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#as a former child who used to steal all the time i am Disgusted and frankly Insulted by just how amatuerish this guy was
phlegmpop · 8 months
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https://medium.com/@OfcrACab/confessions-of-a-former-bastard-cop-bb14d17bc759
Confessions of a Former Bastard Cop
I was a police officer for nearly ten years and I was a bastard. We all were.
This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.
But enough is enough.
The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.
American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.
WHY AM I WRITING THIS
As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.
I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.
One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.
YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS
I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?
No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.
See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.
Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.
If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.
We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.
I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.
In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.
And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.
None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.
This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.
BASTARD 101
I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.
Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.
I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.
To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:
“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”
Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”.
We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.
When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.
Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.
One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.
This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”
I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.
Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.
HOW TO BE A BASTARD
I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.
Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.
Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.
Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.
Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.
Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.
Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.
Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.
Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.
Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.
Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.
Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.
Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.
Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.
Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.
Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.
Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.
A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.
A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.
A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.
If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.
Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.
Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.
I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.
Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:
Do
not
fucking
talk
to
cops.
Ever.
Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.
DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?
Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.
During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.
The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.
It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.
And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?
To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.
Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.
HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?
So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:
Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.
Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.
More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.
Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.
Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:
No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.
No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.
Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.
Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.
Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.
One final idea: consider abolishing the police.
I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.
I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.
What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.
You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.
This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.
Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?
Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?
Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.
Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.
Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:
“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”
(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)
I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.
A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE
If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:
When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?
When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?
When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?
And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of?
I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.
Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?
If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.
RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH
Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics (https://muse.jhu.edu/article/39984)
Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete? (https://www.feministes-radicales.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Angela-Davis-Are_Prisons_Obsolete.pdf)
CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit (http://criticalresistance.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/CR-Abolitionist-Toolkit-online.pdf)
Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect? (https://www.haymarketbooks.org/authors/491-joe-macare)
Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video] (https://www.haymarketbooks.org/blogs/128-ruth-wilson-gilmore-on-covid-19-decarceration-and-abolition)
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SAGAU but the reader is just random sassy 10 y/o that knows when to stfu and is a Geo traveller main because they made the traveller way too strong.
Extra details that i like to put in (feel free to ignore this part, or exclude some parts of this deatail)
Reader can draw at least better than artist their age
When they first got to the genshin world they were like "Oh. Wow. This couldn't get any worst" and when it did..yeah
When the archons do dumb shit, the reader stares at them with disgust and shock. Like a mix of them. Reader is like "This is the characters I pulled for!?"
But then they just accept it and just cry
Theyre horrifying when they're pissed. Like they're not the type to throw tantrums. Even if they're 10y/o, they are a 10 y/o with class.
They just stare at you. With a smiling face with veins popping on their fists and face.
And the just sigh and gives up on being angry
Quietly cries because of shitty parents guys omg 😃
It took them a while, but when seeing mondstadt characters with the exact voice,clothes, and name, they just went "Am I in genshin impact???"
Denies it at first. After a few hours, they just accept it
Fortunately does not get accused as impostor because like thats a wholeass kid
Their guardian is the Traveller, but sometimes its Zhongli because kid reader finds comfort in both of their presence.
Or maybe consider ANOTHER VERSION SAGAU ;
Reader has a charm magic, but doesn't know it because lack of self worth #cool
Is the creator, but they just somehow got the charm magic
Details!
Reader did not get accused as the impostor (because of charm magic)
The charm magic works on both gender (DOES NOT WORK WITH CHILDREN)
As a former sassy child I hope I did your first idea justice <3
----
Im just seeing this slightly grumpy, 110% done with everyone lil kid hanging around Traveler. Like all the other acolytes were maybe trying to sneak up adoption papers, but you just had other plans as you cling onto the Traveler for dear life as yall run around Teyvat.
Honestly you're just emotionally and physically attached to the Traveler at the hip once you find them. Wherever they go you're right with them.
Due to being with Traveler all the time, you may or may not clash with Paimon. Though if y'all can agree that someone is being stupid then they'll have to deal with two people coming up with ugly nicknames (with yours possibly making them break down crying bc "oh no the creator hates me--")
The characters tripping over their feet and calling you "your grace" and other variations was cool for like 10 minutes before you started laying into them for it
"Your grace this, your grace that, do you want me to call you Barbatos in the church and see how you like it?!"
"Call me your eminence one more time and I'm taking away your artifacts."
"You were already on thin ice for stealing my 50/50 three times Diluc, I have a name. Use it."
Okokok so, Imagine seeing Ei, the Electro archon, the woman with the most badsss introduction that you've ever seen in your life.
And she's just kneeling, nearly sobbing at your feet. And it just ruins it for you.
"You were such a pain to fight and for what?!"
Definitely gives off the vibe of being a kid that will throw hands if bothered but you use your words instead of your fists.
Would use your fists to fight anyone who hurts Traveler tho. Scaramouche is lucky he disappeared bcuz you had the time.
When the Traveler ends up going on adventures that they didn't think were safe for you to accompany them on (which were most of them but you were really good at using the creator title to your advantage) they dropped you off with Zhongli given that he was probably the only responsible person they knew that wasn't also swamped with like 50 other things at the same time.
At first you'd probably be a menace n call him Peepaw for a laugh but it would quickly become a term of endearment as he becomes the only positive parental figure in your life and oh no you slipped and called him dad he's malfunctioning--
He'd probably remove you from the pedestal he had you on before you landed in Teyvat. You're just a kid. He's not crazy. Even if the elements do react to you while you're upset, you're still a kid.
And now you're his kid. So the closest thing he has to a fridge is just gonna be littered with your drawings (much to your embarrassment when someone comes over and gushes even harder than he does bc they're still not over the whole creator thing)
Venti and Ei are hella jealous. And Zhongli is a lil smug but doesn't simmer on it for too long.
And on a similar note of haphazardly adopting characters, if you saw Traveler moping about their sibling, you'd immediately stand up, give them a hug, and declare yourself their new sibling no take backs. 
...And if you saw the Abyss twin? Ohhh you let then have it.
"They've been sad this entire time looking for you but you've been watching this entire time?! Do you even care?!?"
You look calm but that glare… lightning nearly strikes them. You leave the Abyss twin sobbing while going to comfort Traveler with a hug.
I forgot to mention but also I think that Traveler, from being both your main and your first vessel before the whole Isekai thing, would probably treat you like a child first Instead of a literal God.
They're more in tune with you from you keeping them around and building them for so long, so they kinda unknowingly treat you how you want to be treated from the get-go. 
-----
Aaaaa I hope you like it! Sorry I didn't get to the charm stuff this time ;v;
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blackwoolncrown · 4 years
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”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.
But enough is enough.
The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.
American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”
>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<
WHY AM I WRITING THIS
As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.
I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.
One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.
YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS
I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?
No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.
See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.
Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.
If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.
We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.
I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.
In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.
And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.
None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.
This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.
BASTARD 101
I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.
Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.
I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.
To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:
“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”
Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.
When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.
Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.
One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.
This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”
I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.
Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.
HOW TO BE A BASTARD
I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.
Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.
Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.
Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.
Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.
Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.
Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.
Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.
Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.
Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.
Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.
Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.
Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.
Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.
Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.
Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.
Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.
A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.
A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.
A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.
If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.
Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.
Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.
I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.
Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:
Do
not
fucking
talk
to
cops.
Ever.
Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.
DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?
Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.
During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.
The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.
It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.
And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?
To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.
Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.
HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?
So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:
Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.
Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.
More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.
Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.
Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:
No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.
No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.
Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.
Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.
Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.
One final idea: consider abolishing the police.
I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.
I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.
What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.
You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.
This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.
Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?
Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?
Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.
Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.
Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:
“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”
(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)
I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.
A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE
If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:
When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?
When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?
When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?
And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.
Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?
If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.
RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH
Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics
Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?
CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit
Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?
Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]
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Spicy Chocolate | The Umbrella Academy AU
Fandom: The Umbrella Academy
Pairing: Klaus x Vicky (OC - The Eighth Child’ Verse)
Word Count: 1,5k
Warning: Strong language, mild sexual content
a/n: I was gonna post the first chapter of my new Simon series, but I finished this little thing in time for @sheehanksgiving XD
(Masterlist)
I hate the expression guilty pleasure. It's almost as if you are only supposed to like certain things, liking something embarrassing or uncommon is a reason to be guilty. That said, my guilty pleasure is definitely watching telenovelas, more specifically Brazilian telenovelas (sorry other Latin countries, we do it better...), even more specifically 2000s Brazilian telenovelas.
As we all know already, dad was a dickhead and wouldn't let any of us do what we wanted, but that never stopped us. When you raise kids with that level of strictness, you're just raising better liars and more resourceful runaways.
Tv was strictly prohibited during the week, our only day to watch our shows was Saturday, and of course Allison would always monopolize the fucking thing all day to watch Buffy or The OC. The rest of us never got the chance to watch anything else!
We had to find our own ways to get to the tv. At the time I ended up buying one of those tiny portable ones, the only problem is that it didn't connect to any channels with telenovelas. For that we had to assemble a team: Diego, Klaus, and I sneaking around the house on Saturday to watch the reruns of the week.
At the time, 2003, we had just turned 14 and the telenovela we were all watching together was Chocolate com Pimenta, still one of my favorites to this day.
It was basically about this very small town in the late 20s, home to a famous chocolate factory owned by two siblings. Jezebel, an evil woman who took advantage of everyone, and Ludovico, a kind old man who ends up finding out his sister had been stealing money from the factory.
He then becomes very good friends with one of the employees, Ana Francisca, who was a total loser from a poor family, but ends up getting pregnant with Danilo's baby (Danilo, who is dating the other villain, Olga, Ana Francisca's bully).
After getting humiliated Carrie style, Ana ends up marrying Ludovico platonically just so her son would have a father, and by consequence, she also became the sole owner of the chocolate factory once he died, finally getting the chance to seek revenge against the ones who humiliated her in the past.
Yeah, it sounds a little complicated and there are at least thirty other characters and a million other storylines happening at the same time which included: cousins getting married after an enemies to lovers slow burn, four weddings that were interrupted by something dramatic happening (one of them being the groom getting arrested at the altar), a girl who wants to steal her sister's boyfriend, a painter who falls from the sky in a hot air balloon, chocolates that make you horny, a young boy who doesn't know he's a boy because he was raised as a girl, five moments of 'no, I am your mother/father', a fake kidnapping turned real, a hotel owner being exposed as a former prostitute, communication with ghosts, and a father who loses his daughter at a poker game to a disgusting old man she has to keep distracting every night to avoid having sex with.
I am not kidding, those were all parts of the story at some point.
And we loved it, we ate that up! It was a high risk operation to sneak upstairs into the television room, but we didn't care. It was better to be punished than miss out on a chapter, we had our priorities sorted back then.
"Klaus! Klaus, put that out and come here," I hissed from the hallway.
"Oh fuck, it's telenovela night," he quickly put out the joint he was smoking and hid it under his mattress before joining us. "Nice to see you, D. I thought last week was 'the last time you ever did this'."
"Shut up!" Diego muttered, making him laugh even more. "This week Aninha is coming back to Ventura, I just wanna see that, but I won't be here next week. Telenovelas are for girls."
"Sure you won't..." he snorted as we made our way to the room. "I'm not a girl and I love telenovelas."
"I know, but you are... You know."
"What? What am I?" Klaus loved to make people uncomfortable in that kind of situation, especially our siblings.
"Different," Diego mumbled, unsure of how to explain without sounding like a dick.
"Different how?"
"Stop that," I laughed, shushing them. "Someone will hear us!"
All of our efforts to stay hidden went downhill when we opened the door and found Luther watching the football game. He jumped, tossing the remote across the room. Klaus yelped, and I had to cover his mouth to keep him quiet.
"W-what are you doing out of bed?" Luther asked, folding his arms angrily.
"The same thing as you, genius," Diego huffed. "Can you get out? We're gonna watch the... Futurama."
"No! I got here first!"
"Come on, Spacey, please," I whined. "We really need to watch it tonight, it's the only night when they show the reruns, you can watch this game any time you want, or a billion other games just like it!"
"You shouldn't even be here, it's bedtime."
"Neither should you," Klaus countered. "You have just as much to lose here. If you tell anyone, we'll tell dad you were watching porn. Something really twisted like bestiality or that thing when people sit on cakes and fart for the camera."
"What?" the three of us asked nearly at the same time.
"Don't tell me you've never seen it!" he rolled his eyes. "You all know exactly what video I'm talking about..."
"I really don't," I grimaced, that mental image was probably one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen, and I've killed people. "What were you even looking for? How did you find that?"
"It doesn't matter, I'm not leaving," Luther insisted.
"Okay, we're not really gonna watch Futurama," I sighed, hoping Diego wouldn't be upset. "We're gonna watch the telenovela, would you like to stay and watch it with us?"
"Telenovela? Isn't that for girls?"
"No, man! You'd think so, but it's actually a lot of fun," Diego shrugged.
"It's literally the only time we can watch it, I'll make you a cake," I offered and immediately winced remembering what Klaus had just said about that video. "Not like that, just a cake."
"Fine, but it has to be red velvet," Luther gave me a pointed look.
"Anything you want!" I ran to get the remote and change the channel.
We all gathered in front of the tv, Diego and Luther on each side and Klaus in the middle, with me sitting between his legs, my back against his chest. Thankfully we only missed the first five minutes of the first chapter.
There were English subtitles, but Luther was still lost, every two seconds he would ask something different, which was understandable, but it didn't make it any less annoying.
"Who's that?"
"That's Bernadete."
"And who's with her?"
"That's Cassia, the girl he likes."
"She's a lesbian?"
"No, he's actually a boy. He was adopted as a baby and raised by the maid, who never told his adoptive mother he's a boy, he doesn't know, but he feels like there's something different about him."
"Oh, I see... Maybe they did that to Klaus. That's why he's so weird, maybe he's actually a girl."
"Asshole!" Klaus barked. "Boy, girl, who cares? It doesn't mean anything. Even if that was true it wouldn't be a bad thing. At least I have kissed a girl, unlike you!"
"Your sister doesn't count."
"Funny you should say that..."
"Who's the mother?" Luther went back to interrogating me.
Needless to say, he was way more interested in Chocolate com Pimenta than we anticipated, and who could blame him? It was actually really good. He ended up joining our Saturday group.
He was the first to be converted, before Allison (who I think just wanted to spend time with him) and Ben. Vanya was the only one who didn't seem interested, but now that I look back maybe we did exclude her a little bit.
All I know is that some of the best moments we had at the time were sneaking around the house every Saturday night, trying to find snacks to munch on while we watched our show.
"So what did Celina do to escape Count Klaus?" Ben asked after accidentally falling asleep before our watch party the night before. By the way, yeah, there was a lot of teasing due to the fact that one of the villains' names was Klaus.
"The priest told him he'd have to pray like 450 Hail Mary's every night before having sex with her, he always ends up falling asleep before he can do anything. Now she wants to legally divorce him," I explained.
"What are you kids talking about?" Pogo asked, joining us in the living room.
"A... Book, that we are all reading," Klaus said the first thing that came to mind.
"A book?"
"Yeah, it's a period drama Vicky found at the library."
"What is it called? I'd love to read it after you're done."
"It's um... Spicy Chocolate."
Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @seanfalco @holidayspirits
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delicioussshame · 3 years
Text
This was written with time I 100% did not have and I’m so going to regret wasting it later.
Luo Binghe had always planned to come back for Shen-laoshi.
It’s why he’d chosen to study business in the first place. If he wanted to steal Shen-laoshi away from the job that was stretching so thin he was already close to breaking when Luo Binghe was only a high school student, he needed to make so much money that Shen-laoshi could not say no. If Shen-laoshi were to think, even for a second, that supporting him would weight Luo Binghe down, he would remain a teacher for the rest of his life, Luo Binghe knew it.
Luo Binghe had expected this would take at least a few years, even with the prestigious university degree he only got because Shen-laoshi personally tutored him for so long.
He hadn’t expected the shortcut life had sent his way, but he was not going to ignore it.
“…Binghe? Is that Luo Binghe?”
Luo Binghe feels his stomach drop. Shen-laoshi could never be anything less than stunning, but even his visible joy at seeing Luo Binghe again cannot mask the dull, almost sickly pallor of his skin, or the deep bags under his eyes. As Luo Binghe feared, the terrible school he had attended had eaten Shen-laoshi alive. He’d always known that good intentions wouldn’t be enough to permanently counter chronic lack of funding and colleagues so apathetic they could only be matched by the students, but witnessing it this obviously tears at his heart.
Luo Binghe had never planned a conventional courtship. He’d known since he was fifteen that Shen-laoshi was his soulmate. He didn’t want to wait. If Shen-laoshi were to ask, Luo Binghe would marry him right here and now. The ring he’d gotten for him had been the first major purchase he’d made, once he’d understood he’d never have to restrain himself again.
Saving Shen-laoshi is more important that Luo Binghe’s romantic intentions. He has to take him away from here, as fast as possible. He hadn’t planned on moving this fast, but since summer break is fast approaching… “Does Laoshi knows who Tianlang-Jun was?”
Shen-laoshi blinks at the non-sequitur. They’d been catching up moments ago, and now this? “…Yes?”
“After I graduated from college, I found out I was his only biological son. His only family still alive. He left me everything.”
Shen-laoshi lefts out a polite, unbelieving laugh. “Really? How lucky for you.”
Luo Binghe hands him his phone. Does Shen-laoshi even have a decent phone? The older model he’d used when Luo Binghe was still a student here cannot possibly still work, can it? “You can look it up, if you want to. There were a couple articles about it.”
Luo Binghe stays silent at Shen-laoshi’s face turns astonished, before he gives the phone back. “Wow. Binghe, congratulations! Or should I be offering you my sympathies? You’ve never met him, have you?”
Luo Binghe shakes his head. “That’s not why I told Shen-laoshi this. Laoshi should know that I’m very, very wealthy. I’ve taken over my father’s affairs, and I fully intend on keeping things that way.”
Shen-laoshi blinks, confused. “I’m very happy for you, of course. Binghe deserves it more than anyone, after all the hard work he did to get ahead. But why are you telling me? You must have many friends now. Maybe a lover? You don’t have to hang you with your old teacher anymore.”
“Come home with me.”
Shen-laoshi tilts his head just a little, before gesturing to the mountains of tests he’d surrounded with. “As Binghe knows, the semester is almost over. I have tests to grade.”
Too many to only be his class’. Luo Binghe bets older teachers have left Shen-laoshi their share. Again. Still.
He grits his teeth. He’d chosen to approach Shen-laoshi in July exactly because of this. He’d thought they could get closer during the summer months, and with luck he’d convince Shen-laoshi not to return in September.
September is too far away. “Shen-laoshi shouldn’t waste his valuable time on this! Look at him, so exhausted, so pale, so thin! Has he been eating at all after I stopped bringing him food? Laoshi, your student cannot let this stand! Shen-laoshi needs to stop working. Instead, he can stay with me. I make more than enough to support him!”
He can see Shen-laoshi fluster. “Binghe, what nonsense are you spouting? You can’t just take people in like they’re stray dogs! And I’m perfectly fine! I can take care of myself without having my former student worry about me like I’m a child! Really, Binghe, are you the one working too much? It’s the first time we see each other in years, is this really what you want to say?”
Luo Binghe has never heard more blatant lies. Shen-laoshi couldn’t even meet his eyes as he spoke. He’s on the verge of a breakdown, anyone could see it.
He won’t let this stand. “Shen-laoshi isn’t a child, but I’m not one anymore either. I’ve thought this through. Why do you think I came to visit Laoshi here, at school? I wanted to see if he was doing better, or if he’d moved on from this place, but since it isn’t the case, it’s clear he needs help. Help I’m more than willing to offer, in exchange for all those years he spent tutoring me.”
Shen-laoshi’s voice softens. “Binghe, no. You don’t owe me just because I was doing my job.”
Shen-laoshi wasn’t just doing his job. Even when he met with Luo Binghe at his desk, Luo Binghe had been aware that he sometimes intruded; that Shen-laoshi had pushed back grading or his second job aside to give Luo Binghe, the one interested student he had, the attention he needed to blossom.
No matter what Shen-laoshi says, Luo Binghe owes him the world, and he’ll give it to him. “I want to. Shen-laoshi would stay inside, reading the books he doesn’t have time to read right now and resting until he’s well again. Wouldn’t that be nice? I assure him my home is equipped with any luxury he might need, and if something is missing, I’ll get it for him. All he would have to do is be there for me when I return. That’s not much to ask for, is it?” The work day would be never-ending if it were keeping him away from Shen-laoshi, but it would also be so much more worthwhile. Working to keep his beloved safe and happy would fuel him through each day.
“If Binghe is lonely, he can get a girlfriend! They must be fighting to get at you! Keep your teacher out of it!”
Luo Binghe shakes his head. “I don’t want women. Laoshi is the only one I want in my home and in my bed. As I said, I’m a man now, and I know what I want. Living with me would be so much better for him than,” he gestures to the decrepit teachers’ room, “this. Laoshi has to accept that much.”
Shen-laoshi’s skin is now white as a sheet. He probably finally figured out that Luo Binghe was serious.
Good.
“Binghe really… Do you realise what you just said? Binghe wants… You’re not well. If you prefer… men, that’s perfectly fine. Get a boyfriend who’ll be your equal. Don’t offer to… pay older men to…” The rest of the sentence dies out, Shen-laoshi obviously too distraught to continue.
Distraught, but not disgusted. “I said I wanted Laoshi, not anyone else. I wouldn’t offer such a deal to a stranger. I just want to give back to Shen-laoshi for all he did for me.”
“Binghe has a strange definition of giving back.”
To be honest, Luo Binghe would wire an obscene amount of money in Shen-laoshi’s account each month if he thought for a minute that his former teacher would accept it. He just knows he won’t.
But if he’s his… Shen-laoshi has a reason to accept his generosity, and Luo Binghe has a golden opportunity to demonstrate his devotion. “I have no plans to trap Laoshi in something he doesn’t want. I came to see him because the semester is almost over. How about he comes spend a week at mine, see how he likes it? If it doesn’t suit him, he can go at anytime. I won’t ever restrain his movements. I just think it would be a better deal for both of us. Or does Laoshi doubt me? Have I ever given him a reason to distrust me? I was always a good student, wasn’t I? I can tell Laoshi needs some time to recharge. Some time away from all of this, for him to be taken cared of properly. I would love to provide that time for him.” Luo Binghe advances a bit, and takes Shen-laoshi’s frail, trembling hand in his, closing his own, much warmer, fingers over his gently. “Please?”
Shen-laoshi stares at their joined hands, apparently mystified at the fact that he’s not taking his back.
Luo Binghe is content to wait.
“…This is crazy. I can’t possibly be considering… Binghe, are you certain?”
Luo Binghe has never been more certain of anything. “Yes.”
“…You said just one week?”
To begin with. Luo Binghe has no intention of having him leave after said week. Shen-laoshi will be so thoroughly wooed, he won’t even realise seven days have passed until a month has. “One week.”
Shen-laoshi rubs his temples in a gesture that reveals how much his own existence weights on him. “I must be insane. Who does that? Binghe, who does that? Who do you think I am?”
“My teacher, and the only person I want.” He lets his hold on Shen-laoshi’s hand turn inviting, rubbing with a touch so light Shen-laoshi shivers under its caress. “Think of it as a vacation. Laoshi deserves one. That’s not so strange, is it? A vacation away from everyone and everything, where you only have to think about yourself, for once.”
“And you.”
“And me.” Luo Binghe won’t let Shen-laoshi forget about him, not even when he’s at work.
“Why me?”
“Why not you? Shen-laoshi is beautiful.”
He laughs. It’s a bitter, ugly sound that Luo Binghe instantly hates. “I am not. You said it yourself; I’m tired. I’ve exhausted myself. I look twice my age.”
Luo Binghe rolls his eyes. He’s never heard anything more ridiculous. “You do not. Laoshi barely looks older than I.”
Luo Binghe thought Shen-laoshi would keep on arguing. He could go on for hours, when Luo Binghe got him in the right move. His anger had been captivating, as a child. Luo Binghe had dreamed of creating such passion in him.
He might have a chance to, now.
Instead, Shen-laoshi is vanquished by the years of overwork. Luo Binghe can tell. It’s not his proposal that seems rational, or Luo Binghe himself that’s too appealing; it’s, as he expected, this revolting environment that Shen-laoshi wants to escape from for a moment, even if the only way to do so is by running in Luo Binghe’s arms. “Fine. If Binghe wants to do something as stupid as taking his old teacher as a charge, he can do it, as long as he doesn’t expect much. I don’t have anything left to offer.”
More nonsense. Shen-laoshi, tired to the core and depleted as he is, has more to offer than the prettiest of the heiresses who tried their hands at him.
Luo Binghe gives him a card, folding his fingers over the thick paper. “My address. Shen-laoshi should come on the first Sunday after the term has ended. I’ll be here to welcome him properly. And I won’t let him forget. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll come pick him up. He can pack, or he can bring nothing; either way, I’ll provide anything he needs.”
Shen-laoshi’s fingers twitch over the paper before he pockets it. “I see. I’ll do as Binghe says, then, and come visit him on Sunday, unless he gets his senses back and takes back his offer, in which case, he should call to say so.”
As if. “Shen-laoshi shouldn’t count on it.”
Shen-laoshi sighs. “I’m starting to understand that.”
By the end of the week, Luo Binghe will make sure Shen-laoshi knows down to his bones that when it comes to his teacher, Luo Binghe’s senses have left him long ago. “I’ll be waiting, then.”
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rogerslovesstark · 4 years
Text
Loveless
Requested by: @belovedcherry 
Can I request a fic where Steve and Reader are in an arranged marriage but he doesn’t want to be and cheats on her and eventually leaves her with no regrets? The reader is left pregnant (he doesn’t know - she wanted to tell him but he was being a dick) and eventually moves on and finds someone else who is cool and loving with her and the child. Steve ends up finding her again and being jealous, possessive, regretful, and angry because he thinks that family should have been his since they were arranged together in the first place unlike her choosing to engage/marry the new guy. I’m not sure about the ending but I think that I prefer the reader to have a happy ending and Steve left in eternal regret. Maybe her being pregnant with a second child with the new guy? Happy growing family?
You knew you weren’t stupid, Steve had found another bed to keep himself warm. Some other woman’s pussy to keep his dick wet. You just wished that he would admit it to you, so you would be able to leave. 
Crying yourself to sleep every night because the idea of the man that you love with another woman was just too much to handle. The suffocating pain and idea of him with another woman would choke you and steal all the air from your lungs as you slept in your separate bedroom.
You were truly in love with him and he couldn’t care any less about you, the mere thought of you made Steve want to throw up in disgust. All he wanted to do was party, drink, do drugs, sleep with other women. Some would say that Steve even had a problem, but you tried as hard as you could to help him.
Your families were the only thing keeping you together, the contract that you were both forced to sign that bound you two together. You had fallen in love with Steve the moment you saw him. Your father showed you a picture of him and you swore your eyes were in the shape of hearts.
His soft blonde hair, his blue eyes that could captivate you for hours on end. You couldn’t believe that he would actually be yours. Except it was way too good to be true. 
Steve was a fucking dick. When he found out he had to marry you for his inheritance to even be processed, he basically threw a fit. 
“Why can’t Bucky marry her dad, he is older than I am, what the fuck,”
“Steven, James is engaged to Dot, stop being a brat, you know that your inheritance comes once you marry, and she’s a nice girl, don’t be an ass.”
Steve was fuming at the news of this arranged marriage, he had seen pictures of you before and he was repulsed by the sight of you. Any time you had to see each other, Steve couldn’t wait till it was over to go sleep with another woman.
There wasn’t a wedding, just documents being signed in the city hall. You had worn a long white dress that complimented your skin tone, light makeup, and a casual hair-do. Both of your parents were in attendance, including Bucky, Steve’s older brother. 
You were also both forced to consummate the marriage as soon as you both went on your honeymoon. Your mother-in-law stood in the next room listening to Steve grunt lowly and you embarrassingly squeaking and moaning. He didn’t even care to make you finish. Asshole.
You both were required to have sex with each other unprotected at least once a week, normally when his mother would come over and basically force you to do the dirty. You honestly had no problem with having sex with Steve. He looked like a Greek god and he was packing downstairs. 
Steve knew that if you were to get pregnant, his mother would just leave him alone but he just couldn’t be bothered to actually finish inside of you. The thought of you actually pregnant with his child was horrifying to even think about.
Steve’s father wanted to ensure that the empire had an heir, knowing that Steve wasn’t going to settle down unless forced to do so. 
He slowly started to become distant from you, leaving for work early, coming home late, you knew he wasn’t staying loyal and it broke your heart. You would go to sleep crying every night because of the infidelity your husband was committing, and that you were completely and hopelessly in love with him and he would never love you the way you loved him.
Watching the two lines form on the pregnancy test had your heart swelling with so much joy, your smile so big. Steve was on his way home and you could finally tell him the amazing news that you would be starting a family together.
When he dropped the divorce papers in front of you, you could physically feel your heart shatter. The idea of the perfect family faded from your head as you began to become protective of your baby.
“You have an hour to get your shit and leave, get a fucking lawyer too because this is most likely going to court,” Steve spit at you from across the counter. 
He had no remorse, you were too quiet, you never wanted to go out and party, you didn’t work because you were finishing your masters in Physics. Constantly studying and having assignments to do, your fucking humming as you cooked annoyed the hell out of him.
“But Steve, I’m-“ Your words were cut off as Steve backhanded you. You remained still, not know what to do, just holding your cheek in hand, tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Y/n, shut the fuck up and get the fuck out, Selene will be here in less than 20 minutes to move in and I don’t want to fucking see your hideous face around here anymore,” Steve shouted at you, stunning you into such a thick silence you felt like you could even breathe.
You barely made it to your bedroom, heavily breathing, on the verge of a panic attack gathering all your things, making sure to leave the divorce papers signed on top of your bed. 
Looking back at Steve with tears in your eyes, you wished he would crawl back to you and apologize for saying anything hurtful and treating you like you didn’t matter to him. If he had, you would have forgiven him completely and overlooked every time he had wronged you, just wanting a small family to be perfect.
Steve smiled as your car drove off the property, the burden of you seem to finally lift from his chest, not knowing that he was throwing the best thing to ever happen to him away.
++++
You drove away sobbing in your car, you had no money and were in debt because of your master's program. You couldn’t go back to your family's house, being basically shunned by your family if they were to find out that Steve has left you.
You made it to Natasha’s apartment in one piece thankfully, only having packed limited amounts of clothes that your bag could carry. 
You knocked on her door and jumped into her arms as soon as she opened the door. Natasha stood in the door frame shocked that you were here so late, especially when it was this cold. 
“Y/n, get inside, you're going to freeze your legs off,” Natasha scolded you, ushering you quickly inside. Natasha was worried, you hadn’t called or texted her prior to coming to her apartment and she had guests over too. You didn’t look too well, eyes swollen and red, your face was puffy and you made tear streaks on your cheeks.
“Tash, I’m sorry but I need a place to stay, St-t-eve kicked me out,” You could barely make it through the sentence, still suffering from the heartbreak of your former husband. 
“Okay, I have the spare bedroom, but I have guests n/n, so hurry threw the hallway and get in the shower babe,” Natasha whispered, not wanting to embarrass you in front of her colleagues.
The spare bedroom was barely the size of a closet, but you were grateful that Natasha was generous enough to let you use it until you found an apartment. You managed to hold it together though you were hurting so deeply, just wondering what Steve was doing.
+++
Steve and Selene were laying in his bed, breathing heavily after their third round of sex, and Steve was drained. Selene reached over into her bag a pulled out a bag of white powder that she knew Steve loved. Of course, Steve didn’t decline the offer of free drugs to keep the night young and fun.
The rush that went right to his head, a floating feeling, and energy flowing through his veins. Something was off though, but Steve was too high to even identify the feeling.
+++
You walking into Natasha’s living room, seeing a few people in there, two men and another girl, you greeted all of them and stayed next to Natasha. You didn’t really talk, smiling along as Natasha’s other friend cracked jokes, you weren’t even paying attention to what they were saying, you still didn’t know what to do with your life now.
Being pregnant with his child after he told you that he didn’t want you, that he never loved you, and the only reason he married you was to get his inheritance. You felt sick to your stomach knowing you were carrying his child, but you knew that you wouldn’t get rid of it. 
You’ve wanted to be a mother since you were a young girl, seeing all those other women holding their little babies, being so loving and caring towards them.
You stood up quietly and walked towards Natasha’s kitchen, needing a glass of water, only to find one of Natasha’s friends in there already.
“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to grab a glass of water,” You murmured, not looking him directly in the eyes. He just stared at you and moved out of the way, his stature not as tall as Steve’s, he was basically the complete opposite. 
“I’m Bruce, we have thermal physics together, with professor Wither,” He said softly, his eyes kind and sweet. You noticed him before, he was older than the rest of the class, a genius too. He sat at the front of the class, always being the first to answer a question.
You never paid attention to him, only whenever he would answer a question at lightning speed. He had sweet brown eyes, a little aged but not older than 40. His hair started to salt and pepper, curling towards his face.
“I know Bruce, you really are a genius,” You smiled at him, he just stared at you, your eyes still red from crying, cheeks were swollen from the heavy crying. Bruce wondered what happens, but he didn’t want to intrude into your life. Yet still, he asked.
“Y/n are you alright?” Bruce was worried for you because you always looked so put together during class. Bruce always took note of how you looked in class, not to say he was in love with you, but he was close. Basically, his infatuation with you was so deep, if he had gotten to speak to you for even two hours, he would have fallen in love with you.
++++
Steve woke from his drunken and drug-ridden haze. Everything was blurry and he couldn’t really feel his left arm. The room smelt so strange, he couldn’t even see clearly. He didn’t know what time of day it was. 
Steve got up and walked towards the bedroom door, and towards the kitchen, he couldn’t hear your soft humming and he wanted to know if you were home. He stepped into the kitchen and he didn’t see you anywhere, where were you?
He went to the entryway and looked for your keys, only to not find them there, he opened the front door to see if your car was there. A wave of nostalgia crashed over him, remembering your face as you cried leaving in your car, Steve only felt pain now.
Tears filled his eyes slightly when he remember the hateful words he had spoken to you. You were always so sweet to him and all he did was drive you away. He walked back to his bedroom and looked for his phone. The screen showed that it was February, and Steve forced the divorce two March’s ago. Since then he and Selene had broken up.
Steve spent most of his time looking at old photos of you, where you were smiling, looking happy. You had truly loved Steve, always trying to keep him happy, cooking and cleaning for him, trying to be his rock of emotional support. 
Steve stared at a specific photograph of you, you had your bouquet of red roses from your wedding day and you were smiling so brightly at the camera. Every time Steve looked at the photo, he started to cry. The last memory of you Steve had was your crying face after he had hit you. 
Steve never felt so much pain after Selene left him because he wanted to sober up and she wanted to still party and do drugs. The night after she left, Steve had done psychedelics and the crash after was so horrible, he had gone to your old bedroom and cried while holding your pillow. 
The divorce went by quickly, you hadn’t lawyered up and didn’t take anything from Steve, you didn’t want anything to do with him. Steve had hoped you would come to the first and last meeting, just to see your face. Once he realized the depth of his mistakes, he began doing drugs and drinking recklessly, he hadn’t slept with anyone since Selene left. 
++++
You hugged Bruce after you told him the news, you were expecting again. You had been trying for about three months and you had finally succeeded. After you had spoken to Bruce for the first time in Natasha’s apartment you two hit it off so quickly, getting engaged after seven months together. 
Bruce treated you like a queen. You were the apple of his eye and both of you graduated last June, starting a small research facility that began to gain traction. You had given birth to a healthy 7 lbs 8 oz baby boy named Adam Joseph Banner. You hadn’t tried to let Steve know about anything regarding the pregnancy. You were just glad you weren’t in his life anymore.
++++
You were at the supermarket looking for pasta sauces for tonight's dinner, Adam was running around and you just smiled as he made silly faces at you.
Steve watched as you looked for the sauces. He could barely breathe as he looked at you, you looked so different and happy. Steve didn’t want to come up to you, but he wanted to know whose child that was.
Steve followed you home as you left the store.
++++
Steve watched as you hugged and kissed the foreign man, he was filled with rage. You looked so happy to see him and he just held you and smiled at you. 
The little boy hugged the man and started kissing his scruffy face. The little boy looked nothing like the man. If anything, the little boy kind of resembled Steve. Steve waited till you went inside to leave his car and walked towards your front door.
Steve knocked on your door, only to realize that he hadn’t brought you flowers, then again he hadn’t expected to come to see you today. 
You answered the door and all the air knocked out of Steve’s lungs. You looked so beautiful up close, Steve wanted nothing more than to grab you and kiss you right there. 
You looked at Steve in shock, what the fuck was he doing here. He looked like a mess, hair unkempt, eyes with dark bags underneath, his bread was slightly long and not taken care of. How the fuck did he find you?
“Steve?” You said his name, and Steve broke down, falling onto his knees, sobbing. He had missed you so much and hearing your voice after two years, it sounded like music to his ears. 
“Hi y/n,” Steve said softly, you stared at him in shock he was on his knees, looking up at you with what seemed to be like adoration. You didn’t know what to say. Literally lose of words.
“Mommy?” Adam screamed from inside the house, running towards you, jumping into your arms. He cuddled his head into your neck. You ran a hand up and down his back. Steve slowly stood up and looked act the scene in front of him.
“Is he mine, n/n?” Steve asked softly, deep down inside he was hoping that the baby was his, because if he was Steve’s child then there might be a chance that you two would be able to be together. 
“He is, and I tried to tell you that I was pregnant with your baby, but you hit me and sent me off with no money, and divorce papers needed to be signed. Why did you come here, Steve?” 
Steve didn’t know what to say, how could be explained to you that he wanted you back after everything he had done to you, the last thing you deserved was to live a life like how you used too. 
“I want you back, n/n, this was supposed to be my family, not his” Steve said softly, walking closer to you and cupping your face with his large hands, you stared at Steve, not knowing what to say. Steve leaned closer and closer to your lips, wanting to just kiss you.
“Get away from my mommy,” Adam started to yell at Steve, swinging his arms at him, trying to hit him. You quickly backed up and put Adam inside, closing the door behind you. You looked at Steve with shock in your eyes.
“Steve, I’m married now, and I’m pregnant with Bruce’s baby, you can be apart of Adams's life but I have to talk to Bruce about it,” You stated, not leaving any room for argument.
“Talk to Bruce about it? He’s my kid Y/n, I have a right to be in his life, I’m his dad,” Steve shouted at you.
“No you’re his biological father Steve, Bruce is his dad, he was there in the delivery room with me, not you, he was there when I would cry myself to sleep at night because of how sad I was about the divorce, not you, he is there when Adam cries, not you, you haven’t been apart of Adam’s life at all, so don’t you dare try to say you're his dad, because you aren’t, now stay the hell away from my family,” You screamed and slammed your door shut in his face.
He blew it, his only chance to get it back, Steve slowly walked to his car, once the door was closed Steve started to sob. It was supposed to be his family, you were supposed to be his wife and that was supposed to be his family. If only he was so filled with self-hatred, he would have had the perfect family.
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prince-toffee · 3 years
Text
Alleyways
Hordak x Shadow Weaver
Canon Divergence | Alt Universe
Season One | Episode 14: Alleyways
Beatrix scoffed and threw the brown ration bar and the rest of her food tray across the prison cell, she far preferred the grey ones. She gave a defeated sigh lowering her head down. She rubbed her fingers over the scratched part of her mask, in the spot where a chip of the Black Garnet used to reside. Her shoulders slouched down, all tension in her muscles left her as she gave up. She felt so powerless. So weak. Just a few days ago she was still one of the most powerful witches on the planet, every magic user feared her name.
Shadow Weaver.
Now, she sat in a prison cell, rank-less. She didn’t know if she should’ve felt honoured, or disgusted by the fact that the cell was specially attuned and adjusted for her specifically. Which meant it was probably designed and constructed, in secret, long before her treason. This place was full of secrets and surprises, usually unpleasant ones. Hec-Tor would’ve probably said it was an honour, he was an architect that truly thought of everything. And The Fright Zone was one of his most haunting creations.
Beatrix wasn’t disgusted, per say. She knew she didn’t have many fans, and plenty of enemies at every corner. This outcome was inevitable, she knew deep down she was getting too greedy for her own good. But the power felt too good to give up. What a fool she was. She saw it all clearly now. Where her addiction led her. Her very unsubtle disregard for orders, her greed peering through her emotionless, cold stature. She knew she was on thin ice with Hec-Tor, the control freak he was. He desired order and expected subordinance. He always disliked her - everybody back home knew she was a wildcard, deceptive, insidious. Looking out for only herself - she never really cared about the cause.
Perhaps she should’ve been more surprised that he didn’t do it earlier. She knew he wasn’t fond of her, and vice versa of course - she couldn’t stand his patriotic and prideful attitude. Acting as if being apart of The Horde was a gift from god. He was an old blind fool. Beatrix wouldn't have thought twice before leaving this place and selling her loyalty and inside information to the most welcoming bidder - The Alliance, or even maybe try her luck with The Empire of Talon Mountain. So any choices to choose from, now if only she could manage to escape her imprisonment.
Unfortunately, if she knew Hec-Tor, and she did, The Hordak had probably thought of every possibility of escape she would think of, and countered it. He was paranoid like that. The spherical pure white containment cell she was unceremoniously thrown into was made out of Glowmoon-Dwarfstone, the surface layer anyway. A magical element only found on one of the moons of Etheria, able to absorb darkness itself. Bad news for the Weaver of Shadows, she was powerless here. She despised feeling weak, vulnerable. She was meant to be the predator, not the prey.
She had no shadow. The stone absorbed it. She felt two dimensional. She didn’t know if that made sense, but she heard the stone had negative effects on the mind if in close proximity for too long. Speaking of which, she had no idea how long she had been locked up, she lost the track of time. No windows. So no sky. No clock. No space. The spherical cell was the size of a small closet. At least they were still feeding her, but the food in there was never anything to gloat about.
She placed her face into her hands, she was loosing it. She couldn’t break! But she was close. She didn’t want anyone to have the satisfaction of seeing her beg, and pled. She was strong, stronger than them. She was going to win in the end, she just had to wait it out, play the long ga-
“Inmate-667. Place your forehead on the wall behind you and position your hands behind your back. The containment unit door will open, and a commanding official will commence your questioning. And Weaver, you’re gonna like this one, hehe.”
Beatrix narrowed her eyes and growled at the announcement. She recognised the voice, Force-Commander Grizzlor. She never liked him. The feeling was seemingly mutual. She did as she was ordered. A groan reverberated through her throat, she knew exactly what this was, she could tell from Grizzlor’s smug voice. Catra. She was back to berate her. It seemed like her former ward’s ego had grown three times the size, rather than her heart. Beatrix dreaded these visits. Catra came over from time to time, to insult and demean the dark sorceress, rub her victory into Beatrix’s face. Insolent little brat! She got lucky! Beatrix was weak when she caught her off guard, too drained by the toll the Black Garnet’s power took on her. If only- if only she could take hold of the Garnet’s power! S- She didn’t need much, just a little, it would’ve cleared her mind, beat her heart faster. If she had just a little more she could’ve had taken out Catra, and her two stooges. Everything would have been all better if only she had a little more. Damn that girl! And her mother!
The cell opened up. A side panel gave out a hiss as it dislodged, pulled out and off to the side. Weaver felt the colder air pour in. The closest shadow cast onto her was too weak for her to do anything with, the upper layer of the walls draining it’s ethereal cosmic weight. Or perhaps she was the one who was too weak. Catra loomed over her. The teen thought she could intimidate her, not a chance.
“Well? Come on then, you spoiled brat! Got anything to say? Came here to gloat and mock me, you think you have won, but one wrong move with Hordak and he’ll throw you to the dogs, he’s-”
“Weaver.”
The sorceress silenced herself. The voice that called to her was cold and smooth, in other words not Catra’s. The single word was followed by a pair of footsteps, metal boots clanking against the stone’s surface. The sound of cybernetics hissing as his joins moved. He was close now. The cell entrance slide back into place closing the cell. They were alone now. Beatrix had to admit, even though she knew Hec-Tor for most of her life, seen him at his most vulnerable, even shared some intimate moments with him, but still even after all that - he was terrifying.
She turned her head around, and there he was. He looked different in the light, stranger. She almost never saw him outside of his ThroneHall. Always cloaked in darkness and smoke. She sometimes wondered if he bought smoke machines on purpose to scare any kids that would accidently wonder into the room. Hec-Tor certainly had a taste for the dramatic. Beatrix turned around and seated herself comfortably looking up at the Overlord, well, as comfortably as possible. There he was, in all his glory, out of shadows - a glorified toaster. The same Hec-Tor that used to write poetry for girls that would never go out with him. The same Hec-Tor that dyed his hair blue, because kids from the neighbourhood made fun of him being ginger. The same Hec-Tor that beat his own father within an inch of his life, and conquered half of the galaxy...
Same old, same old.
She swallowed down quietly, she couldn’t show him she was weak. The mask helped hide most emotions, most weaknesses, she had to control the rest of her body language. Beatrix lifted one leg over the other and intertwined her fingers together, giving off a relaxed posture.
“Lord Hordak. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She looked over him - blood red eyes, and teeth, grey skin, military regulation hair cut, his two prostatic arms, which could crush boulders, his imperial purple cape, and the neon lit armour implants. She was actually curious as to what he was actually going to say. His eyes narrowed, anger was apparent, but an air of irritation was present too. He gave out a long tiresome sigh, as he moved his fingers to rub the bridge of his nasal cavity, even venturing as far as his eyes. She was in for it.
“Why? Why can’t you just follow orders? Beatrix Hallows, always struggling with adhering to reason and common sense.”
Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, he actually had the audacity to school her, to talk down to her. This was almost worse than Catra, hearing her full name spoken out in a mocking tone, like lecturing a child, slapping them on the hand, this was humiliating. And from Hec-Tor too. When angered by her he’d usually give her the cold shoulder, take her off a mission, reassign command to someone else, like Catra. She thought he had given up on talking to her ages ago. But she wasn’t going to have it.
“Having fun? Look you’re not covering any new ground here. Catra already had multiple pitstops here to make me her new donkey. If you think you get to insult me like that, just remember your punk rear wouldn’t have made it back home if it weren’t there for me. You owe me. Several.”
It was true. Back on HordeWorld, back on the streets. They had nothing. Had to rummage through trash, and steal for food. Stomach empty all day. Times were tough. They had to rely on each other. One distracted the passer-by and the other pickpocketed, on a lucky day, thanks to Hec-Tor’s puppy eyes the stranger would hand them some pennies on top of that. But man, on days like these she wished she had never stood up to those bullies shoving little young Hec-Tor around, should have never allowed him to follow her. But how couldn’t she, he was so adorable.
“I am not here to appoint you my personal laughing stock. And I thought I told Catra talking to prisoners was forbidden. I’ll have a chat with her about the regulations... I am here to understand. Finally. I have been putting this off for far too long.”
This was curious, and unexpected. She would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t interested in what was about to exit that mouth. He had avoided her for years. Often said she was ‘not worth wasting words on’. The feeling was mutual. She heard that mouth declare rousing speeches, bone-chilling monologues, and the softest of kisses. Versatility was everything. He continued.
“We never saw eye to eye, never liked each other, you always went your own way. Chose to differ from others, always take the other path. You talk back to me, you waste resources on personal escapades, and often break protocol... But back there, at such a crucial point, disobeying my orders, for what? Just because of a child that did follow orders?”
Putting faith in that girl was going to be his undoing. Unless she was going to get to him first. Catra was always a nuisance, untrustworthy, going off on her own, not listening to what she was told. She had a rebellious spirit, that drove her away from Weaver’s lessons, she often managed to drag others away with her. She was too smart for her own good.
She’ll be biting down on Hec-Tor’s ankles soon enough. She supposed that an upside of being stuck in the cell was that he had to deal with Catra’s antics now. That was his mess to clean.
“How did she even get a drop on you? Was it the Garnet? I told you to tell me if the artefact displayed any negative effects-”
“Are you done? I know you didn’t come here to talk about my feelings. If you care to know your magic weapon is fine. And Catra. She’s nothing but a brat, that you’re letting walk all over you.”
She wasn’t having any of this, she had to speak up for herself. Call it a warning, that girl is not to be dismissed, she’s trouble - like her mother. But deep down she felt a hint of embarrassment herself, she was one of the most powerful sorceresses, years ago when she first drained the power of the Garnet she did it effortlessly. Even though Hec-Tor didn’t trust her, he handed her the responsibility, because he knew she was the only one who could hold its power. He knew she was mighty. But now, the Garnet rejects her, resists her, no longer bows down to her might. It hurt sometimes. But she could never show weakness.
The infamous Hordak stared down at her, judgementally, much like how he looked down at everybody. He looked off to the side at the thrown away tray, mashed potato and peas smeared on the floor, tray flipped over, and the brown rations crumbled on the floor.
“You’re not eating.”
What was that? She wondered to herself. Was that genuine worry? She noticed he stayed on the ration bars for a second too long, noting her preference perhaps. He seemingly had no idea where to go from there, so she helped him out, she asked.
“Why are you here Hec-Tor?”
This time using his real name rather than his title. More personal, it cut to the point. Plus he was always going to be Hec-Tor to her. That puppy eyed scaredy-bat, the one always picked on, by bullies twice his weight, the nerd allergic to flowers, and the same geek that used to write poems for her. She dismissed them of course, just a bunce of nonsense if you’d ask her. The change never really quite settled in, even when the Council made the public announcement of picking the new Hordak. Even when Hec-Tor’s face came on every screen on the planet. Even when the death of He-Ro shocked the nation. Nothing changed.
Well, maybe not until that day at Vix’s Diner. It was the strangest circumstance. He was the one who called her over. She guessed it was just a nostalgic meet up, like in the old days. 'The Hordak' was present, so they ate for free. Their conversation would be constantly interrupted by randos bowing and giving respects to him. He dismissed them.
But there was something different about the man that sat in front of her, he was colder, more stiff. Beatrix treated herself to the unlimited free breakfast meals, best she’d eaten in years. She half listened to his ramblings, something about the war with the Light and the Ones Who Won’t Be Named escalating, the Council was abolishing anti-terraforming laws, and Horde warships were launching on the offensive against the enemy. The wannabe poet gone, all that was left of the boy was a patriot, and a soldier. Well, what do you do? That’s what the government spoon feeds people.
But the strangest thing was. He asked her to be his 'Weaver' - his second in command. An honour placed apon only those who are seen as worthy, or chosen by the Council. But this wasn’t an ask of desperation or of fear. This was an order. Firm, and powerful. That day in the diner, if Beatrix would’ve refused him, she didn’t know if she would’ve walked out of there with her head on.
The Hordak is no mere man you can refuse after all.
He is the 'Beast of HordeWorld'.
And so, they set off. Boarded the warship: Annihilation, and rocketed into the stars. And the newly appointed Shadow Weaver pondered, that it was quite curious that HordeWorld was completely decimated only few days after they left. Curious indeed. Blah. Blah. Blah. Couple of thousand years, some food shortages and dead bodies later: Etheria. Crash landing in the back fields of King Niro’s Kingdom of Scorpion Hill. And it was through Weaver’s highly skilled dark magic on display, that the kingdoms bowed down to them, Mysticore even building a statue in her honour. They looked up to her, marvelled at her magical abilities. Her Horde magic was far more advanced than what the wizards held in their possession. She taught, and trained them. But good things never last. They turned on her.
“Like I said, Beatrix. I am here to understand.”
Now it was his time to use her name. She was still curious yet cautious. Whatever side-tracks Hec-Tor from the main mission, can’t be good. All this was strangely personal. Was the Beast in fact capable of concern and closeness? She let him continue.
“We’ve known each other longer than most beings live. But in my quest into the unknown, I never even dared to explore what was nearest me. Tell me, why break, why snap at me at a point of victory? And why, why the girl? It’s that Magicat that sets you off at every moment. Why? Why do you hate the girl?”
“Will, you free me?”
“...No. We both know I won’t, I can’t. It is against the protocols, and I gave you too many passes, vouched for you too many times, I overlooked your actions for too long. And that’s why I am here.”
Well, that wasn’t going to work. No freedom, no deal, no talking. She was surprised by the fact that this entire situation was simply a genuine attempt at a heart to heart. But he knew nothing. And that’s how Beatrix liked to keep things. Much like Hec-Tor, she wished to be a bogeyman, imagination was always the greatest deterrent.
And what was there to explain? Catra was a pain, undisciplined, and unwilling to learn. Beatrix wasn’t about to just let that brat walk over her, of course she snapped! Everything Catra got, every punishment, was because she deserved it. Though... no. No, he couldn’t know. Could he? Did he? Hec-Tor was a master tactician and strategist, he always researched and analysed everything before the attack - what if the Beast already knew the answer to his own question?
Did he know about Melendy?
Beatrix never spoke to anyone about her personal life, especially not her love life. And she had made sure she was back for check-ins, erased her tracks, she was sneaky. She didn’t slip up often. How would he know? Could it be? Was the grand Lord Hordak jealous? A curious stalker.
But perhaps it wasn’t that outside of the realm of possibly. The Queen of Magicats. The Lord of the Horde. Hec-Tor set up many negotiations in the time before the war, people talk.
And what now, he expected her to sit here listen to him give her therapy? As if. If that bastard knew about Melendy’s choice... about her leaving, and didn’t say anything, just holding it over her head as bait - then damn him to the Light! But did he truly know? He couldn’t possibly understand. She was in love. Nothing ever came close to making her feel like that. Not even him. Beatrix loved her, and she chose to leave, just because of tradition, culture. To Light with it!
But what prompted him to care? Perhaps he looked back fondly on the past, reminiscing? Hordak and her didn’t sleep together often, but when the duty became too much, too stressful - they aided each other to settle the nerve. Heh, it took practice to get used to each other, their first time, wasn’t pretty.
She still remembered that night, or well, it was day actually. She always misremembered, since the skies over the city of Catrax were always grey from the city’s pollution. Kids used to come over to their windows and watch the rare instances when sunshine would penetrate the dark clouds above. Very little hope shone down on the people of the lower levels. But the kids of the higher levels, the ones on the first floor, above the clouds, they had all the sunshine they wanted, and took it all for granted.
So when Beatrix and Hec-Tor pickpocketed and stole a little, just to keep living, just to have. It wasn’t that selfish. When the two crash landed on Etheria for the first time they ventured throughout the land, claiming everything they could, stealing and conquering, taking - just to have. Just because they couldn’t in previous lives.
On that day, after Beatrix stole old Mister Scurvy’s wallet as Hec-Tor distracted him, they both ran off away from the yelling man. Ran faster than they ever ran before, too afraid that the man’s screaming would attract the attention of any local law enforcement, if they got them, it was Confinement for sure, no matter that they were teens.
She huffed and panted so hard she almost fell off her own feet. She had to lean herself on the side of a brick wall in the alleyway she ran into. Just as Hec-Tor joined her, the rain began to pour. He bowed down, arms holding his knees, trying to support his upper body. His ears tilted down. His exhausted cough turning into a cackling laugh, which clearly infected Beatrix since she burst into laughter with him. She didn’t really know how it happened, but he got closer to her, with her pinned against the wall, looking straight into each other’s eyes. As their chuckles settled, her hand ventured down to his hip as her lips made their way to his own. And then, well, they were teenagers, you know what else.
Good memories.
Perhaps memories were just the advantage she needed, perhaps Hordak didn’t despise her as much as she had previously thought. Could it be? The All-Mighty Lord of The Horde feeling... lonely?
“Do you remember the alleyway?”
“Eh, there were... many alleyways.”
True that, after it felt so good, the first time, it sort of became a daily routine for them. Partners with benefits. They used each other to feel better, to feel something. There was nothing between the two, or so Beatrix thought. But perhaps she was wrong yet again. She wished to test that.
She took off her mask. The Weaver mask was a totemic symbol back on HordeWorld - representing strength and authority. And underneath that mask, was a woman. A broken woman, with scars and stiches, missing flesh. Something many would call a monster. But Hec-Tor Kur of House Kur saw nothing but beauty. A magnificent beast that saved him many a times. The girl he fell for so long ago. And Beatrix knew that, knew it was the moment she locked her toxic waste green eyes with his blood red, which shimmered in the light of the cell. She knew straight away, his weakness.
“Look at me, Hec-Tor. So frail. I wasted away. So little of me left... The Council was right. No matter what power I aim to tame, I fail, I never amounted to anything, like they predicted. I know you’re disappointed to have me as a partner on this venture... But… I miss the alleyways. When we had nothing. Back when so little felt like so much.”
It worked. The seemingly cold and calculated persona cracked. His facial expression changed, from irritation, and anger to a certain softness, maybe pity. He breathed in heavy, and out through the nose. He took a step closer to her. The cell was a snug fit so his leg was already brushing hers.
“We do have nothing, Beatrix. We are the last of our kind. We have little, but we can have it all. You are not a failure. We are not failures. There is a reason why I haven’t just simply executed you like a common thug... I miss those days too. But we still have time.”
The Hordak kneeled down, lowered himself to be closer to her. This was it - the moment of truth. He clearly had no idea what to do with his hands, so one rubbed its thumb and pointing finger together in anticipation, while the other hovered in the air half open awaiting her permission to proceed. The Weaver of Shadows accepted it, took hold of the old vampire’s hand into her own, intertwining their talons. Old scared skin taking comfort in one another, something familiar, in an unfamiliar world.
“We will have our people back. We will terraform this miserable planet! And we will be the new gods of a new utopia... And... though we never seem to see eye to eye... even if all it was, was physical, there is no one I would rather stand with and watch this world transform into hope, because you are my partner. This is our mission.”
Beatrix was the first to move forward. And Hec-Tor quickly followed suit, he closed his eyes and opened his fanged mouth. And the blissful moment was brief, but glorious, the space bat even let a pleasing hum escape him. And perhaps Beatrix would’ve let it go on longer, it wasn’t often that she had pleasures like these. But this situation was dire, and also, she was really tired of looking at the same white walls all day. She decided she earned herself a little walk to stretch her legs.
Hordak knew there was something wrong - his mouth became colder, and something wriggled inside that made him choke on his own breaths. Shadow Weaver rose up, straightening her legs completely, while Hordak bent down, onto his knees. The Dwarf Stone absorbed all darkness present on all surfaces, rendering her powerless, but the magic stone’s reach was limited. Cause Hordak’s entire inside of his body was nothing but darkness - so many shadows coating all of his vulnerable entrails and organs. She wasn’t going to paralyse him permanently, she wasn’t that cruel - just because of their history, she could show mercy.
Hec-Tor’s face pale and sick, his body limp, blood pooling around his organs, he fell on the floor. Shadow Weaver took a good long heavy breath, perfect. She placed the mask back over her face, and approached the wall of the cell through which Hec-Tor entered. Firmly placed her palms on the stone and pushed against the wall. The ethereal shadows twisted and morphed and drilled into the wall, she didn’t have much time. Every second the walls drained away the shadows, Hec-Tor had very little left in him, and the bright magic of the material weakened her, so little strength was left in her.
But there it was, the sound of the stone cracking. She wormed her fingers into the crack, enlarging it, chipping on it. The rock crumbled down, exposing the metallic layer underneath it. That was it, her window of opportunity. She commanded the shadows to bore into the mechanisms, and the shadow beast tore the panel wide open. The steel bending and ripping was extremely satisfying. Weaver loved the look on Grizzlor’s face as he took in what just happened. The witch made quick work of him, throwing him off to the side with the dark mass. She sighed in relief, she wasn’t free yet, but she had plenty of material to work with. The shadows from smallest corner to the largest corridor converged around her, swirling like a vortex.
“Now this is something I can work with.”
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holylulusworld · 4 years
Text
Ms. Bodyguard - The knife
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Summary: Jensen is used to be the hero on his show. He’s not a coward, not at all - but when he gets attacked by an unknown man the studio insists on a full-time bodyguard. Specialist in protecting people while living with them - you agree to protect Jensen, but he doesn’t like the fact a ‘small’ girl shall protect him. Will you be able to protect the unwilling actor?
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Bodyguard!Reader
Characters: Clif Kosterman, Jared Padalecki
Warnings: angst, mentions of stalking/mental health problems (nothing graphic), blood, mentions of attempted murder, arguments, grumpy Jensen, mentions of injuries, language
Ms. Bodyguard Masterlist
A/N: Lyrics are taken from Paul Simon’s – Call me Al
* The reader likes to use songs as passwords (in this chapter Call me Al) and names of Greece Gods as special passcodes. Here’s a short explanation of what every code means:
Artemis – danger to life (client got attacked)
Ares – drop everything and run
Aphrodite – the client wants to be alone with a lover/love interest
Dionysus – the client is drunk/took drugs
Hades – client got hit/heavily injured/close to death
Hera – family of the client is in danger
Zeus – attacker sighted
Athena – backup needed/call the police
Poseidon – distraction needed to transfer the client safely
Nemesis – attacker/stalker down
Hephaestus – weapon needed/weapon got lost
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“Hey-Betty.” Clif runs one hand down his face while he tries to make you answer his call. “I know you listen to me talking to your mailbox. I got a problem. - It’s Al…”
If you want an answer, do the whole song… An automatic answer replies and Clif takes a deep breath. He knows you do this kind of game to keep your clients safe but sometimes – it’s annoying to ‘play’ with you.
“Y/N come on. You know that only me got this number since you work alone. Give me a chance. I’ve got a client, or rather a good friend who’s in danger. Please.” 
If you want an answer, do the whole song… Again, Clif sighs but he’s got no other choice, so he clears his throat and starts singing the song you chose as his password.
If you'll be my bodyguard
I can be your long-lost pal
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me, you can call me Al
While Clif sings the song, you hold your stomach, laughing hard as he is, by all means, an awful singer. Tears well up to your eyes and after weeks of being bitter you have a soft smile on your lips remembering the training with your friend.
If you'll be my bodyguard
I can be your long-lost pal
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me, you can call me Al
The song ends and you listen closely, waiting for Clif to use a specific passcode to inform you about his current situation. If you trust anyone, it’s your old friend and training partner but in your business – you can never be careful enough or you end up dead.
“Passcode: Artemis,” Clif said the password for a worst-case scenario and you answer his call.
“Y/N, my friend got a serious problem. It’s red already. Are you still in Saudi Arabia or can you come back to the states?”
“I packed my stuff Clif and you can speak freely; the line is safe.” Rubbing your sore eyes, you sit up to listen to your friend’s explanations. “But let me tell you one more thing before you start – you are one awful singer.”
Clif huffs before he grins on the other side of the line. “Did you finish your ‘princess’ job? I don’t want to mess with another job.” 
A soft smile tugs at the corner of your lips hearing your friend is worrying about you and your job. “I heard she married…”
“Married and became a spoiled bitch. Let’s say we parted ways before I had to split her skull with my combat knife, Clif.” He chuckles lightly but this time, you can’t laugh with him. “Now back to your problem.”
“That bad, Riffle? What did she do?” Clif avoids your question and you wonder who is in trouble. 
All you know is he worked for a TV show over the last years, nothing else. It’s not as if you had the time to stay in contact with friends while protecting a princess.
“What happened, Y/N?”
“Husband said I am no longer needed. She agreed. End of story.” Looking at your gun on the nightstand your eyes sadden. 
“I protected her for six years, Clif. Now she married a rich guy and I am…disposable. I got hit by a bullet for her…twice. For years I believed she’s different, my friend, but in the end they are all the same.”
“I am sorry to hear, Riffle. Never thought that she’s a…” Clif gulps when you laugh bitterly. “A spoiled brat? At least I learned my lesson, buddy. No more princesses…”
“Great. My friend is a guy, actor and he got attacked by an unknown person last week. He tried to play it cool, but the studio is on high alert. A guy managed to sneak on set, waited for Jensen to be alone, and stabbed him.” Clif huffs at the other end of the line and you know he wants to take the blame.
“Clif, I love you but stop right now. It’s not your job, it’s the security guards’ job to keep the set safe. We both know how often people can sneak on set to take pictures, steal scripts, or crap. I will help you but only if you stop taking the blame.” Now you huff as Clif chuckles lightly.
“Okay, Riffle. When can I pick you up?” Glancing at your packed suitcases and duffle bags you try to remember which time it is in the US. “Y/N?”
“I will book a flight in the morning. Tell me where I have to be and send me his profile. I need to know everything about that guy, his family and working place. I need to meet him too before I agree to protect him.” You are adamant about your rules, so Clif agrees without arguing.
“I’ll send you the information to the FTP server. Give me three or four hours. The destination is Vancouver. I’ll pick you up and we can talk on our way. Do you know anything about Supernatural?”
“Did a ghost kick his ass or Bigfoot?” Smirking you hear Clif explaining he meant a TV show called ‘Supernatural’ and not the supernatural in general. 
Good thing your friend can’t see you as you roll your eyes at his explanation about the ‘cool’ show he’s working for.
“Clif, I did not watch TV for like six or seven years. Oh-fifteen years? That’s a freaking long time for a series, dude. Now let me have some sleep. I suggest you tell your friend to stay at the hospital. There are cameras, a security team and the cops will guard his room. Do not let him go home…”
“Got it, Y/N. Goodnight and thank you.” When Clif hangs up you sigh deeply. Tomorrow you will leave the land you called home for the last six years. Even worse – you will leave a friend, as she no longer needs you…
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Reaching US ground for the first time in six years feels odd, strange even. Saudi Arabia was your home for so many years and being away from Soraya, the first client you would call family feels wrong, but you had to leave.
She lied to you. She betrayed you. She wanted you gone…
Her father called you to his office right before you were ready to head out to the airport, asking you why you quit as his daughter’s bodyguard out of the blue. 
You could’ve told him the truth, that his daughter is an ungrateful brat, but Abdallah was always good to you and doesn’t deserve to get into a fight with his daughter and son-in-law.
At first, he didn’t like the idea of having a woman around to protect his only child but with you, not being a man, he could be sure you can stay by her side in any situation.
It pained you to lie to him, but this was the last time you could protect your client. One last time you took the bullet when you told him you want a change of scenery. 
He looked at you with disgust and kicked you out of his office. Well, that’s what you get when you try to save his daughter. 
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“Y/N!” Clif waves at you, a big smile on his face as you walk toward the exit. “Wait. I’ll take your bags.”
“Clif, don’t get me wrong. I know you are a gentleman and all, but I can carry my shit, okay. Now let’s get this straight. Your client is Jensen Ackles, he got attacked by a guy who blames him for fucking a z-list starlet and the cops didn’t get him so far.” Ignoring your speech Clif grabs your suitcases to place them into his car.
“Correct. Jensen had like two or three dates with that girl. They uh—Aphrodite* me a few times and after the third date they got into a fight.” Clif explains while you take notes. 
“She accused him of cheating on her, he yelled back they only fucked, and I drove her home while Jay stayed at the bar.”
“Okay. What happened next?” Opening the door to the passenger seat for you Clif tries to explain the girl started to stalk Jensen.
She called him daily, send disgusting messages, and nudes to his twitter account and stood in front of his house more than once.
“Did he call the cops?” Hopping into Clif’s car you watch him shakes his head. “Let me guess. Mr. Ackles didn’t want to look like the victim. So, he’s a macho?”
“Listen, he tried not to get her into trouble. Jensen believed she would cool off and stop with that shit she pulled. He changed his number, reported her doings to twitter, and told me, the security on set and his colleagues about it.”
“I assume she didn’t stop?” Your friend shakes his head while he pulls out of the parking lot. “It got worse?”
“Awful even. She came to set, naked only wearing a thong. She cut Jensen’s name into her stomach and we had to call the cops, an ambulance, and fight off the press.” 
Nodding you check the files Clif sent to you. “She’s at an asylum for four months and gets better. After she got medicated the girl realized not Jensen was her problem.”
“Maybe she lied? Maybe she’s behind the attack?” 
“We checked her contacts thrice, Y/N. I am not as good as you or your former team, but we normal bodyguards are not useless either.” Patting your friend's shoulder you give him a soft smile. “No one visited her or contacted her before the attack.”
“I know, Clifie. Relax. I would never thing low about you, okay. I just need all information to see the picture.” Clif keeps his eyes on the street while you scroll through the files. “No parents. No siblings. So, no angry family. No ex-boyfriends or husbands. Check.”
“She was a loner. The girl tried to help us, but no one came to her mind.” Clif explains as you shut off your iPad.
“No secret admirer sending her flowers or cards? No one claiming he was the one attacking your client?” Your friend shakes his head and you frown.
“That’s odd, Clif. I mean, if that guy did it to avenge that girl, he would’ve shouted it from the rooftops to get her attention.”
“I know, Y/N. That’s the reason I called you for help. This is…fishy. My instinct tells me something is off with that attack and the way Jensen met that girl. I don’t want to sound like a lunatic but…”
“Dude, only as you are paranoid doesn’t mean they are not after you.” Chortling you give Clif a wink. I will dig deeper and see what I’ll find. Let me call a friend of a friend.”
“C.I.A., F.B.I., or someone else?” Giving you side-glances your friend gulps when you whisper, ‘someone else’. “What will you have to do to ‘dig deeper’?”
“Nothing. That asshole owes me his life and balls.” You smile at Clif, but he can see it’s a fake smile. Whatever past you have with this man, you’ll never tell anyone.
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“I don’t need another bodyguard, Clif. For fuck's sake! She looks like a tramp or schoolgirl!” Jensen yells when you enter the room with your friend.
No matter which insults he throws at you, your face remains stoic, your eyes are trained on his face and your posture never changes.
“I don’t need a little girl protecting me! I bet if she sees Jared that girl will go for a run.” Jensen gets out of the hospital bed, hissing as his wound still hurts and he refused to take pain meds.
“Jay-uh—hey!” A tall man enters the room, a knife in his hands, and before Clif, Jensen or the guy can blink you lunge out to twist his arms behind his back to pin the tall man against the wall, face first.
He struggles in your hold but there is no escape when you kick his legs apart.
“Y/N don’t kill him! That’s Jared, Jensen’s friend, and colleague!” Clif gasps and the man you still hold pinned to the wall nods eagerly.
“He had a knife!” Voice controlled; dominant you do not let go of Jared. “Why did he come into Mr. Ackles's hospital room, a knife in his hands?”
“Sorry, but that’s a knife made of chocolate. I thought it’s funny, but I guess, the joke is on me.” Jared huffs and you look at the knife which lies abandoned on the floor. 
“Okay, Jared. I will let you go but you will wait until I checked on the knife or you’ll feel my knife pierce your lung.” Warning the tall man, you reluctantly let go of him.
Clif already picked the ‘knife’ up only to break it into two halves. “Chocolate, Y/N.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Jensen gapes at you holding a combat knife in your hand. “Did you call for the Terminator?”
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SPN Forever Tags
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--------------------------------------
Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   
@spnfamily-j2​​​
@supernatural-bellawinchester​​​
@negans-lucille-tblr​​​
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A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.
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Text
Past The Point Of No Return (Epilogue )
Pairing: Safin x F!Reader
Summary: Five years later, you are a changed woman. You will never go back to normal with the past haunting you every hour. Safin wasn’t going to be leaving your life anytime soon. 
Word count: 3.3K
Warnings: N/A
A/N: No!! It's the epilogue (the end)!! 🥺 I'm gonna miss writing this piece. It was so much fun to do. I wanna thank you guys for ALL of your support. Reading your comments literally makes my day so much. Safin is such a wildcard to write. I cannot wait until November comes. When NTTD comes out, this won't be canon. I might come back and make changes, but I like the way I left this. You never know what the future holds. I'm working on an Ahkmenrah x Reader so stay tuned. Always remember that I'm taking requests at the moment. If you would wanna leave one, please check out my masterlist! I get really bored hehe. I have school, but I would love some ideas (especially for rami characters!) ;) I hope you guys enjoy this and thank you for this fun ride❣️
Masterlist
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Safin was always watching.
Safin had been there that night. Even with three years in confinement, his cold heart couldn’t find a reason to hate you. You were the only reason he kept living on. The woman who had ruined his life was the woman he loved so dearly.
You saw Safin in the corner of the room. Nothing had changed about him; his hair had a few gray strands, big sorrowful bluish-green eyes, and disfigured skin still remained the same. The burning candle in your room only revealed half of his figure. Knowing everyone’s walking pattern, you knew it was him. But instead of being afraid, your shoulders had softened. His footsteps slowly approached the front of your bed, looking upon you. The candle shined in his race, revealing Safin.
When your [y/c/e] eyes met his sad ones, it was like you had been punched in the stomach. The last time you had even talked to him was three years ago in his cell. You promised that you raised the child he left you with, never allowing him to see them.
Along with leaving Safin in the past, a promise you were determined to make was to never love him again.
You broke your promise.
Almost no words were spoken between you two. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. You wanted to protest since it was the right thing to do. But instead, you responded by accepting the hug.
“I missed you.” Safin cooed. Moving his face away from yours, he made sure to get a look at your face. Three years, and you hadn’t changed at all. You were still his little dove.
“Safin…” You muttered, holding his calloused hands in yours. “How..?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is that I’m here, with you.”
As he tried to kiss you, your hands gently pushed his chest as you walked back to get a better look at time. Safin’s hair had outgrown into unruly curls with his disfigured skin paler than before.
“It does matter. If they find you, yo-”
“Kill me?” Safin rolled up his sleeve to reveal that he had taken out the chip inside of his body. Without it, it would be tricker to find him. He wasn’t one to quit so easily. “I have escaped my death. All of my years in that glass cell were years not wasted. I am free.”
Walking past him, you walked towards the window that overlooked your neighborhood. Safin followed and stood beside you, hands behind his back. You and Louis had relocated to Covent Gardens. In the daytime, it was bustling. But at night, the beautiful lights shined upon the navy sky. It was taken off M16 records and to stay safe from SPECTRE, but of course Safin had found his way. He always kept to his promises.
“What are you going to now?” You asked to break the silence. “The island was destroyed. All of your work and men are gone.”
“Not all was lost. Primo and Serrano survived. They are planning to relocate to Switzerland, where Heinrich had left his work. I plan to meet them in the Underground.” He didn’t even turn to look at you. “I was coming to say goodbye to you. I know you will not come, I understand that. But, I ask of one favor.”
Safin most likely wanted you to stay silent since almost everyone at M16 knew he was after you. A sigh escaped from your mouth as you turn to look at him.
“I want to see my child.” Safin requested, polite, and low. You rolled your eyes, about to walk away. Seeing your disgust, he followed after you, subtlety begging. “I will not take him, or tell him of who I am. Just one look at him.”
You were sick of his bullshit. All he came for was the child. Steal him away and make him his little minion since he was one of the lite. Safin wasn’t a man for emotion. He was a sadistic monster who simply wanted power and control. With one click of a button, all of M16 would have their forces over to your flat in under five minutes.  Safin grabbed your hand, causing you to stop.
“Y/n, please. ” He whispered, squeezing your hand. “I will never bother you, or our child again. Once I leave, you will never have to worry about me.”
Louis was asleep. He never woke up to anything. You would have expected Safin to beg you to come, but something about him was different. What was he going to do now that everything he had once known as once. His men had been imprisoned, his work had been mostly destroyed, his island decimated, what did Safin have left?
His wife and child.
It was stupid, far from ideal. But it would take anything to have Safin leave you alone. You started to lead him down the hall, still holding his hand. “His name is Louis. He’s three. Just..be quiet when you enter his room.”
Creaking the door opening, a light shined upon your sleeping child. Louis was curled into a small ball, holding a Moomin plush towards his chest. His room was full of books and toys that had been bought for him by your friends (mainly Bond and Q). A soft, cute mumble escaped from his lips, drool coming from the side.  Safin had done the same thing; as a child and a man. Everything about the little boy was Safin. Louis was Safin’s true reflection.
Safin looked at you, a gentle smile on his scarred face. It was the first light of hope he had felt in years. “Y/n...he’s beautiful.”
“Louis...everyone loves him.” You cooed back. Safin and you tiptoed over to his bed, not wanting to wake Louis. Resting yourself besides your child, you move an unruly curl out of his tiny face. “He’s a good boy..”
Safin decided to bend over to get a better look at his son. His creation. He was identical to Safin, especially as a younger child. It was like looking in the reflection, only that Louis was innocent. He had raised in a good home with a good mother. No lab work, tests, or scarring. He got loved, something that Safin had never experienced.
“Louis is so pure. I’m glad he has you as his mother.” Safin explained. He shifted himself right next to you, a hand on your thigh. He whispered, “I’m glad he got his mother’s beauty.”
“I’m going to guess you were a cute little boy, then,” A subtle smile appeared on your face was looked down at your son. Safin’s fingers lifted your chin, getting lost in his bluish-green eyes.
“Your eyes...are sad.” Safin noticed. “Your skin is cold. Your shaking in my arms. Even if you were away from me, you were still sad. You’ve always been sad. You haven’t truly been happy in years.”
“Louis is the only reason I’m alive.” You confessed. “He’s my rock. I look at his face and smile. Out of all of this shit, Louis was the only good thing. I try to be a good mother, but it’s hard. I’ve always had a fear of dying alone. But I’m not anymore because I know it’s coming. Louis will grow up and leave me. It’s just happening faster than I was expecting…”
“Then come with me.”
You were confused by his statement. “What..?”
“You and Louis can come with us to Switzerland. We have a house right in the Alps. Escape all of this pain. Never worry about being alone or struggling to put food on the plate or pay rent. You can disappear from all of this. M16 will never find you or Louis. I will never force myself upon you. I’m not doing this for myself, but for Louis. For you, my love.”
“ I cannot stand to hear you talk about yourself in that manner. You will never be alone if you come with me. I will take care of you. Seeing you like this...I will be unable to live myself.”
It was a lot to take in. Safin was right; you weren’t happy. You had been through so much pain in the past decade; losing a limb, having a child, and so much more. M16 hadn’t done much to help you after your return to civilization. Money was still scarce for you. You wondered if it was better for Louis to live with another family since you were afraid that you would have a breakdown. You loved Louis more than anything in the world and would do anything to make sure he was happy. Now here you were, your husband sitting in front of you, offering a new life. Safin wasn’t lying to your face. He seemed oddly soft and hurt as well. His eyes were full of sadness, just like yours. Looking at him with a conflicted expression, a sigh escaped from your lips, unable to form words.
“What is it going to be, y/n?”
-----
FIVE YEARS LATER
The sky was as navy as it could be, not a cloud in the sky; the grass was unrealistically green and the mountains were decorated in snow. The stars twinkled in the star with the moon illuminating your room. Your Chalet was so closed off from the whole world. No longer did you listen to sirens and mumbled laughter. All that could be heard were the chirping of birds. Closing your eyes, you let the sun beat onto your cold skin. It was pure bliss.
Five years ago, you were a different woman. Someone who was scared and alone. When you had been offered a second chance, you had taken it. Not for yourself, but Louis. Safin had kept to his promise. That fateful night, you packed a bag for you and Louis, saying goodbye to London. It was you, Safin, Louis, Serrano, and Primo now. They were your family now. You made sure to leave a note for your former family and friends; statting that you wanted to disappear. It was hard at first, but you had overcome it. With Louis and Safin, you were truly happy.
Louis, like any child, was scared of Safin at first. His face had scared him, causing the four-year-old to run out of the house. There was a wild hunt for the young boy in the alps. Instead of Primo finding him, it was Safin. Louis had come back with Safin, a connection sparking between them. Now Louis’s was Safin’s little boy.
Safin, under the name Armando, worked in the local town with the mob. You made sure to stay out of it, raising your children. But here and there, you would help new recruits train with there weapons. Even Primo, a skilled mercenary, was impressed by your skills. But just because Safin worked didn’t mean he left you to raise Louis alone.
Safin had spoiled the two of you. He made sure Louis was the happiest little boy in the world. Serrano and Primo could never say no to him. You and Safin had left off on a rough note, but eventually fell back in love. It was hard at first. Being around him was so alien. But you learned that Safin truly cared and loved you. He didn’t take you for himself. All he wanted to do was make you happy, which you finally were.
The chalet was silent as everybody had been preparing to retire. The last time you had seen Safin was at dinner. He placed a kiss on your head as you sat by his side, a hand on your thigh. No matter where you were, he always wanted to have a part of you near. It was the same thing with Louis. Whatever free time Safin had, he wanted to spend it with Louis or you. Whether it be a shooting lesson or an intimate dinner, he always made time for his family.
You peeked into Louis’s bedroom, which was a floor below yours. Louis was growing older and wanted to be more independent. He tried to deny your goodnight kisses and stories. Safin had heard and sat down with him, trying to tell him that it was okay to show emotion for his mother. You, being yourself, decided to eavesdrop. You remembered the words Safin had told Louis.
“If I were you, I would never deny a kiss from your mother. Your very lucky to have a woman like her in your life.”
Louis, from that night on, had proceeded to kiss you every single night, not denying it once.
Louis had been fast asleep. His light had been turned over as his Tintin book was sprawled on the sheets. He still held onto the Moomin plush you had bought him as an infant. He had an odd connection to it and hated to admit it. You tiptoed in and placed a kiss into his curls before exiting the room to find your husband.
You found him in the bedroom down the hallway. The nursery was cozy with the interior of a cabin. Safin stood in front of the crib, holding your little girl, Diana. Safin and you had made another, beautiful creation. Like Louis, Diana had been the mirror image of you. She had your eyes, skin, hair, everything. Safin was enamored with the child. Whenever it cried, he was always the one to comfort it. He would fall asleep in the rocking chair, Diana cuddled in his arms as he snored.
Walking behind Safin, you place a hand on his shoulder to overlook at Diana. “Hey, you two…”
Safin turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before looking back at Diana. “Y/n. I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Three hours ago,” You reminded him. Looking down at Diana, a smile curved on your lips. She was fast asleep in Safin’s arms. “God, she’s an angel.”
“Just like you, my love.” He cooed, placing Diana in the crib. She squirmed before positioning to be more comfortable. Safin placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close. “You’re the one who saved me.”
You smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “Someone’s flirty tonight.”
“When I’m around you and our children, of course, I would be happy.” Safin smiled. You playfully rolled your eyes as you walked back to the master bedroom. The two of you had changed into your pajamas. As you sat on your side to take off your prosthetic, Safin had come over and bent down. “Love, let me take it from here.”
“Safin, I-”
Safin simply ignored your stubbornness and grabbed your thigh. It was his way of spoiling you. Upon hearing about your leg, his heart broke for you. He believed that no one such as yourself deserved such loss. You had become used to not having a leg, not really remorseing it as much. But Safin was your husband and was overdramatic about almost everything. He gently slid the prosthetic off and removed the cover, revealing the small stub on your foot.
Safin looked at your stub with a remorseful expression on his face. A smile appeared on your face as you ran your hands through his curls. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“You didn-”
“Safin, it’s okay. Please.” You reassured, holding his face. “It’s the past. Just come to bed, please.”
The former anarchist crawled right next to you, holding you in a tight embrace. His nose was buried in your hair as he played with your end. In response, your hands snaked around his back, holding his close. You looked up with him, smirking.
“Five years passed, and you still haven’t told me about how the hell you found my old flat.” You remarked.
Safin raised his eyebrows, breathing the scent of your vanilla shampoo. “The devil works hard, but I work harder.”
“Come on,” You poked your stub at his thigh. He shifted in discomfort, with a snort coming out of your mouth. “Tell me.”
“Why do you care so much about the past?”
“Why did you care so much about a crippled cryptographer?”
“Good one, my love.” He remarked, pulling your closer to his face. “All these years later, and your fire still burns.”
“Why do you love me?” You asked as you traced little figures into his back.
He furrowed an eyebrow, perplexed. “That shouldn’t even be a question. I could go on for hours about why you are my one and only. If you wish, then I-”
“I took down your whole empire. I let them imprison you for three years, yet you come back for me.”
“I was angry, I will admit,” Safin confessed, stroking your hair. “But...I couldn’t let you go. Knowing that you were alone, raising the child I had left you made me feel horrible. You were so special to me. I married you for a reason. But I was so naive to love. I had never experienced it until I was with you. Being by myself made me realize that...love took time.
“I had forced you to fall in love with me because I was so desperate for the touch of a woman. Every day I thought about your face and the time we had spent together. All I wanted was to make amends with you. Knowing that I had hurt you pained me. I knew that you would want to stay with your job and raise Louis. I had contemplated going to visit you in your flat. I thought you would say no, but look at where we are..”
Your hand caressed Safin’s cheek as you looked into his bluish-green eyes. “Look at us. You have given me two amazing children. It took time, but..were happy now.”
“Thank you, my love. For everything you have done.” Safin brought your lips to his. It was a passionate makeout. His lips were like bread as they captured yours. He could taste the coconut chapstick on your lips. As you separated, you remarked.
“Still..you never told me about how you found my place..”
“Must go on about that?”
“Hey, you were the one who made the first move, not me.” You joked, referring to the first time you had met. Years ago, it was something you struggled to cope with. But now that you were older and happier, you joked to cope with it.
“Well then, not such a clever girl now are we?” A devilish smirk appeared on Safin’s face; your faces close and hot.
“Not such a clever man, no?” You snapped back. Safin responded once again crashing his lips into yours. It started out rough but ended passionately. It became more lazier and sloppier since the two of you were exhausted.
It all seemed too unreal to occur. But it had happened. Over the years, you had learned that you and Safin were different yet similar. You two were broken people who had been left behind in life to fend for themselves. Safin had been angrier at the world than you had.
Not only were two angry, but alone. Love had been difficult for you two to find. You would admit that love wasn’t your thing. If Safin had never happened, then you were positive you would have been fine without getting married. But Safin had been different. When Kidnapping you, all he wanted was company. For someone to love him back. You refused to fall for him at first. All Safin wanted was to win. You weren’t someone that gave in so easily.
But here you laid with a man who had kidnapped now, now being your doting husband with two children.
Safin’s lips parted from yours as he held you in a tight embrace, dozing off. You smiled at his face and moved a curl to get a better view. In your eyes, he was absolutely beautiful. Just in a different way. Curling up next to Safin, you shut your eyes with a soft smile. You feel warm and safe in Safin’s secure embrace. Just like your husband, you fell asleep as you drooled onto his arm.
After years of being conflicted, you finally realized.
You were truly, deeply, and madly in love with Safin.
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Text
My OC Universe: Rowan 56
Chapter 56 Summary: Jordan finds her inspiration and manages to write a much longer chapter!! Yay! Rowan and William suffer through their first night as prisoners and are visited the next morning by their captors. (Taggalicious: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long and @sky-or-something-idfk)
Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, physical abuse, threatening death, reference to abortion (Ooh, what a strange warning! I wonder what the context is??? [sorry I’m in a weird mood today] )
It wasn’t surprising that William was gagged. It was surprising it didn’t happen sooner. But it wasn’t surprising that it happened.
He screamed like a banshee as they shoved the rag in his mouth. He tried to kick at them, but one stood on his legs as the other forced his head back and tied a cloth around his head, trapping the lump in his mouth. “Will he not choke?” Rowan asked as they released him, and they turned to look at him, almost as though they had forgotten that he was there. “Not if he stays quiet.” One answered, and they left, not bothering to lock the door behind them, Rowan and the King weren’t going anywhere.
At least with William silenced, Rowan could try and sleep. Gods knew he had tried to sleep in far worse places. Here he was dry, and as long as there were no surprise visits from malicious soldiers, he would be safe. Every once in a while, there would be a lurch, or a scramble of William fighting against the chains, but it never ended up going anywhere, and there would be an infuriated grunt, and then another period of silence.
Rowan was actually surprised to realise that he had fallen asleep, after being woken by the sound of footsteps and a scraping of metal along the stone. His eyes darted about the room, blinking in a hurried effort to clear them before the attacker grew closer, and accidentally locked them with William’s. He was disturbed to find them red and bleary, so even in their current scowl Rowan could tell he had been crying. It’s not his fault. He’s clueless. This is probably the first time he’s ever been under threat. The first time he wasn’t in power. He isn’t as used to it as I am. “It will be all right,” He whispered, nodding softly to the man. He was rewarded for his effort with a muffled hiss and the man lunging towards him, stopped by the rattle of chains. “I know I’ve called you a savage, but you really are coming into the role.” Rowan turned as Marie entered, followed by a smirking Alexander, and finally, Cordelia. “Take the gag off him.” She smirked. “I want to hear him scream.” “I’ll do it.” Cordelia said sternly, keeping her head angled deliberately away from Rowan. He desperately tried to catch her eye as she walked forward and pulled the cloth around William’s mouth down, forcing her thumb into his mouth to prevent him trying to bite down on her as she pulled out the wad of rags. 
He settled his mouth for a moment before spitting at Cordelia. Rowan could see her shoulders slump slightly as if she were rolling her eyes and without hesitating she backhanded William, stepping back to Marie as the man gasped in shock, turning his enraged glare to her. “How-how dare you strike me?” He roared, restrained hands fighting even harder. “I am the King!” Rowan could see the tears of shame welling in his eyes as his cheeks reddened and felt a deep sense of discomfort. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” Marie asked in mock-innocence. “The King went out hunting yesterday and went missing, soon after his consort and their personal bodyguard disappeared. The soldiers are out, scouring the lands for wherever our beloved monarch is, and presumably, where his murderers are hiding.” Rowan’s face fell as he realised the implication and was reminded of what happened to Oliver. “But-but I’m right here! What about Oliver? What happened to him?” He exclaimed, tears of his own springing to his eyes. “Hmm, it’s very rare that you speak out of turn.” Marie sighed and glanced at Cordelia, giving her a silent order. “Such a pathetic creature,” She said finally, voice unwavering. “The only two people he interacts with are his guard and his master. I don’t blame him for asking.” Marie looked at Rowan and sighed softly. “What absolute bullshit!” William roared. “My soldiers will not let some little cock-tease steal the throne from me!” Alexander stepped forward without hesitation and struck the man himself, the heavy crack echoing in the cell as cartilage shattered under the blow. William was so preoccupied for a moment with the pain and the fresh blood racing down his face that Marie could focus on the consort for a moment longer. “He’s behaved so well, I don’t feel it’s really necessary to have him kept quiet,” Her voice was far softer than Rowan could have believed, and he looked at her hopefully. “But I can’t have his master thinking it’s all right to shoot his mouth off excessively.” Cordelia nodded in resignation and stepped towards Rowan, he saw the regret in her eyes as she tipped his head back and slapped him, too. His cheek only stung for a moment, a dull throb numbing his nerves as she stepped back. “But…” He paused as the movement immediately reminded him of the punishment he had been given for speaking last time. But there wasn’t another instant blow, so he continued. 
“But because I’ve been behaving, wouldn’t it make sense that I be allowed what he isn’t? So, maybe, he’ll stop causing quite so much trouble.” He waited for another look to be shared between the women and for his former friend to strike him again. So, he was startled when suddenly laughter reverberated from the walls, coming from Marie. “Oh, you’re such a clever little rat, aren’t you?” She grinned, catching his eye no matter how hard he tried to look away. “I’d admire your survival instincts if they didn’t disgust me so,” He flushed deeply under her words, feeling William’s glare on him. “If you think for one second that I’ll allow you to treat that whore any better than me –“ 
Cordelia appeared to be fed up with William and so before he could even finish his threat she had struck him again. The exasperated look on her face resembling one a parent might have when their child was misbehaving. This only entertained Marie even more. “Ha, ha! Well, I suppose, since you do make a good point, you can ask…three questions.” Rowan glanced at her uncomfortably and swallowed, nervous now that he had been granted some semblance of freedom. “I-wh-why are you doing this? What’s going on?” He stuttered, and she smirked merrily. She quite enjoyed being in a position of power. Especially over her disgusting husband and his timid little lover. “I’ll only count that as one question since they are both incredibly similar.” She granted and he bowed his head nervously. “Th-thank you.” “It’s a coup. We’re kicking the old King off the throne before he ruins the country any more than he already has. I organised a group of soldiers and servants that I could trust and arranged for his hunting trip to be sabotaged. He was smuggled back to the castle, into the dungeon and guarded by men on my side.” It sounded so wonderfully simple when she explained it like that. As though she were discussing a party or the arrangement of some renovations. “I swear I will wring your neck the moment I get out of these chains!” William snarled, and she turned an amused look to him. “Then I suppose you won’t be released from the chains any time soon.” “Why now?” Rowan asked, hoping to interrupt any more attempts at arguing. William seemed just as curious as Rowan was so at least he stayed relatively quiet as Marie spoke. “Now was the best time.” Marie answered sombrely as she rested a hand over her stomach, and Rowan’s eyes flicked to Alexander as he stepped closer to his mother. He looked…unhappy. Turning his gaze to Cordelia, Rowan realised her face had softened, also. “You’re pregnant?” He asked, on a whim, remembering how her hand rested there when she cornered him, and he turned her down. As if she were protecting something. Rowan had learnt when he was young that potential mothers usually guarded their stomachs at any threat of danger. Marie scoffed gently and shook her head in defeat. “I don’t believe I give you enough credit, consort,” She sighed, purposefully moving her hand away from her bodice. “I’m honestly quite surprised at how resourceful you are. If only you were on my side.” William’s jaw fell open and he stared, dumbfounded, at Marie. Temporarily silenced. “I can have children?” He asked after a moment. The only words not raised and dripping with contempt that he had spoken while imprisoned. “Well, you can’t kill me, now! Who will be the child’s father?” Marie snorted and shook her head again, this time with disdain. “You think I would let your poisoned bloodline continue?” She asked, scowling at the prisoner. “I don’t want any reminder of you to exist once I’ve taken power! This creature will be chosen as the rightful heir and Alexander will be swept aside! So, what? We can have another failure of a leader with your family’s ancestry flowing through their veins? Never. The child will be gone before it even draws breath.” The way she spoke indicated that she was just as upset with the idea as William was. “You can’t do that!” He yelled. “You can’t kill my child! My blood! You, selfish bitch! You only think about your son and nothing more –“ “This child would have been mine, too!” She interrupted angrily. “It brings me no joy to murder the creature, but I will not have any supporters of you rip apart everything I have worked for!” “How do you know it isn’t Jonathan’s?” Rowan asked before thinking. “Because,” She said, sniffing gently. “Jonathan is sterile.” “I-I was under the impression that William was, too,” He continued softly, flinching as Marie laughed. “William still has his balls.” She stated bluntly. “Jonathan, when he first became my lover, also became a eunuch. My previous husband was far more thorough than William.” That’s a pretty strong reason. “William’s supposed sterility is through pure genetic weakness. Somehow, he seems to have combated that.” William groaned and rolled his eyes. “To think I wasted my seed on your pathetic hole!” He snarled at Rowan who sighed softly. “It doesn’t matter.” Marie shrugged. “Any potential heirs of yours will be gone by next week.” Rowan swallowed the urge to comfort her. He doubted she would want his sympathy. “What’s your last question?” Marie asked, startling Rowan, he thought she would have counted the one about Jonathan. “He’s had three.” Alexander said, clearly thinking the same thing. “I’m not counting it,” Marie replied, smoothing her dress. “It clearly wasn’t something important in his mind.” Rowan dipped his head slightly and swallowed. “Um-thank you,” He muttered and glanced across to where William was sitting. “What-what are you going to do with us?” He finally asked, hazarding a look up. “I thought that might have been it,” She muttered and sighed. “We can’t kill you, yet. My power isn’t solidified yet, and should someone find your bodies everything has been for nothing. So, for the foreseeable future you’re going to be kept down here.” She said before looking at Cordelia. “Until we come across a convenient time and method for disposing with you.”
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aveyna · 4 years
Text
A Mild Crossing
Summary: “Ah, right…” Hugo falters, shooting Varian an inquisitive look, only to find the alchemist on the verge of a breakdown. “He’s my husband."
Note: It was supposed to be completely silly, but then...angst and misunderstandings galore. 
AO3 LINK
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“What is that thing? It’s hideous.” Hugo narrows his eyes, crouching down until he is at face level with the creature clutched in Varian’s hands. It was a small looking…person, even shorter than Varian and Yong of all people. They had been on their merry way past this bridge crossing, until…this awful abomination had tried to rob Hugo of his well-earned [and certainly not stolen] coins.
 The others had cooed over this creature, but not him. No, he can see straight through its thinly-veiled lies.
 “It’s a baby,” Varian deadpans.
 “A…baby?” Hugo says, rolling the words on his tongue. Whatever this creature is, it has besmirched the good name of thievery.
 “Do you seriously not know what a child is!?” the shorter alchemist shoots him a scathing look, thrusting the…weird humanoid looking creature into his unwilling arms. “Hold onto them for me, and Hugo…do not drop them.”
 “What do you take me for, hairstripe? Of course I know what…a ‘child’ is.” His bespectacled gaze falls onto the creature. It looks up, two large, orb-like eyes staring at him. Absolutely hideous, is what this thing is.
 The smaller alchemist merely glowers, clearly unimpressed. But, Hugo, no, he can handle this. “Of course I’m not going to drop…it.”
 But he would in a heartbeat if he could.
 At this, Varian spins on his feet, turning towards their star navigator. “Nuru, have any idea where the closest town is?”
 “We’re about an hour away,” Nuru beams. “It could be less if…we don’t run into anymore obstacles or get sidetracked.
 The princess pointedly redirects her words towards Hugo and Yong, the latter of which looks positively ecstatic over the little monstrosity. There is a spring in his step as he practically hovers in his joy. He is beaming, but the sight is disturbing, as if he were a rainbow in the form of a person. A chill runs down Hugo’s spine as he visibly represses a shudder at this horrific turn of events. There is no modicum of reason or sense to this madness—
 As he raises an eyebrow at Yong’s antics, he wonders exactly how the younger boy had gone completely insane…well, moreso than usual, at least.
 Really, he can expect this kind of behavior from Nuru, if that whole debacle with the seal was of any indication, no, wait; these three idiots are all one hundred percent at fault. It is an aberration, this whole mess he had stepped into. Hugo…he is seething on the inside, as he nudges Yong away with his foot. One tiny bug eyed ‘human’ is more than enough; he does not need the pyromaniac anywhere near his close vicinity.
 Why is he doing this again?
 Hugo averts his gaze towards the sky. It is brilliantly bright, dazzling so—a light shade of blue that pales in comparison to the color of Varian’s eyes and…right. He will suck it up and deal with this…thing, if it means he can spend another day with the alchemist. Hugo’s lips quiver up in a faint smile, gazing fondly at Varian and Nuru, the former of which is hiding a laugh behind his gloved hand.
 These days seem like a dream. He almost hopes it were, so that…he would not have to betray them, his…friends?
 As he listens to these ‘friends’, these band of misfits, he wonders—would Varian still look at him kindly after his betrayal? Would he extend an arm in forgiveness, smiling as tells Hugo ‘it’s alright?’ Or would his blue eyes be clouded over in pain and doubt, the sting of betrayal forever shattering the fragile bond they had carefully built up these last few months? What then…what would he do if they had to part? He is sure Varian would not agree to work with him, to work with Donella…the woman who was involved in his mother’s disappearance.
 Afterall, she was the reason as to why he went on this journey in the first place.
 Hugo knows he will shatter. His heart will crumple like stone if [once] his true colors are revealed to Varian. There is a possibility Varian could die, but if he must, it will be by his hand.
 “Hey, Hugo, you alright?” Kind, large blue eyes look up at him in concern. It is a kindness that he does not deserve, not when he will be responsible for the pain inflicted upon them one day.
 The taller alchemist turns his head towards Varian, a wry smirk plastered on his face. He sweeps one arm in a grandiose gesture, making sure to not drop the dead weight that had attempted to steal his coins in the other. “Were you worried about me, goggles? How sweet of you. I’m touched, truly, I am.”
 It’s cute in a way, what with how Varian denies his concern—sputtering insults at him while he stomps to the head of the group. Hugo watches as Nuru places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, turning around and narrowing her golden eyes at him. He cannot help but laugh as she points two fingers from her eyes towards him. The concern…it is endearing. She is yet another person he would hate to disappoint.
 These turn of events are harrowing. Here, he was, going off on an adventure with the enemy.
 Even with this evil looking creature bundled in his arms, Hugo would not exchange this moment for all of the gold in the world.
 ---
 Hugo is not sure how this has happened. Upon reaching town, Nuru had stormed off, dragging Yong with her. Something about needing a new telescope and using Yong’s cuteness to get a discount…eh, but what does he know? The princess works in mysterious ways, but at least this would mean he’d finally get to spend time along with Varian—
 Is what he would say, were it not for…it. Whatever this creature is. Man, he really did hate children.
 “I know you two are getting along, but c’mon Hugo, we don’t have all day.” Varian rolls his eyes, playfully punching Hugo’s arm as he walks ahead, pointing in the direction of a plain white building covered by a well-maintained wooden gate. An abundance of brightly colored flowers adorns the building…it seems absolutely cheerful and not how he expected this date to go.
 His eyes are surprisingly directed elsewhere as Varian drones on. Normally, he would listen with rapt attention [while pretending to ignore the shorter alchemist], but it is impossible to enjoy this moment. Not with this weird looking creature placing its grubby little paws on his glasses.
 They’re more expensive than everyone in this group [sans Nuru, of course]. No one touches the glasses. Not this ‘baby’ and not even Varian.
 “We’re here.” Varian had lightly tugged at his sleeve, goading him to follow up to the door in suit. Hugo easily relents. He’ll follow, at least whenever Varian is concerned.
 “Okay, just follow my lead—”
 Varian’s blue eyes trail over his arms, mouth agape and skin ashen-gray. If Hugo was not a realist, he would have sworn the younger alchemist had seen a ghost.
 Though, surprisingly, his arms do feel surprisingly light.
 “Hugo where did the baby go!?” Varian screeches, spinning on his heels as he grabs Hugo by the shoulders. “You had one damn job!”  
 A smile tugs at the corner of Hugo’s lips. Finally, he is free…freed from this awful menace of a creature. “What’s a baby—?”
“Finish that sentence and I will smack you upside the head…sweetheart.” At this, Varian smiles, but…it seems forced. His eyes are wide, panicked. “Hey, Hugo, dear, remember what we’re here for?”
 Normally, he’d be appreciative of this attention. But now? As Hugo turns his head, he…short circuits. Soft, green eyes and a round face surrounded by bouncy red curls. She seems quaint and kind, though with her feet tapping against the hardwood floor, he knows the woman is moments away from slamming the door on their faces.
 “Ah, right…” Hugo falters, shooting Varian an inquisitive look, only to find the alchemist on the verge of a breakdown. “He’s my husband.”
 What.
 What.
 What the—what did he say!? What has he done!?
 “We’re married.” Ah, yes. He had to go and make it worse. At least Hugo had gotten to say the magic words before he met an untimely and completely just end.
 He turns his eyes towards Varian. There is a luminescent blush on his face, or perhaps, it is anger. Hugo knows that as soon as this is all over…he is royally screwed. Oh well, this life—it wasn’t a complete waste.
 “I’m not, we’re not…” Varian stutters, face impossibly red. His black bangs have fallen over his eyes, but…yeah. Hugo is done.
 “Aw, don’t worry, dear.” The woman clasps her hands together, a demure smile on her face. “It’s a huge step in any person’s life, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Pardon me for saying this, but you two make for a very cute couple.”
 A tiny blur runs behind the woman…two eyes, a nose, a mouth…and appendages that resemble arms and legs—
 Right.
 The demon child. That was the whole point of this excursion. He would leave…afterall, the whole point of this trip was to return it back to the orphanage, but his eyes settle on a golden sheen—
 Hugo bites back some choice words. Now is not the time for it, not when the blasted creature has stolen his gold coins.
 It is rude and perhaps a bit hasty, but Hugo pushes past the woman, pulling Varian behind him as he runs into the [ridiculously] sunny building.
 Varian slowly regains himself, uttering apologies to the bewildered woman as they follow its trail.
---
 They follow the creature throughout the house. It was messy and chaotic and traumatizing, what with ignoring even more heinous atrocities against mankind…these ‘things’, he…has wished harm on his enemies before, but now—
 All he desires is to chuck the next one of these tiny ‘people’ into an open bonfire.
 Why do your goggles have spikes?
 What’s the blue hair? Are you magic? They ask Varian, forming a circle around the increasingly worried alchemist.
 But…the icing on this disgusting cake would be…Yong. He had thought his eyes were deceiving him; maybe he would need a new prescription, but no. Sadly, they were not. While rounding a corner, he and Varian had stumbled upon the pyromaniac as he swung his legs back and forth above a high table. He looked so in his element; completely at ease despite the slowly unfolding chaos that had enveloped this town.
 “How the hell, no, why the hell are you here!?” Varian screeches, hovering over the younger boy like a mother hen, checking for any scratches or burns. “And what happened to Nuru!?”
 “Oh, she got arrested,” Yong happily chirps, munching on a lollipop an elderly shop keeper had given him…the same one who had gotten into an argument with Nuru that may or may have not lead to broken bones and broken spirits.
 Varian’s hands are gripping his hair, antique goggles nearly toppling off of his head. “Excuse me!?”
 “Don’t worry about it, Varian,” Yong beams, but in the distance…they hear only the accursed sound of screams and explosions. “Looks like Nuru’s got it handled!”
 Suddenly…this building has gotten more appealing. Sure, there is…the baby…thing, but—
 It does no good to go against the wrath of one very trigger happy princess. Though, Hugo cannot blame her. He’d go mad from boredom if he was forced to spend his life in an uppity, stuck up court with the nobility.
 The building rumbles. Varian collapses, burying his face in his hands. The pyromaniac happily munches away at the sugary treat, while he—
 Hugo knows his days are numbered.
 ---
 Somehow, Hugo cannot help but feel…as if this whole ordeal had been for naught. A wave of ‘nothingness’ washes over him as they are once again banned from entering yet another town. The ‘baby’ had stolen his coins, but…at least they had made it all out of that hellish landscape in one piece.
 He wonders what exactly had happened with Nuru, but her lips are tightly sealed. There is a fire in her golden eyes as she grasps at her brand new telescope in triumph. She has won some great battle; he will allow her this sense of accomplishment and victory, at least.
 Whatever it is that Yong has done, his role in this ferocious war, it is a mystery to everyone but him.
 Varian, however, he…seems quiet and withdrawn. It is a harrowing sight and not one he thinks he could ever get used to. Had the insanity of these last few hours gotten to him? Or…could it have been his declaration?
 Hugo cannot stand this. The days that they can spend together are numbered; he would like to cherish each and every moment, but that cannot happen with this version of Varian he had rarely seen. He is so much unlike himself, and the thought that he had caused it is…worrying. Hugo reaches out one hand towards the other alchemist. “Hairstripe, if it was about what I said, I’m sorry. I take it back—”
 As if scalded by boiling water, Varian jumps back, mouth pressed in a thin line. There is a thin sheen over his eyes. He averts his gaze, looking towards the ground. “It was a mistake? All of it?”
 “No, I—”
 “Fine, I understand,” Varian smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
 “Varian, that’s not what I meant.”
 He wants to say more, but he will let go. Even if it means causing Varian grief now, at least it will spare them both from future heartbreak.
 Hugo looks back, wondering when this haphazard family he had found will inevitably come crashing down.
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ziracona · 4 years
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Sorry if this has been asked before but, I'm really curious about how you would have written Max in the story if he were to be there? He's one of my personal favorite characters and finding redemption stories about him is kinda hard (You have no idea how happy I was when I read Claudette threw him a scarf to stay warm, like yes please; he's a feral child in a killer's body, but please stay warm)
I don’t think I have been, and no problem!
If Max had had a larger role in ILM, I am not 100% sure how I’d have written his perosnality, since I haven’t had to do it yet in-depth, but I know he’d be very angry and both defensive and aggressive towards everything, warry, skittish, hostile. Not bad necessarily, but humans will raise hackles and be ready to lash out and bite if they’ve all they’ve ever known is abuse the same way a mistreated cat or dog would, or like, most any living thing. I think he’s very lonely and unloved, and it’s hard for humans to survive without positive contact and affirmation and physical affection. I mean, if we’re left alone totally, we literally just die. But since his only experience with humans—and his parents/the people who should have loved him most no less—was nothing but danger and abuse and isolation and imprisonment, I think it’d be very hard for him to be approached. Not at all impossible, but man, it is really, really hard to convince someone who’s been through torrential rains of abuse that there’s something else to be given.
I do have ideas on how you could get through, but let me think about personality first. Well, aside from aggressive, defensive, skittish, warry, and hostile, like inborn traits to go along with learned, I think he is a very volatile person. He must be enduring and strong to survive what he did and live, and so determined and tenacious. —Oh! Hang on, big one before I forget. So, I am not a forefront authority in Disability as it relates to narrative, but I know quite a bit and was lucky enough to have a professor whose central areas were Disability, Horror, and Disability in Horror. I don’t know who exactly popularized the idea of Max as having basically a child’s mind in an adult’s killer body, though I think I’ve been told it was one person or story? Maybe it was just a big fandom take. But that’s one of the most prevailing and harmful disability stereotypes, especially for mental disabilities, and horror is a massive offender in general with both disabilities and disorders, and we need to do better & listen to the communities themselves more. I don’t mean this in a harsh way at all—I don’t even know if you meant ‘feral child in a killer’s body’ that way, or meant like, ‘this feral man in a killer’s body is my child TuT’—which is a totally different statement—and even with the former, I know people have had that idea of Max super popularized and are inundated with it, and most people I think just don’t know it’s a very harmful and prevalent stereotype period—I didn’t until I was in my 20s. But I think it’s important to bring attention to it when it’s brought up. Many of the bad things done to people with disabilities come from treating them as not fully actualized humans (I guess I should say ‘us’), and some of those ways are easy to spot, because they’re cruel, and some are harder, because they seem positive. The ‘child mind in an adult body’ is a huge one for disabilities that doesn’t seem awful at first glance, but actually is a huge problem. Unfortunately, human children also get treated by and large as not fully realized humans (as in autonomous & worthy of respect and self-determination—obvs there are some differences that are important, but a child is still an entire ass human & should be respected as such). The painting a physically and mentally disabled character as childlike or mentally trapped as a child is used to control and take autonomy and gravity from our opinions and lives. It’s also just like, not accurate. But the biggest thing is that it takes agency from individuals and paints them as less intelligent, less capable of wanting or pursing more ‘adult’ things [such as jobs or sex or protesting for their rights or having informed opinions on current events and doing something about it], and tries to paint that permanent, life-long dehumanization as a positive thing by making it cute or innofenssive at first glance. While still discounting disabled as kids, passing off autonomy and decisions to their caregivers, and ignoring our status as equal and actualized individuals. Stunted learning or growth or different ways of speaking, moving, and limitations understanding certain things don’t actually make disabled people like children. They’re just adults who sometimes have some very different ways of speaking or thinking or seeming or being. But it’s super important that we’re still adults and like, have the actualized self of adults, even if our speech patterns seem weird. There’s a huge and extremely important difference between an adult with social hangups around sensitive areas and social norms, and being a child. If you didn’t know any of that, don’t feel too bad, again like, people who aren’t disabled almost never talk about disability theory or issues, and I didn’t know this till I was in my 20s. But I feel really bad for Max and bad about how he is usually characterized, so it is important to bring this up.
Okay! That all said, I think personality wise, Max would be really fun to write. Because you have two levels—you have the taught things—fear, aggression, etc, and his inborn perosnality. There is very little canon about Max, but we know he never left home after freeing himself, he steals clothes from scarecrows or whatever he can find, and he’s probably in his early 20s or maybe to his mid 20s now. Since he never left home, I’d think he’s probably a little more cautious and anctious by nature, even with all that rage. I think he’d be sentimental if he ever was given something to love. He must have attachment to things pretty easily, and would I think have liked people a lot because of that, if life had been different. Would have been a shy but friendly and hopeful farm boy. Now, he’s kind of a broken mess, sadly. He’s had it super pounded in by family he is worthless and horrific and disgusting and a monster and an abomination, so I think he expects all humans to take one look and violently feel the same towards him. Taught humans are cruel, and he isn’t safe with them, and the only thing that will stop them and protect himself is unchecked aggression.
So, when it comes to like, getting close enough to him to redeem him, it’s rough, because again, he’d be very very aggressive. I mean, even after killing his parents, he mutilated the animals on the farm in rage, and continued to viciously hurt and then kill anything living he could find on the farm, so he’s got a lot of danger, and he really leaned into violence to protect himself. It’s what he knows now. I think he’s still lonely — like, so lonely he’s sick with it — but unlike Anna and Michael, he’s never known love, so I don’t think he’s even aware of that, and it’s on a pretty subconscious level. Plus, he has even less understanding of human communication and rules and gestures than the other feral killers, so it’d be really hard to get through to him. I think about the only plausible way is really, really, really fuckin slowly, through repeated gifts and kindnesses for no reason (like Claude with the scarf but every day for three years)—the same way you’d try to get through to a feral cat, since like other living things, humans also are wary and mistrustful when hurt, but can be socialized into new situations and do have a pretty set list of gifts and actions we appreciate. I mean, if I was feral, I would start to soften if repeatedly left chocolates and big warm coats and picture books to look at, pretty rocks. I have a crow heart.... >.> Or, the much more likely option, you’d have to catch him or find him captured and helpless, and then be kind instead of doing anything bad at all, and help him for a somewhat extended period of time, nurse him back to health or such, so he’d be forced to actually realize this person isn’t trying to hurt him—they’re trying to help.
I think Max would get less hostile slowly and cautiously because like, if you’ve ever been horribly abused you know you’re afraid to be hurt again. But also, if you’re alone, there’s a battle between wanting some kind of constact and love, and the fear of trying to trust someone only to be brutally torn up again and cast aside. It’s a painful place to be. But I think once he made it over that initial trust hurdle, and could bring himself to stop shuddering at a touch and to believe the person helping him was just trying to give him food, not poison or something to choke on, he’d be absolutely overcome, becuase if you’ve never been shown kindness and then are, overwhelmingly, it’s really hard to process. There’s a lot of psychology stuff about how we form our understandings and processing of each other and the world that I’m not gonna go into much bc convoluted, but it’d be like the opposite weirdly of a Just World break. The realization some things are less awful than your cemented life understanding structure. It would feel wrong and be hard to process (and rewireing a brain takes some time), but he’s been so alone for so long, I think the longing for people would get through, and he would cautiously start to trust and be just bowled over and kind of intimidated by the strength of like, the love and affection and gratitude and belonging he’d start to feel. I think he’d be afraid, becuase it’s not how life is meant to go, and jumpy, but he’d also just be lost to the happiness of actually having some kind of positive human connection, and become fiercely protective of whoever (or whichever people) was/were helping him. Got something he doesn’t want to lose now.
He’s young, so he’s going to still be figuring stuff out, and he had an awful upbringing, so lots of confusion and anger and un-learning too, but I’m really glad you liked that scene!! 😭 and that you like Max too, because he needs more love. I like him a lot too, that’s why he ends up with an undetermined fate instead of, like, dead in ILM. I’d like to give him a fully story role sometime, when there’s more space for it. He’s such a complex and unfortunate guy, he deserves a chance to grow more right and find people who are different and have a better future. TuT. It ain’t fair how his life was.
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princessselene126 · 5 years
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Game Night
I was inspired to write this after finishing Supernova yesterday. I had this random thought that Nova does a weekly game night with Simon, Hugh, and Max where they talk about Adrian and he has no idea that they do this. It does contain spoilers for Supernova, so don’t read it if you haven’t read Supernova. I REPEAT: THIS FIC CONTAINS SUPERNOVA SPOILERS. Anyway. 2124 words of fluff and family bonding. Maximum fluff nodrian at the end.
This is part of a larger series that can be read as individual fics or one big one. If you’d like to read them in order, please go to the second masterlist linked below.
masterlist We Rise with the Sun masterlist
Nova didn’t bother knocking on the door of the old mayor’s mansion anymore.  SHe had no reason to now that she lived there. 
It’d been almost six months since the battle at the cathedral. Six months since Ace died. Six months since she’d told Hugh Everhart--Captain Chromium, one her boyfriend’s dads--that she, a villain, was in love with his son. Six months since he told her he didn’t believe there were villians anymore.
It’d also been about six months since game night began.
Game night started off simple enough. One night a few weeks after the supernova, Nova got a message from Max asking her to come over. This was nothing out of the ordinary now that he was actually able to interact with people without stealing their powers, so she went to the mansion without a second thought.
When she got there, however, she’d been surprised that Simon Westwood--her boyfriend’s and Max’s other dad--opened the door. “Nova, good to see you. Come on in. Max and Hugh are in the living room,” he said with a smile.
She found her lips mimicking his out of habit. “No Adrian?” She asked as she stepped into the threshold. The few times she’d been to the mansion Adrian was always with her, it was strange that he wasn’t there now. And as nice as Simon and Hugh had been to her since the battle, she knew she had a lot to do to earn their trust. 
Simon shook his head. “No he’s with Oscar planning some one month anniversary thing for Ruby, I think.”
“Right. He mentioned that a couple days ago.” She pulled her hat and heavy winter coat off, hanging them on the wooden pegs by the door. “I bet he’s going to jump out of a cake or something in the middle of HQ.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” Together they walked down the hallway to the refurbished living room. 
Max smiled at her from where he sat on the floor. “Hi Nova! You ready for game night?”
Nova blinked a few times. “Game night?”
And that had been that. Every Wednesday night Nova, Max, Simon, and Hugh had game night without Adrian. It was a good way for them to get to know her better, for them to trust her. It didn’t hurt that she also got to hear a lot of ridiculous stories about Adrian as a child. A lot of very cute stories.
Tonight they were playing Uno, which was admittedly the most dangerous game they played so they didn’t do it often. Even though they were heroes, whenever a draw 4 card was set down threats were thrown around--very violent threats. Nova said she’d put someone to sleep and make them wake with the worst headache anyone could experience. Hugh would make a chromium knife and twirl it in is hand while biting his lip. Simon’s left eye would twitch and his fists would clench the table so hard his knuckles turned white. And Max? Max would curse the person out so much it would make any sailor blush. Uno was the only time that Simon and Hugh wouldn’t scold him for it.
Hugh shuffled the cards with his large hands, then started dealing them out. “Everyone remember the rules?”
“No putting anyone to sleep,” Nova said.
“No lying that I have to go to the bathroom then turning invisible to come look at your cards,” Simon added with a sigh. 
Hugh looked at his husband with his eyebrows raised. “Or?”
“Or anywhere else.”
The first couple times they played Uno that was a problem. There was no such thing as honor when it came to Uno, Simon had said after Nova felt his body near her and elbowed him in the ribs.
Hugh nodded. “Good. Max?”
Max was grinning at his cards. Nova couldn’t help thinking the kid had a terrible poker face. Well, he didn’t even have a poker face.
“What?” Max asked.
“What’s another rule?”
“Hey, I don’t have any rules that apply to me except the normal ones. You’re the ones that cheat, not me.”
Nova couldn’t help rolling her eyes at that. Just because the kid didn’t have powers anymore didn’t mean he was incapable of cheating, in fact he’d done it many times. True to his former hero name, the Bandit was excellent at stealing things, but also hiding them.
“Alright, fine,” Max said with a scowl. “No hiding cards.”
“Right. And what happens when someone breaks one of the rules?” Hugh asked. He set the remaining stack of cards in the middle of the coffee table and flipped the top one over as their starter card.
“They have to drink a glass of pickle juice,” Nova said. “Now let’s get on with it. I need to redeem myself after Clue last week. I still can’t believe I lost to you of all people.”
Hugh grinned as he took his turn. The winner of the week before always went first. “It was a very embarrassing defeat for you.”
They started off in a clockwise direction, and Max was next. The first few times around were uneventful, each wanting to hold onto the special cards until they got some numbers out of the way.
“So,” Simon said. “Who wants to share their most interesting Adrian story first?” He put a reverse card down, making Nova grumble.
She started to draw cards until she had one she could use, then set it on the pile. “He was pretty much his usual self around me. Didn’t do anything embarrassing.” Well, there was one thing that happened, but that was while they were making out and it was important for context that they were making out, so she wasn’t going to tell his dads and little brother about it.
“Liar,” Max said.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Hugh interrupted the back and forth bickering he knew was about to happen. “Max has a point. You always have an Adrian story for us.”
She could make something up that sounded Adrian like, but she’d promised herself and Adrian and his family that she wouldn’t lie to them anymore. “It’s hilarious, but if I tell you, you’re going to be grossed out,” she warned.
“Oh?” Simon seemed intrigued now. “Is it PG?”
Max set another card down. “I’m eleven, I think I can handle PG-13 after all the crazy things I’ve done.”
“That depends, on how PG-13 it is,” Hugh said as he eyed Nova. It was one of those looks that made her feel like she was undercover as a renegade again. It made her feel like she’d be sent to prison if they found out her secrets. Not that they would.
“It’s on the low end of PG-13,” Nova said.
Simon glared at his husband when Hugh set down a draw four. He drew the cards and seemed even more frustrated my what they were. “I want a divorce.”
Hugh grinned. “No you don’t. And go ahead and tell us Nova.”
She very pointedly didn’t make eye contact as she laid her card down. “Adrian wasn’t paying attention when he went to kiss me and accidentally stuck his tongue up my nose a little bit. It was weird. His cheeks were so bright it looked like he was wearing face paint.”
Simon snorted, Hugh covered his mouth with his hand to hold in his laughter, and Max made a disgusted face. 
“I told you it was gross.”
“I can’t believe he…” Simon started laughing so hard he had to set is cards down. 
Now that he was laughing, Nova looked them in the eyes with a small smile on her face. “Honestly, neither can I.”
“How would that even happen?” Hugh wheezed. “Please… please don’t tell me he kisses you with his tongue out all the time, because if he does we’re going to have to talk about that.”
“No, he definitely doesn’t,” Nova assured him. “I have no idea what he was trying to do that day and he knows better than to do… whatever that was again.”
Max gave her a look “Up your nose?”
“Only a little, but it was enough to be weird. I think he was going to lick the tip of my nose because I was annoying him.”
“And he misjudged the distance,” Simon mused now that he was calmed down a little bit. He picked his cards back up and took his turn, but he was still smiling at his ridiculous son. “We know his vision is terrible without his glasses, but he’s always been a bad shot with a gun too. Maybe his depth perception is off.”
Hugh set another card down. “But it hasn’t been much of a problem before. Drawing takes depth perception and he’s great at that.”
“It actually doesn’t take that much,” Nova said.
Simon and Hugh looked at her curiously.
She flushed slightly, still not exactly used to the two of them looking at her like she had more answers than them. “Well, think about it. Drawing happens on a two dimensional surface, he only needs to look at the piece of paper, or glass, or wall, or whatever he’s drawing on. But shooting, or aiming at anything really, requires you to be more spatially aware.”
There were a few beats of silence, as if Simon and Hugh were thinking over what Nova said, wondering if maybe their son needed to go to the optometrist again sooner than his yearly appointment.
Max set a skip card down. “It’s still gross that he stuck his tongue up your nose.”
“It really is,” Nova agreed. “What’s your Adrian story for the week?”
“He charmed an ice cream lady into giving me free ice cream,” Max said with a grin. “He forgot his wallet when we went yesterday and offered to take a picture with her in exchange.”
“Why wouldn’t you guys just come back and get it?” Hugh asked.
Just as Max opened his mouth, they could hear the front door open. Footsteps resounded down the hall toward them. “I’m home!” Adrian called to no one in particular.
“We’re in the living room!” Hugh called back as he tossed another card down.
Adrian stepped into the room and his brow furrowed the second he saw his dads, brother, and girlfriend sitting on the floor around the coffee table. “Uh… what’s going on in here?”
“Game night,” they chorused without looking away from their hands. 
“Oooookay that was creepy.” He walked across the room and sat on the couch behind Nova. Leaning over he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
She gently swatted him away. “Don’t look at my cards, you’d just go tell Max what I have.”
“What?” He laughed. “No I wouldn’t.”
“Yes you would,” Nova, Simon, and Hugh said together.
Adrian made a face. “You guys gotta stop doing that.”
“And you need to stop sticking your tongue up Nova’s nose,” Max said.
His cheeks heated, eyes darting back down to Nova. “You told them?”
She at least looked sympathetic when she turned toward him and rested her cheek on the side of his thigh. “Sorry. They pried it out of me. But in my defense, you didn’t give me any other good stories to tell them for this week.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, more more confused than he’d been when he walked in. “Stories? You do--” Adrian paused mid sentence, eyes widening with realization. “You guys have been talking about me. That’s how you knew about the incident at the parade when I was thirteen.” He looked at his fathers. “You promised you’d never tell anyone about that.”
Simon grinned widely. “Actually we promised we’d never tell any of your friends about that, and we haven’t. Nova’s your girlfriend, therefore we haven’t broken any promises.”
“Friend is in the word!”
Nova reached her hand up to cup Adrian’s cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
He sighed and leaned into her, trusting her. “No more swapping stories about me.”
“Now that I can’t do. This is our destressing time.”
“You can destress with me.” 
She shook her head. “No can do. Your dads and Max need this too. You’re more than welcome to join us if you want to listen to stories about yourself though.”
“I’ll pass.”
“In that case…” Nova let her power surge through her, putting him into a peaceful nap. Adrian slumped back against the couch.  He’d wake up in an hour or two feeling refreshed. By then they’d be done with game night and she could spend some quality time with him.
She turned back to the table where it was still her turn. 
“Go drink the pickle juice,” Max said. “You cheated.”
“He wasn’t even playing!”
part 2 (kinda?)
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candle-anon · 4 years
Text
Fight For Me (pt.1)
Summary: Hux survives the blast from Pryde. But it is still unknown what will happen next and the only thing he knows is that his career is over. Escape pod takes him to the least expected place.
Pairing(s): Armitage Hux x OC, some gingerpilot dynamics in the future, if you squint
Word count: 2,256 (next chapters will be a little shorter, probably)
TW: mentions of rape
(I’m tagging some people who I think might like this. Sorry you had to read it, guys. @huxstuff @darthnostra @rabldcur @voidistooshortforausername @rabid-cur-hux @spicyhoneyy @solohux @livy1391 @starkillerjones @knightof-reylo)
And big thanks to @voidistooshortforausername for being my beta and putting up with my bullshit in general)
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 “I am the spy.”
Those words were about to change his whole life, he knew it. Armitage Hux wasn’t the one to not think things through before he did something, really. But he thought he had everything under control. He’s been so discreet about it, more, Hux was sure he fooled everyone. No one could know he’s a spy, right?
“Are you sure you don’t need a lift or something, Hugs?” Poe asked, looking at his - now probably former - enemy with a raised eyebrow; he still had no idea how he felt about the news. Hux just shook his head. Sure, he wanted Ren to lose - but, after all, he still felt his place was with the First Order.
Just not under Ren’s command - preferably under his own. 
“Not really, I’ll be more useful here, I assume.”
There was no time to lose. If they wanted to escape, they had to do it now. Move to the ship as fast as possible and fly away, not looking back. Someone on that damned ship has probably heard the shots and screams of the Stormtroopers that were assigned to execute the Resistance fighters, and given the circumstances it was no situation for chitty-chatting. Poe heard Chewie roar somewhere behind him - a sign they had to hurry. He was about to run away, he really was - but in the last seconds he grabbed Hux’s wrist forcefully. Poe wasn’t going to leave anyone behind. Even if it was him.
“There isn’t much more you can do. You’ve never been a hero, don’t act like one now.” Armitage’s eyes widened a little at Poe’s words, shock briefly jolting through his face; though another second turned it into a sneer.. Hux broke out of the man’s hold and looked him dead in the eyes.
“You’ve never been a hero either. The Resistance is a bunch of criminals which I refuse to join.”
There was a second of silence between them as they only looked at each other with mixed feelings. Both disdain and silent gratitude. Then Poe, having no more time to waste, just ran after his friends. It was the last moment for Hux to change his mind and for a second he genuinely considered it. Only an echo of the Rebels’ footsteps could be heard that moment, but general Hux broke this silence one last time.
“... I might contact you, though. When I escape. If I decide to do so, that is.” He got lost in his own thoughts and words, failing to sound as composed as he wanted. “Now quick, shoot me in the arm, or they’ll know.”
It was a brave thing to ask an enemy for, but it was the only thing Hux could do. He didn’t have to wait long for his order to be executed. 
It wasn’t Dameron who shot Hux.
Neither was it a shot in the arm.
“Yeah!” Finn exclaimed excitedly the same time when the ginger general fell to the floor with a scream. Poe and Chewbacca looked at him, surprised. “What? Always wanted to do it,” he added, seeing his friends’ facial expressions at that moment.
“No one’s blaming you, though. Hugs, you’re sure you’ll be fine?” 
Poe gave the bleeding spy one last look. Hux wrapped his hands around the wound.
“Do I look like I’m not?”
“Honestly, yeah.”
“Ugh. Just go already!” 
And that was exactly how their meeting ended, even though Poe himself wished they could chat a little longer. But now they definitely had to run]. The footsteps of incoming Stormtroopers filled the corridor as their ship entered the hyperspace.
“We found our spy.”
Nothing went as he expected, from the shot to his leg to being shot by Pryde. That moment he regretted not going with Dameron; maybe then he wouldn’t die in vain. If he’d accepted the offer, if only he--
“You were always just a stupid child.” Pryde towered above him, “Your father was always right about you. Useless and weak. You, clean up that mess.” he ordered the guards, looking at Armitage Hux with disgust. The child finally got what he deserved. With a sense of victory and revenge he walked away, leaving seemingly dead Hux on the floor.
But he wasn’t dead. The vest he had under his uniform saved him, but didn’t leave him undamaged. The blast threw him across the floor, and Armitage hit it so hard he went unconscious. 
Next thing he saw was a bright light. It was blinding him; he had to squint and only when he got somehow used to it, Hux noticed he was being moved. Looking up he saw white armor and a Stormtrooper’s helmet. And a ceiling, with the sources of light that previously blinded him. Realisation hit him harder than Pryde’s blaster.
“What- Let me go! That’s an order!” Hux said, though still weakly, as if he had no strength for his usual, stern tone. He was genuinely afraid of what was going to happen to him; after he was discovered, Hux would rather die than get imprisoned and demeaned.
“Shush, General, they’ll hear us. I prepared you an escape ship.”
That was unexpected. Was it another spy? Why didn’t he know about them before? After a quick reminescence of his career Hux had to admit that he most probably didn’t give anyone a reason to be risking their life for him. Confusion was about to take a hold of him - and his savior saw it, too. So the Stormtrooper spoke again, as quietly as before.
“Remember the boy from a few years ago who you’ve protected that one time? I’m paying you back for it, General.”
Hux smiled at the memory. The concept of kindness was unknown to him, yet he couldn’t not help a boy that had reminded him so much of himself from the past. Moreover, he couldn’t just let the boy suffer the same things that  he’d suffered from Brendol.
“If we ever see each other again, I’m probably not going to be a General, anymore.” Armitage let out a slight chuckle, though it sounded… troubled, mostly. And weak.
And the last thing he remembered was the smile of the Stormtrooper - or, actually, a young man in armor but without a helmet.
“Thank you, General. And good luck.”
And with that, the whole world fell silent as Hux once again had to give in to the darkness which overflown him like an ocean.
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     “It’s time to wake up, huh?” Etta yawned and stretched herself on her bed. She liked talking, though she rarely had anyone to talk to; most of the times Etta just talked to herself. Like she was doing now. It made her feel less lonely and kind of reminded her of the happy times when her parents were still alive. 
The light was already getting into her house through the window, sneaking in slowly but steadily; and so Etta knew it’s about time to start her daily routines. The farm wasn't going to take care of itself without her help and Etta knew it. Taking care of it became her routine, but one she grew to love - so it didn’t really bother her; what did was loneliness - and boredom, sometimes. But it was fine most days, and sometimes her… well, she considered them a friend, would visit her. It was nice to see someone else than her own reflection in the mirror, though it was a shame the visits weren’t more frequent. It was understandable though, everyone had their own lives and their own businesses to mind, them too. Next visit was about to happen in a few days - until then, Etta had to manage somehow. So she threw herself into work. 
     But the day didn’t turn out to be as quiet as any other. It was around afternoon when they came. Visitors, but not the kind you’d like to have.
     Deserters. Cruel people, runaways from many fractions and planets. They were paying her a “visit” from time to time, stealing everything she has been working on so hard; calling it a “protection fee”. But the only thing they protected her from was themselves. 
     Etta saw them coming from the north. They were never heavily armed; they knew she wouldn't fight back. Her parents lost their lives like that and Etta knew better than to resist and inevitably lose. She couldn’t fight, anyway. It was better to be safe than sorry, right?
    So as soon as she saw them she stopped what she was doing and ran into her cottage. Frantically, Etta started looking through her house. Valuables, money, but also what her farm had to offer - bread, vegetables, food in general. It all would make a good offering for leaving her alone, at least that’s what she hoped for. She threw it all outside and closed herself in the cottage, pretending she’s not there. Even though Etta knew they probably saw her already, that was all she could have done that moment.
    Their heavy footsteps got dangerously close to her cottage in just a few short minutes. Among them she heard her own heartbeat as clear as the footsteps. And the wind, howling outside, brought the words of the visitors. 
“Good girl, she’s prepared us everything we need.” the tallest of them spoke in a posh manner, looking down on the squad. “It’s almost cute. Take it.” he ordered, putting an 
unruly strand of blonde hair over his ear. Four more men started packing the stuff Etta left to their backpacks and pockets. It went quick, almost too quick.
“She’s home, isn’t she?” asked one of the men, a pretty young one, looking at the blonde leader.
“As she always is. Why?”
“Oh, I know exactly what Bastan means, Maud, you too. Come on, we never get any fun out of this,” grumbled Bastan’s companion, crossing his arms. “Let’s take her with us.”
“Sheilar, I knew you were dumb, but I never realised you have no brain at all,” sighed the leader, massaging the bridge of his nose in visibly irritated manner. “Who would we steal from then?”
“...Oh.”
 There was a few seconds break and a quiet moment. But it got broken by Bastan.
“So let’s leave her here, just let us go in, Maud.”
The blonde man looked at his companion; meanwhile all the men seemed to pick up the idea of the youngest one. Maud only sighed in response, what was he supposed to do?
“Alright. Just- Be back quickly. I am not going to participate in this bestiality and whoever does will lose in my eyes. But otherwise, go on.” He looked at them with visible disgust and started walking away. Well, his words made an impression. Two of them went after their leader - but still, both Bastan and Sheilar had Maud’s word for nothing, still deciding to get into the cottage.
    That’s when Etta heard knocking.
“ Farmer girl, are you there?” Cooed one of them, trying to open the door. 
Etta had no courage to answer, maybe that was even better. She quietly stood up and looked around, panicked. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to go, and deep inside she knew exactly what they wanted from her.
“Farmer girl, we just want to talk. Come out, don’t be scared.” 
Etta heard another voice. She couldn’t look out of the window to see how many of them were there in front of her door. But no matter how many of them were trying to get in, she couldn’t do anything. Etta stopped herself from letting out a quiet sob. No one was there to protect her anymore, no one to stop them when she couldn’t. Was it supposed to be like that, perhaps? What did she do to deserve this?
“We know you’re there, little bitch. Just you wait.” One of them seemed to lose his temper already, impatient. Seconds later she heard a quiet click, a noise of her lock giving up.
“If there’s anyone above there, please, help me…” Etta cried to herself, frantically looking for any place to hide and save herself. But no one answered her calling, and the only seconds before a tragedy she could only think about how tragic her whole life was to this point. 
    And just when she was about to lose hope and come out, beg for mercy, they all heard a loud crash. Maybe there was something bigger, after all. A savior.
Because as soon as they heard the crash, both Bastan and Sheilar went outside to see what that was. And, to put it lightly, they weren’t really pleased with what they saw.
“That’s a fucking First Order ship!” said Sheilar, then spit on the floor. 
“Can’t be.”
“But it fucking is. I’m definitely not going to stay there any longer. See ya later, farmgirl. We’ll be back.”
  Etta couldn’t believe her luck. Or the fact that her prayers had been listened to. The attackers ran away as fast as they could, and she was left alone. Once again, safe.
Or was she?
It was a First Order’s ship after all. She heard about them, she knew they were the reason her parents had to run away from their home planet. They were, supposedly, the evil guys.
But now the evil guys saved her from other evil guys and Etta just had no idea what to think. The ship looked broken, but so did a part of her farm-
“Oh damn, my cabbages.”
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Text
A Father’s Duty Ch.37
Chapter 37. But You Refused to Die
Read here or on AO3
Summary: While you are stuck in dreams of your hidden but certain past, Din finds that you will not wake.
Word Count: 1731
It was immensely dark, the world completely pitch. You could move without pain in this realm, though for a while it felt as if you had been suddenly submerged in water, limbs moving strangely through the thick environment. Gradually the atmosphere grew thinner and thinner until normality was once again present. Curiously, you found yourself as being entirely lucid; your body having a peculiar transparent quality to it.
 “It’s okay. Whatever happens, when you come back, I’ll take care of you.”
 That was a voice you remembered, warm, strong but slightly unsure.
 A sudden flash illuminated the room with fluorescent light, revealing three figures before you. There you were, scrawny and frightened as ever next to her. Young Pallas. The both of you staring in trepidation at the Magnaguard staring ahead. Without speaking, it seized your arm, tearing you away from your companion. Feeling slightly nauseous, you followed close behind, not particularly fond of looking at your younger self. Still watching, you could see yourself collapse, the droid taking no notice, continuing to drag your body along the floor into the ‘med’ room. The Jedi masters must have truly used the bulk of their power sending you into a deep sleep rather than a dream state; no matter how hard you tried to stir your mind, your body failed to wake. Time seemed to drone on for ages as the memories of past torture and horrors flowed free and clear before you. Shutting your eyes and covering your ears was all you could do to drown out those terrible sounds. Standing ready to leave the room, you were stopped short the glint of something catching your eye.
 The sound of a door opened followed by the damned voice of your former captor. “This is the first of a series.”
 Turning, you saw Cyne enter, carrying a durasteel tray, an array of needles spread across accompanied by a tiny vial of red liquid. The damnable pirate set the tray down amongst his other prized torture devices, taking the vial in one hand.
 “Make note, droid, of any of the following effects…That Sith better pay up if the child dies. This is the longest one of my play-things has ever lasted.”
 Though completely disgusted by his reference, you were further intrigued by the display in from of you. On a data pad, the Magnaguard waited obediently as Cyne used one of the syringes to empty the vial, then moving to slipping it neatly into the prepared vein in your arm. You knew Cyne had his fun experimenting with your regenerative abilities for the entirety of your time on the barge, primarily your first time, though this was something you had absolutely no recollection of.
 In a mixture of interest and fright, you watched the liquid drain from the syringe and into your mangled body. For about a minute nothing happened. Cyne watched you with no particular expression, though a smile spread quickly across his terrible face as each ghastly wound, each bloody mark closed, the flesh and skin mending itself. Nothing too unusual.
 Not until your head perked up, eyes like smelted gold, your being alert and shaking vehemently.
***___**___***
 His plan hadn’t been perfect. Din realized as much. Though he tried to keep his demeanor nonchalant and calm, his eldest child had still been completely shaken at the mention of being left alone. He had expected Beviin to have some semblance of attachment issues, though swinging the other way, but the bulk of their panic seemed to be around the unknown assailants from earlier. In truth he had forgotten about them completely, but he assumed his growing forgetfulness came with becoming a relatively new father of two. Din had no desire to leave his frightened child behind, but since they had beaten within half an inch of death yet again, he had no choice. They were in desperate need of fuel and medical supplies and waiting any longer to secure them would surely worsen Beviin’s condition.
 After refueling the ship, Din patted the baby’s small, slightly hairy head. “It’s all be fine. Yup. It’s gonna be fine.”
 Those wide eyes looked up at him rather adoringly much to Din’s joy, but in the back of his mind, he wondered: would he be as defiant and unruly as his sibling when he became older? Perhaps he would, but Din would be there right alongside, ready to save him at any turn. Securing his grip on the remaining bundles of necessities, he walked tiredly up the boarding ramp, and into the main corridor.
 The child babbled mindlessly as Din prepped a lineup of bandages and materials for splinting. Most of it would be temporary; he would have to find a proper medic of sorts. With all the bones Beviin had most likely broken, they would all require expert attention or else the bones would mend wrong. Opening the door to their quarters, Din found his eldest child fast asleep, though their brow was furrowed; they were distressed, even in slumber. Cautiously, the Mandalorian cleaned and bandaged their wounds, splinting their broken arm and lower leg. Perhaps it was best they were asleep.
 Sighing, he set the baby in his pod, then kneeling next to Beviin’s cot. “Ad’ika.”
 No response.
 Of course, after such a harrowing ordeal of escaping from the cantina, batting a stalker lizard in the combat arena without any weaponry, and then being thoroughly crushed by the beast was enough to make anyone so utterly exhausted. Feeling his own weariness, Din resigned to sleep for perhaps an hour or two, prepare something to eat and then try to wake them again.
 Only a handful of hours passed by before he woke, his mind too busy to remain asleep. After warming some broth and slicing up Jorgan fruit for both the children, he returned to their room, unsurprised to find both still getting some shut eye.
 “Ner ade?”
 At the presence of his voice, the baby’s eyes fluttered open, hands reaching up for him. Din gently lifted him up and placed him on the floor, the little one immediately running to his sibling’s bed.
 “Beviin.” Din tried, but to no avail, their eyes remained tightly closed. “Beviin, wake up!”
 Nothing.
 “Ad’ika, wake up. Please.”
 Getting down on their level, Din shook their shoulder as gingerly as possible, being mindful of all their injuries. When he had left, they had been in considerable pain, but still alert. Taking his child’s wrist in his grip, he pressed lightly, and to his relief, found a steady pulse.
 “I need you to wake up, Beviin! Kriffing hell! Ad’ika…AD’IKA!”
 Din’s poor heart raced as he held his child’s limp form, completely at a loss of what to do.
 ***___**___***
 The phase-knife fit in your hand perfectly. From several yards away Cyne watched anxiously as you twirled it in your hand, eyeing down the lone Magnaguard.
 The pirate took in a sharp breath before giving you the order. “Dispatch target.”
 You stared, wide eyed at your younger self. Those even smaller hands tightening their grip on the weapon before surging forward in the blink of an eye. It was methodical. Playful, even. Your swipes weren’t intended to destroy the droid but mangle it. When the Magnaguard was sufficiently battered, you leapt back, the pitiful piece of machinery suddenly coming apart, each piece sent flying in a different direction, adding to the utter mess on the floor.
 There was no more sense of time as you watched the trials presented to your past self. The self that was absolutely greedy for destruction. Such was the case at hand. Cyne shrunk back in horror as you rushed him, unsatisfied with the fell Magnaguard.
 “Stop!”
 You hadn’t even seen them enter through the corridor behind Cyne, though the figure stood comfortably as if they had been there the entire time.
 Your dream-self stopped at the newcomer’s word, body relaxing and reverting to a neutral stance, the phase-knife’s blade retracting. Their cloak fell perfectly, the smooth fabric just barely grazing the durasteel floor, hood falling so low that all vision should have been obstructed, yet even the most basic of their movements were so precise.
 “Th-This…you never told me the results would be like this!” Still shaking, Cyne cowered behind the figure, wary of your melancholy gaze. “That is not a child anymore! Look what it has done!” The being turned about, regarding the scene before them, a mix of bloody carnage and droid parts coating the floor.
 Making no sound as they approached your dream-self, a gloved hand reached out, gently brushing the stray waves of hair from your blood caked face, trailing down until they had hold of your braid; missing the one bead you now treasured.
 “Violent. Bloodthirsty…Unparalleled.” Their grip on your hair tightened. “But still…Any liabilities need to be tempered out.” They turned back, ignoring Cyne’s remarks entirely. “You spoke of regeneration. Hm. There is no need for that if there is nothing to regenerate.”
 “W-What?!”
 “I had you start with this one because they seem to have the sheer audacity to still be alive. As if they remain in this world simply to spite it…Have the remaining ether removed from their body. This one was just a trial.”
 “Just a trial?” Cyne seethed, stealing a glance at you. “This is madness! First this and then you have this monster kill every one of my quarries! How in kriffing hell am I supposed to get the damn shit out of them?!”
 With the same softness used earlier, the foreigner slipped the knife out of your grasp. “Imbecile. I know of your sadistic tendencies, pirate. I thought the answer would be simple.”
 Such elegance was used as that gloved hand swiftly activated the blade plunging it into your stomach. Cyne looked on in relative horror as your dream-self crumpled to the floor, his employer handing him the weapon.
 “Bloodletting.”
 Thorough your own mutilated form was a grave enough scene, your golden eyes were fixed on something else. The thrashed body of Pallas, who you had easily slain before the Magnaguard. While you had been listening to every word that had been spoken, there was no way you could purge the screaming pleas from the first friend you had since fleeing Stewjon. But it was enough. Enough to stir your mind and break your slumber that had been anything but restful.
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ckret2 · 4 years
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Okay, I’m too exhausted to finish this chapter tonight, so this is all I’m getting out today. The first 2.5 scenes of the last chapter of “Basilisk in the Grass” out of what’s a planned 9 scenes. I’m gonna go ahead and post it just so that I get SOMETHING up today for Pentious Week, even though it doesn’t reach the part that answers the prompt lol. The rest of the fic (including the part where Sir Pentious fucking dies) will be finished tomorrow!!
###
Sir Pentious looked down from the airship at the burnt up clearing below.
He and Helena had always maintained two homes. Old habits from England; he'd been too used to the Graces' separate townhouse and country house. His little house in Maine, near the coast and surrounded by trees, was unknown to anyone in the world but the Grace family and a handful of former servants that Sir Pentious had preemptively executed to ensure they never worked out who their former employer was.
He had long ago concluded that if Helena was ever going to try to contact him again, it would be either at their old home in Philadelphia or at this lonely country house. A couple of times a year, he visited this house alone and on foot to search the dusty rooms for any notes that might have been left for him.
When he'd visited a couple of weeks ago, he'd found the house populated by a posse of men waiting with guns and handcuffs.
"So that's that," Chess said, looking down at the pile of burnt lumber. "Now we know."
Sir Pentious nodded grimly. "Now we know." He'd feared for years that Helena might go to law enforcement with her knowledge of Sir Pentious. Sure, there was a slim chance that he'd been followed on a prior visit to the house, or maybe the man who'd sold them the land nearly twenty years ago had suddenly and miraculously realized that the face of the man who'd bought it was the same one he'd seen in the papers... But Sir Pentious was sure that wasn't it. He was sure it was Helena.
And if she wanted to see him stopped so badly that was telling his secrets...
Helena was the only person in the world who knew Sir Pentious's most carefully kept secret. If she ever told that one, it would be over. Many of his lowest laborers were kept in place out of fear, but for many more the narrow-minded resignation of "it's not so bad for me" was all that was keeping them in place. And those who worked for him more directly and held real power in his organization—greedy businessmen, decorated military officers, crooked politicians, sadistic mass murderers, competent middle-managing bandits, wives poached from the powerful—they rallied around him out of a mix of personal ambition and respect. Despite its democratic ideals, America was a true child of the British Empire: full of power-hungry bigots eager to steal from the rest of the world.
There would always be people here willing to follow a megalomaniacal man with his own war machines.
War machines or not, fewer would follow an insane crossdressing woman. That would be what they'd see. It wouldn't completely destroy his empire—not immediately—but it would disgust many into leaving and undermine his authority with a vast majority of the rest. Maybe it could even help rally international furor against him, he didn't know.
How far was Helena willing to go to stop him?
Chess asked, "She wasn't there, was she?"
"No. I made sure." After he'd lured the posse into chasing him into the woods and picked them off one by one (never bring a gunfight to a gunsmith), he'd dragged their bodies back to the house, searched it top to bottom, and called out a warning in every room—and only then had he burned the house to the ground.
Chess nodded. "About ready to give up on them?" He tapped a finger on the ruby brooch pinned to Sir Pentious's ascot. A few months after Helena's disappearance, he'd started wearing her jewelry: her brooch in the center of his chest, her wedding ring beneath his glove, her earrings in his newly-pierced ears.
Sir Pentious slapped Chess's hand away as if the ruby Chess was prodding was a big red self-destruct button. "That's one of the few things I don't have power over," he snapped. Someday he might give up, but he didn't think he could ever move on. Maybe someday he'd love someone else enough to want a life with them, sure, it was possible; but he was never going to love them the same way he would always love Helena.
Chess stepped away from . "Well," he said. "If that ever changes, you know where I am."
As Chess walked away, Sir Pentious wondered what if he'd really meant that the way Sir Pentious thought he had.
There were multiple families of minor British nobility and vaguely wealthy landowners who went by the name "Grace." Most such families could trace their surname back to France, where the surname meant the same thing in French that it does in English.
Tracing Basil Grace's pedigree back, though, one would find that his surname was purely British. A few generations back, the family's surname was instead written "in Grace"—a common enough preposition at the time, back when surnames were place names instead of family names and you'd frequently find people named "in—" or "of—" before the name of the town they hailed from. And so, at one point, it seemed, the family must have come from a place named "Grace."
Or some variation on the word. A few generations before that, their name had used another way to spell Grace in Middle English, "in Gras," before the spelling was standardized.
Except, in this case, it had been standardized the wrong way, because in Middle English gras was a shared way to spell two very different words. Keep following the family tree back, and in Old English the ancestors of what would become the Grace family used "in Græs," and græs does not mean grace. Far enough back, locals of the area were referred to as living "in þæm græse."
Translated directly into modern English, it did not mean "Grace." It meant "in the grass." A reference to the rolling meadow along one side of what was now the Grace estate.
It was also a perfectly fitting name for a man who was indeed turning out to be a snake in the grass.
###
Sir Pentious beamed at the fearful, glowering men filling the rows of desks on front of him. "Gentlemen of the state legislature!" he said, holding out his arms grandly. The young Burmese python draped around his shoulders shifted to keep its balance. "I'm so honored you made time to meet with me on such short notice." Not that they'd had much choice in the matter. Sir Pentious had simply waltzed into the room, and then his gun-wielding followers had filled all the exits.
"What do you think you're doing here?!" A representative in the front row of seats demanded, lunging to his feet.
Ten guns trained on him. He sat back down.
"I'm here to negotiate, of course!" Sir Pentious paced in front of the representatives' seats, enjoying how the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor echoed in the deathly silent chamber. "I assume you called this secret midnight meeting to discuss the hostage situation I've presented you with? It's not like you're going to get all your little ones back without my participation."
"You're a sick bastard," another of the representatives called from the back of the room—but he had the sense to stay in his seat. "This is beyond the most depraved acts of war! What kind of a man kidnaps thousands of children as a negotiation tactic?!"
"A craven coward, I'm sure," Sir Pentious said, offering a hand to help support his python as it stretched curiously toward one of the representatives. "But a very well-organized one."
A third representative roared, "You'll burn in hell for this!" and pounded on his desk. The thunderous pound set off someone's itchy trigger finger; a bullet hit the representative in the chest. His suit and flaked off in black ashes and greenish vapor rose out of his chest as the chemical compound in the bullet splashed out into his flesh. As the men nearest the dead representative gasped in horror and bolted out of their seats to get away from the corpse, Sir Pentious raised a hand to signal his followers to hold their fire
Wryly, Sir Pentious said, "And when I get there, if the devil's got any common sense, he'll offer me a seat at his court." He laughed wryly. "So about those children?"
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