as he walks ever forward.

“Ritsu,” Reigen starts, then seems to rethink his approach, giving his head a resigned shake. “Alright, we don’t have to talk about it yet,” he relents, but there’s a promise on his tongue that they will talk about it later.

Ritsu’s fleetingly grateful to Reigen for understanding. Teru reaches over to pat him on the shoulder with a smile. “We’re just glad that you’re okay, little brother,” he adds, with a hint of a teasing edge put onto the nickname to lighten the mood a little. Teru is good at that, it would seem, and Reigen seems placated as he turns to look down the broccoli-walled tunnel once more.

A minute later, Teru pauses in his walking, furrowing his brow and frowning. He turns to his left, and Ritsu nearly runs into him as he suddenly stops in his tracks and faces the center of the tree. “He’s close,” he declares, making his way over to the wall of the tree and places his palm against it. “Dig here,” he adds, more urgently, reaching out his hand, and Reigen passes him one of two shovels they’ve brought along with them.

“You can sense him in there?” Ritsu asks, feeling his restlessness resurfacing, prickling the palms of his hands. No matter how he prods at the wall with his own drained aura, he can’t parse the residue of his brother’s power in the air.

“Yeah, he’s definitely in there. It’s hard to tell with this stupid tree interfering with my senses, but his aura is very potent here. This is definitely the spot,” he says confidently, and drives his shovel into the broccoli roots without another word. At his side, Reigen does the same, and the roots give way easily under their strength.

Left empty-handed, there’s little Ritsu can do but hover and watch, reminding them to be careful not to hit Shigeo with their shovels by accident until they finally get a glimpse of his blue jeans underneath. It doesn’t take much longer for them to unbury Shigeo after that, and by the time they’ve gotten him mostly unearthed, he’s begun to regain consciousness.

Shigeo hums sleepily as his eyes blink open, his hand raising to rub at them as Teru gets an arm around his shoulder and helps him into a sitting position. “What’s going on?” he asks, glancing around with fuzzy eyes at his new surroundings. “Where… are we?”

“Shige!” Ritsu exclaims, relief welling up in him so quickly and strongly that he almost starts crying. “You’re okay now, everything’s over.”

“You gave us a real fright, kiddo,” Reigen chuckles as Teru helps Shigeo to his feet, tucking the shovels under his arm and handing his flashlight over to Ritsu. “And to answer your question, hell if I know. Some sort of huge tree sprouted up right on top of you.”

Ritsu bites his lip against his urge to correct Reigen--it’s not a tree, it’s a giant broccoli, obviously--but that will only cause more confusion that it’s really worth. Right now, the important part is to get back to the house and get everyone patched up. “Can you walk, Shige?” he asks, reaching out to steady his brother with a hand on his arm. “Shou has a car stashed near here. Reigen, you can drive, right?”

Reigen presses his lips together uncertainly. “Uh, I have a license, yeah,” he answers, and it’s not exactly what Ritsu had asked, but it’s better than nothing. He pulls the car keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Reigen.

“Let’s go back to my place, it’s close and we’ve got medicine and clean clothes and stuff to deal with… all of this.” He gestures to himself, to his bloody skin and torn clothing and messy, dusty hair. “Plus, there are two showers, which I know for a fact is more than Reigen has.”

“Hey, I live by myself, I only need one,” Reigen sputters, tucking the car keys into the pocket of his destroyed slacks for safekeeping. “Is your friend gonna be there?”

Ritsu tries to ignore the vague suspicion he can hear in the nuances of Reigen’s voice, turning away. “Yeah, Shou will be there,” he answers, not bothering to hide the haughtiness in his voice at Reigen’s thinly-veiled skepticism. “Or, he will be, eventually. He has to dig out his father first.”

That shuts Reigen up pretty fast as the older man slowly connects the dots and solidifies Shou and Touichirou’s family relationship in his head. Teru looks shocked, too, but his shock is quickly stifled as he turns back in the direction they’d come in. “In that case, we should hurry and make sure we’re there when they get back,” he says breezily, nudging Shigeo forward with care. His brother still looks bleary-eyed, like he’s barely fighting off the urge to fall asleep again, but he stays stubbornly on his feet as they make the hike back out to open skies.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #kageyama ritsu #suzuki shou #ritshou #kageyama shigeo #hanazawa teruki #reigen arataka #suzuki touichirou #mp100 fanfic #fanfiction #serendipitousfics #blood #canon typical violence #violence #child abuse #child neglect

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